Nothing overrated about Bryce Harper’s maturation, unanimous MVP season
Months ago, when his fellow players were conspiring to label him the most overrated player in the game (again), Bryce Harper smiled and shook his head at the notion he wasn’t much loved by his peers. He didn’t say much that day, something along the lines of Whadda ya gonna do?, as he had a clubhouse of men whose expectations meant more (and maybe, who knows, voted with that majority), and a heart that demanded better than any dumb magazine poll of fellow big leaguers.
Besides, he had to go hit.
On the front end of 654 plate appearances in his fourth big-league season, Harper first endured the sort of sandbox ridicule that comes with choosing a sandbox profession. On the back end he led the National League in home runs, runs, on-base percentage, slugging percentage, WAR and neck abrasions, then learned the same juvenile clique had decided he was the league’s most outstanding player, and then on Thursday discovered the writers had made it, in all ways, unanimous.
Bryce Harper is the pretty girl nobody wants to like, the pretty girl with a beard and eye black and 1.109 OPS it must be said, who also – turns out – kicks their asses.
Harper, who turned 23 last month, “The Chosen One” once, the young man plenty of people would just love to see fail, is the National League’s Most Valuable Player.
The future of Bryce Harper is all grown up. It is broader in the shoulder, smoother in the batter’s box, rounder in the game, and precisely what the past of Bryce Harper foretold. It’s not easy when you’re supposed to be a big-leaguer at 19, then become a big-leaguer at 19, and find yourself in a man’s game at 19 when there’s still so much maturing to come.
And so for four years, those being college – or minor-league – years for most, he lugged the expectation that maybe tomorrow he would be the best. And if not tomorrow, then why not, Bryce? When then?
Well, today. He received 30 of 30 votes by the BBWAA, the 18th unanimous winner in MVP history, by a landslide over runners-up Arizona’s Paul Goldschmidt and Cincinnati’s Joey Votto. He is the fourth-youngest winner ever, the youngest to win it unanimously and, uncomfortable as it may be, unfair as it most certainly is, precisely what everyone demanded he be … yesterday.
In the moments after being hugged by his parents and tilting back his head ever so slightly, perhaps to hold a tear, Harper thanked his mom and dad for allowing him to grow up ahead of schedule, and teammates – Ian Desmond and Jayson Werth in particular – for nudging him in good directions, and fans whether patient or not, and an organization for believing. But in that batter’s box there was only one man, and in years he only barely qualified. Harper had been healthy for a full season for the first time. He’d pushed together about 1,500 major league plate appearances leading into the season. He’d considered his skills, which were unique, and how they might better play in that batter’s box. He’d endured under the weight of being Bryce Harper, self-generated, even self-inflicted, for sure, but still heavy.
And then, at 22, he hit .330 with 42 jacks.
“It’s always been, what have you done for me lately?” Harper said without judgment. “I knew I could do that.”
The plan, then, was to stay on the field. The plan was to play, to be Bryce Harper every day, to let the oh-fers go, to show up again and start over, to be the player he’d always fought to be, the one he saw in himself, what, four years ago? Six? Ten?
“A lot of people knew who I was growing up,” Harper said. “A lot of people know who I am now. I just want to do what I do on an every day basis.”
And then, “Tomorrow’s a new day. More obstacles are coming.”
He was gracious on one of the better days of his professional career. He lauded the New York Mets for doing what the Washington Nationals could not. He wore a nice suit and did up his hair. He looked young and laughed a little too hard and said over and over that the first goal was always to win a World Series, though this would do for a few hours. Presumably he’d be back at it by Friday, because the obstacles are indeed coming, and his dad would be throwing him batting practice soon enough, and those weights aren’t going to lift themselves.
It’s been a ride, man, every bit of it. That it’s only just getting started does not shorten the journey. This was what he wanted to be, probably what he knew he could be, and all that was left were the million steps to get there.
“I want to be the best that I can,” he said.
Maybe he’s not there yet. It seems he was close enough for most. In fact, you could call it unanimous.
