As far as I know, Jerry Blevins is the only Major League Baseball player I’ve randomly run into twice in New York City. The first time was waiting for the subway at the 23rd Street station, and he seemed like a normal (albeit very tall) guy, with a black backpack — not much different from the hordes of writers, restaurant workers and startup employees you see on the train listening to music or reading on their phone every day.
The second time was at a sushi place with his wife. Again, no fanfare. It was a normal couple that no one else seemed to notice. If you weren’t the type of fanatical weirdo to start something called Mets Fix, you would have no idea you were dining next to a professional athlete on one of your city’s biggest teams.
I guess what I’m getting at is that — even before he announced his retirement yesterday — Jerry Blevins physically looked like a pretty ordinary guy. He’s listed at 6’6” and 175 pounds. And if you assume the media guide added a few pounds to make him seem a bit more menacing, you’re talking about an underweight — let’s just say it: skinny — guy, with the appearance of an accountant. For years, my friends and I called Jerry “the dentist” because he looked like he could easily have been one.
But Jerry Blevins wasn’t an accountant. Or a dentist. And he was no ordinary guy.
For 13 seasons, he put together a career line of 30-13 with a 3.54 ERA, 9.2 K/9 and 0.9 HR/9 as a left-handed relief pitcher, holding lefties to a .213/.270/.313 slash line. But those numbers only tell part of the story. Blevins was one of the few human beings alive whom a major league manager would entrust to come into a game to get left-handed megastars like Bryce Harper out with the tying run on base in the late innings of a must-win game.
As Anthony DiComo of MLB.com noted yesterday, Blevins made “his career neutralizing Robinson Canó (1-for-11), Joe Mauer (1-for-9), Daniel Murphy (2-for-19) and some of the game’s other top left-handed hitters.” Harper was 4-20 against him, with 6 strikeouts (though two of the hits left the yard).
In recent months, Blevins has tried his hand at commentary, appearing on SNY and podcasts, and it’s not hard to imagine him staying in the game in some sort of broadcasting capacity. In the meantime, he’s connected with fans by treating them to premium Twitter content like Noah Syndergaard gifs and a merciless mockery of Field of Dreams.
But I don’t think the only reason Jerry connected with fans was his sense of humor. When he was at his best, you saw this skinny guy who didn’t throw exceptionally hard, come in and strike out some of the best hitters on the planet in tight spots… and almost dream that you could do it, too. If this Hemingway-esque everyman could fool Anthony Rizzo late in a tie-game with runners in scoring position, maybe we could, too.
In the end, Jerry Blevins was not a dentist; he was a very solid major leaguer. And the fact that he looked like a regular guy doing it may be the greatest gift he gave us.