Hispanidad: Hall should honor Fernando

When baseball's Hall of Fame announces its newest members next week, there's a good chance it will take a pass on one of the top pitchers of the 1980s who also was a pioneer in the explosion of Spanish-speaking talent that comprises modern-day baseball.

Fernando Valenzuela of the Los Angeles Dodgers is a unique personality worthy of baseball's version of immortality. But the "stat geeks" among the hall's voters -- whose numerical obsessions bleach the life out of baseball -- disagree.

Valenzuela's detractors say he did not even win 200 games during the 17 seasons he pitched in "Las Ligas Grandes." But his 173 victories are more than Hall of Fame pitchers Sandy Koufax of the Dodgers (165) or the St. Louis Cardinals' Dizzy Dean (150).

They also note he bounced from the California Angels to the Baltimore Orioles, Philadelphia Phillies, San Diego Padres and the Cardinals at the end of his U.S. career.

But it is shallow to dismiss the player Dodgers fans nicknamed "El Toro." Valenzuela, who spoke only Spanish when he hit the majors and used a translator, was significant in getting Anglo baseball fans to accept Hispanic players and helped reduce tensions between Mexicans and Mexican-American immigrants.

Valenzuela was far from the first Latin American or Mexican to play professional baseball in the United States. Infielder Louis "Jud" Castro of Colombia was first, spending 1902 with the Philadelphia Athletics. Mexican Beto "Bobby" Avila was a star second baseman for the Cleveland Indians in the 1950s.

Throughout the 20th Century, ballplayers from Spanish-speaking countries -- mostly Cuba and later the Dominican Republic -- were used to supplement U.S. talent. Players like Roberto Clemente of the Pittsburgh Pirates, Luis Aparicio of the Chicago White Sox and Juan Marichal of the San Francisco Giants even led their teams to the World Series and wound up in the Hall of Fame.

But they were never allowed to forget they were "foreigners" in the United States. Aside from ethnic slurs, they often got hit with labels such as "temperamental" and "hothead."

Puerto Rican Clemente is the subject of many "moody ballplayer" stories, while Aparicio of Venezuela and Cuban teammate Minnie Minoso (whose playing career spanning five decades also is being considered this year for the Hall of Fame by a special veteran's committee) always ranked behind Anglos teammate Nellie Fox in popularity among White Sox fans.

To some fans, Marichal of the Dominican Republic will always be nothing more than the man who whacked Dodgers catcher Johnny Roseboro over the head with a bat in 1965.

Fernando was different, in part because of the unique way his career began.

He was an accidental starting pitcher on opening day 1981, and he won, beating the Houston Astros 2-0. He went on to win his first eight games -- tying the major league record.

He also had an innocence that captured the imagination of baseball fans everywhere. The phenomenon was labeled "Fernando-mania," and the Dodgers used to say they drew about 9,000 more fans per game whenever he pitched.

It came at a time when the U.S.'s Hispanic population began to assert itself, making Fernando "one of our own" to cheer for, just like an older generation of Italian-Americans virtually worshipped New York Yankees outfielder Joe DiMaggio.

Valenzuela, a native of rural Etchohuaquilla who now lives near Los Angeles, became a focal point for Mexicans on both sides of the Rio Grande, once being included in a White House meeting between Ronald Reagan and Mexican President Jose Lopez Portillo.

Samuel Regalado, a California State University-Stanislaus history professor who has studied the role of Latin Americans in U.S. baseball, said Valenzuela, "was helpful to bridge the gaps that existed between Mexicans and Mexican-Americans," since some Mexicans view their U.S. brethren as disloyal to Mexico for leaving the country.

Since Valenzuela, the number of Hispanic players in the major leagues has skyrocketed from under 10 percent to nearly 40 percent, although that figure includes players like Texas Rangers shortstop Alex Rodriguez, who is of Dominican descent but New York-born and Miami-raised.

"Clemente was a star, but he did not have the same kind of social impact when he was a player," Regalado said. "Fernando created the Latin presence of baseball, and deservedly so should get credit for it."

Aside from the cultural aspect, Valenzuela at his peak was a talented ballplayer.

He was the Dodgers' top pitcher during the 1980s, and statistician Bill James -- in his book "The New Historical Baseball Abstract" -- named Valenzuela the best left-handed pitcher in baseball for that decade.

He was a Rookie of the Year and Cy Young Award winner, a six-time All Star who won Gold Glove awards for defensive skills and Silver Slugger awards for his hitting, pitched a no-hitter in 1990 and was the first Mexican to win at least 20 games in a single season.

Even during the 1990s when Valenzuela played for a different team each year, they all took a chance on him because he was still capable of getting major league hitters out.

In short, Valenzuela set the standard by which all Hispanic ballplayers are now judged. Not even Chicago Cubs slugger Sammy Sosa (a Dominican) and the 1998 home run race against Cardinals infielder Mark McGwire can top him.

"Not to diminish Sammy Sosa's significance," Regalado said, "but Fernando came into the majors and achieved star status without relying on someone else."

(Hispanidad is a weekly column about the culture of Hispanics and Latinos in the United States, written by Greg Tejeda, a third-generation Mexican-American. Suggestions for topics can be made to gtejeda@upi.com)