Never has there been a moment like this. Where one player does something so spectacular with one swing that it brings a stadium to its feet and a mother to tears.
On July 31, way before last week’s collapse that likely cost the Rockies a playoff spot, Carlos Gonzalez made everything seem possible. He completed hitting for the cycle with a walkoff home run, the first major-leaguer to pull off that feat since Boston’s Dwight Evans in 1984.
And that wasn’t even the best part. Nearly a decade after his mom told him he would have a better chance of being an astronaut than a major-league baseball player, Gonzalez met her in the tunnel at Coors Field.
“It was unbelievable. She was crying. It was just . . . it’s hard to explain,” Gonzalez said, his voice trailing off. “She was so proud of me. This is something you never expect will happen. I still have goose bumps.”
What makes this scene so significant is that it explains how Gonzalez, 24, has handled everything that has happened during his breakthrough season. He’s had the type of ascension, from a disappointing first half a year ago to Triple Crown threat this year, that could lead to hyperventilating and a swollen cranium.
“I don’t feel like there’s any reason for me to change. When you are doing something good, something special, you want to keep everything the same, from the mentality to routine,” Gonzalez said. “I always pray to God to keep me in the same place. To appreciate this.”
Any doubt that Gonzalez takes himself too seriously is debunked by his wardrobe. Before a game, he can be seen around the clubhouse wearing orange swim trucks and a T-shirt from “The Simpsons” sitcom that reads Renal-Doh on the back.
Pretty casual for a guy hitting .340, which leaves him the favorite to win his first batting title, with 33 home runs and 113 RBIs.
“I know people would think he would change, but he’s no different,” said catcher Miguel Olivo, whose locker is next to CarGo’s. “He’s like my little brother. If he was getting out of line, I would say something. It’s not necessary.”
A fit in Colorado clubhouse
The perception today of Gonzalez, as a humble rising star, wasn’t always so. Gonzalez acknowledges humility wasn’t his strongest trait coming through the minor leagues. Baseball came easy. Was he supposed to act like it didn’t?
Failure didn’t so much change him as much as mature him. Admittedly never comfortable in Oakland with the clubhouse environment, Gonzalez bombed. When he was traded to the Rockies as part of the Matt Holliday deal before the 2009 season, he struggled in Colorado too. He was shy. For the first time, there was a hint of doubt as to whether he could make it. Once he got comfortable, however, there was no stopping him.
“I just feel at home here, the way the organization treats me, the way my teammates treat me,” Gonzalez said. “I have formed a lot of strong relationships.”
Former Rockies great Vinny Castilla has observed Gonzalez closely, knowing the similarities between their career paths. While Castilla was never a super prospect like Gonzalez, he became an overnight star in Colorado. Suddenly, everybody wants your time.
“What I notice with him is that he’s confident but not cocky. He knows he belongs,” Castilla said. “It’s hard when people are calling you and always want something. It can make you think you are something. But I give all the credit to his parents. You can tell he was raised the right way.”
If there was any doubt, go back 12 years, when Gonzalez was playing in the sandlots of Venezuela. He grew up a baseball rat, dreaming of playing in the big leagues like his idols, Andres Galarraga and Omar Vizquel. His brother, Euro, was determined to make it happen. Euro, 7 years older, began playing baseball when he was 12, absorbing every detail. When Carlos was only 1, he was already swinging a stick around the house, imitating the swings of professional players.
Gonzalez quickly became a standout as a young player. But even then he was levelheaded. How do we know? Jonathan Herrera, now his Rockies’ teammate, was the best player in his league at that time. He would constantly break CarGo’s heart with his heroics.
“I know I made him cry from beating his team,” Herrera said with a smile. “He was always a good player with a good head on his shoulders. He’s the same guy I remember then. Just now, he’s a five-tool player in the big leagues.”
Ties to Tulo
Gonzalez’s talent has created a strong friendship with shortstop Troy Tulowitzki. The two played against each other a decade ago in a youth tournament. This season, as they have taken turns carrying the Rockies on their backs, the No. 3 and No. 4 hitters have become kindred spirits.
“First off, I am a huge baseball fan. If I had to pay to see, say, three players, he’d be one of the guys I’d watch,” Tulowitzki said.
“We have become close, talk a lot. More than anything, we both realize we play the game the right way — whether that’s taking the extra base, diving on defense. Then the other guys have no choice but to follow.”
Gonzalez has always had the hardware. He’s installed updated software by picking Tulo’s brain. He’s constantly going over specific game situations, pitch sequences and defensive positioning.
“We trade information all the time. That’s how we really became friends, through that,” Gonzalez said. “If I see something, I will tell him.”
What Tulo, along with legions of fans, would like to see is CarGo in a Rockies uniform for years to come. He’s not even arbitration-eligible until after next season. So the Rockies have him under contract for four more years. There have been no talks about a long-term deal, in part because Gonzalez is represented by agent Scott Boras, who’s philosophically opposed to surrendering free-agent seasons for earlier guaranteed money.
“But obviously, I love it here,” Gonzalez said. “I will listen if they want to talk.”
With that answer, Gonzalez abruptly cuts off the interview. Has stardom made him rude? Hardly. He has to tape Tulowitzki’s bat and trade barbs with Herrera.
“If you find anybody that says anything bad about me, let me know,” Gonzalez said, laughing. “I’ll know they are lying.”
Troy E. Renck: 303-954-1301 or trenck@denverpost.com
