The confetti erupted, the crowd roared, the purple sheet fell down, and on the corner of 20th and Blake a legend appeared with arms raised up.
Todd Helton isn’t hitting, something he took as seriously as breathing.
Helton is not fielding, something he turned into an art form after being told when called up that he could find himself in the outfield without improvement.
Helton is celebrating in the statue.
It seems odd for a player who endured so much losing. But, when you think about it, it is perfect.
No Rockies player deserved to reach the World Series as much as Helton. The pose, however, is not about him. It is about the team. About the fans.
It is Helton sharing the final out of the 2007 National League Championship Series, the height of delirium of Rocktober as Colorado advanced to its only World Series.
“A statue in front of a stadium? I mean seriously,” Helton said Saturday afternoon. “I am humbled. I am honored. It is amazing. I am not good with words. I am not good with words talking about myself. And I am definitely not good at talking about something like this.”
Helton did not come by this honor lightly, joining Larry Walker with a sculpture outside of Coors Field. The path to immortality was paved with sleepless nights, food deprivation and bloody hands.
Helton had an unhealthy obsession with perfection.
He agonized over at-bats, built to never give up one by his father, Jerry. He wouldn’t eat if he took an 0-fer even as a major leaguer, punishing himself for not succeeding. His teammates worried about him, about those batting practice sessions that went for hours after a game that left him exhausted.
“You have to be crazy to be that good, you know that,” said former All-Star shortstop Troy Tulowitzki this week. “He was the true competitor. No matter how he felt, you were always going to get his best every single night!”
This is what sticks out to those who shared lockers, bus trips and dugouts with Helton. He made everything personal. He played baseball with a white-hot intensity in his eyes and magic in his hands.
“He is the most competitive person I have ever been around,” said former Rockies infielder Greg Norton, part of a group of teammates who celebrated Helton at a downtown dinner at Guard and Grace on Friday. “He wanted it so badly.”
This next sentence would embarrass him, the blond bomber Little Leaguer from Knoxville, who played baseball with such passion because he had never been to a professional baseball game until he played in one.
Helton, like it or not, was an inspiration.
While Helton was only happy when comfortably miserable, his presence resonated in ways he never realized or imagined.
“Playing alongside Todd, you weren’t just sharing the field with a great player, you were getting a front-row seat to how the game was meant to be played,” said former Rockies Rookie of the Year pitcher Jason Jennings. “He made everyone around him better.”
As the Rockies mercifully transitioned to an unannounced youth movement in the early 2000s — Todd and the Toddlers — he was the blueprint. The default setting.
It was not uncommon for players to think about their routine, their preparation and ask the question: “What would Todd do?”
“I was in awe of what he was capable of on the baseball field,” said one-time Rockies catcher Chris Iannetta. “He cared so much. It wasn’t oppressive, though. I have played with guys who, when things weren’t going well, it was hard to be around them. Todd didn’t give off a dark energy. He never let his results change who he was as a teammate or a person. He just led by example everyday.”
Helton’s numbers seem inflated with helium when looking at the current Rockies. In 2000, he smashed 103 extra-base hits and posted a .463 on-base percentage. He was hitting .399 on Aug. 18, before finishing at .372. Over an eight-year span, he posted at least a 4.5 WAR seven times.
“To have the honor to play with Scott Rolen, Albert Pujols, Yadi (Molina), Bret Saberhagen, these guys are legends. Todd Helton is probably at the top of that list,” Walker said. “Maybe Albert won’t like me saying that. The Hall of Fame is cool. The statues are cool. But to be his teammate is something that I really cherish.”
The statue of Helton is sleeveless, a nod to the black jerseys that became a lucky charm in the unforgettable 2007 season. It would have been more appropriate if the sleeves were rolled up. The idea of conceding an inch in the batter’s box was unthinkable. He wanted to set an example for the kid whose family paid to bring him to the ballpark.
No one spoiled more pitches. Once he even hit a home run with his feet leaving the ground as the pitch appeared poised to nail him in the chest.
“Amateur players work hard to try and do everything right. Todd worked hard to never do anything wrong,” said former Rockies outfielder Cory Sullivan. “Even though he was one of the greatest, he was a grinder.”
And he wanted to win in every facet of the game, from at the plate to his first base bag where he once pulled off a hidden ball trick for an out.
“From the coaching and manager viewpoint, Todd showed up every day focused,” said Clint Hurdle, Helton’s longtime hitting instructor and manager. “And he worked his backside off on both sides of the ball. Once the game started, the only thing that mattered to him was beating the other team’s (butt).”
Getting to the field, however, was a process way more difficult than anyone realized.
Rockies head athletic trainer Keith Dugger watched Helton evolve from endless pregame swings to agonizing rehab sessions to ease the pain in his back. His numbers would have been better had he taken more days off. The mere idea was unthinkable, leading Helton to argue anytime a manager suggested a rest.
From 1998 to 2009, he played at least 144 games 11 times, leaving Rockies’ great Charlie Blackmon to marvel on Saturday, “He did it so well for so long.”
“He was the portrait of resilience for all players in the organization to follow,” said pitcher Ubaldo Jimenez, a catalyst for the 2007 team. “Regardless of how many losing seasons he went through, he never lost hope for the team. He arrived every year with energy to show that it could be done. That motivated everyone.”
There is nothing like Cooperstown, where the echoes awake and dreams become vivid. But players are honored with a plaque. And it is in upstate New York, where, if we are being honest, not a lot of Rockies fans visit.
The ceremony Saturday revealed something sturdy, permanent, something forever for everyone.
Helton, after all, is the Rockies. And the Rockies are Helton.
Of course, he was talented. His hand-eye coordination was the stuff of Ted Williams.
But Helton’s greatness was the ability to show up the same every day as a pillar, a cornerstone, and finally, a statue.
