400 Reasons WHY does Boston's Nomar Garciaparra torture his body every off-season with a training regimen that is both cruel and unusual? BECAUSE he believes it will ultimately help him reach the hitter's holy grail

March 05, 2001
March 05, 2001

Table of Contents
March 5, 2001

Perry Reese Jr. [bonus Piece]

400 Reasons WHY does Boston's Nomar Garciaparra torture his body every off-season with a training regimen that is both cruel and unusual? BECAUSE he believes it will ultimately help him reach the hitter's holy grail

One vital bit of information is missing as Nomar Garciaparra
stands in the on-deck circle for his first at bat of a game.
Otherwise, the Boston Red Sox shortstop is as finely prepped and
calibrated as a piece of NASA machinery.

This is an article from the March 5, 2001 issue Original Layout

He has pumped what was once a six-foot beanpole frame into a
190-pound coiled steel spring of explosive power, with a scant 6%
body fat. He has built his body and, by extension, his career
with a five-hour-a-day off-season regimen--an ordeal that would
exhaust a sled dog--in which he endures the tortures of Simon
Legree devices (you try fielding grounders while strapped to
three high-tension bungee cords), lifts weights with NFL linemen
and gulps two precisely mixed protein shakes a day. (The morning
serving is 325 calories, the afternoon dose 487, thanks to an
extra 40 grams of malto-dextrin, a starchy chemical used in beer

Once the season begins, his mental preparation for each game is
an all-day task. "My very first thought when I wake up is the
game that night," Garciaparra says. "There is a feeling in my
body that begins right away, knowing I have to prepare myself. If
it's an off day, my body feels totally different when I wake up."

Sweat and science have made Garciaparra, 27, perhaps the toughest
out in baseball and, according to Ted Williams himself, the first
man in 60 years who could hit .400. Yet with all that meticulous
preparation, something is still missing as Garciaparra strides
into the on-deck circle for his first at bat. It is then that he
will look at the opposing pitcher for the first time. Only then
will he think, Oh, we're facing a lefthander today.

The first righthanded hitter since Joe DiMaggio to win
back-to-back American League batting titles, the first
righthander to hit as high as .372 since DiMaggio hit .381 in
1939, and the beloved sachem of Red Sox Nation often has no clue
whom he's facing until he is heading for the batter's box. "It
happens many times," says Garciaparra. "My attitude about that
is pretty simple. It doesn't matter who's out there. If I'm
swinging the bat real good, I feel like I should hit anybody.
And if I'm not, anyone can get me out. I don't watch much video.
If I do, it's to look at myself. I never study pitchers."

More laborer than savant, Garciaparra sees baseball as a game of
will. He will get better; he will get stronger. Pitchers, the
Boston media (which he advises new teammates to ignore), even
All-Star Games, which he has loathed at every level because they
glorify individual play, are extraneous forces that only
complicate his simple desire to improve himself.

He is a skilled drone who lives by a monk's devotion to order and
routine, including his batting glove-tugging, toe-tapping Arthur
Murray act in the batter's box before every pitch. With the
momentum of a sprinter after busting through the tape, he keeps
showing up at Fenway Park for days after each season ends.
Furthermore, don't even think of touching one of his many
favorite caps that he keeps around his family's La Habra Heights,
Calif., home. "He knows exactly where he left them and how he
left them," says his brother, Michael, 17, "and if you just do
this"--Michael gently fingers the brim of his own cap--"he gets
real mad."

In this religion of repetition, the gym has become Garciaparra's
house of worship, his meticulously scripted workouts his canon.
His epiphany came after his 1995 season with the Double A Trenton
(N.J.) Thunder, when his 155-pound body was so worn down after
only 125 games that he didn't bother going home. Instead, he
drove straight to Bradenton, Fla., to work with Mark Verstegen, a
trainer he'd known since Garciaparra played at Georgia Tech. When
Garciaparra walked through the door of his home three months and
15 pounds of muscle later, his mother gasped. "Oh my goodness!"
she exclaimed. "You're not my little baby anymore!"

The next spring at the Red Sox training camp, before he was
assigned to Triple A Pawtucket (R.I.), his fly balls carried over
walls and his line drives shot through gaps. Hallelujah! He was a
believer. Each spring since, Garciaparra has returned stronger to
the team's camp in Fort Myers, Fla. After new Boston pitcher
David Cone saw him for the first time in the clubhouse at spring
training last week, the righthander remarked, "The guy is ripped.
What I noticed was the presence he has on this team. When he
walks into the room, you know it."

Spring training, with its rote and repetition, suits Garciaparra.
He fields grounders nearly every day with a Little League-sized
glove, which he says forces him to stay low for every ball and
prevents laziness that can creep into such fielding drills. He
takes batting practice with gamelike intensity.

"He does everything at game speed," new Red Sox hitting coach
Rick Down says. "Some guys will take 100 grounders, but it's just
eyewash. They're doing it half speed. It's always game speed with
Nomar, even batting practice. He doesn't waste any time. I think
the only thing that's surprised me about him is that he uses a 33
[inch], 31 [ounce] bat. That's Tony Gwynn-small. But he has
tremendous hand-eye coordination and hits everything hard."

Training camp is a church picnic for Garciaparra after another
training immersion with Verstegen, who now directs the Athletes'
Performance Instititute in Tempe, Ariz. Garciaparra pays $1,500
per week for what is a six-week muscular retreat in which the
typical day begins at 9 a.m. and ends at 4:30 p.m. He has worked
with Verstegen every winter since that 1995 epiphany, always
beginning in the first week of January. Garciaparra's regimen
actually begins with his annual call to Verstegen on the day
after Thanksgiving to tell him he is starting to train to prepare
himself for Verstegen's training.

"I saw him at Georgia Tech," says Seattle Mariners righthander
Aaron Sele, Garciaparra's former teammate with the Red Sox. "He
was a rail, just a skinny old shortstop. As I watched him
develop, I knew why it happened. He's got an incredible desire. I
don't know anybody who's more driven."

"Nomar masters whatever I throw at him," Verstegen says. "He is
the utopian athlete with the utopian attitude. I wake up in the
middle of the night trying to find ways to challenge him."

On Feb. 13, a training day that Verstegen says is "light" in
deference to Boston's first full-squad workout eight days later,
Garciaparra, Red Sox infielder Lou Merloni and St. Louis
Cardinals outfield prospect Troy McNaughton worked for 2 1/2
hours in the morning on outdoor "multidirectional drills"
designed to improve fielding range, quickness and agility. The
maneuvers included hopping eight consecutive times over a bungee
cord held about three feet off the ground; running and jumping
over a series of low and high hurdles; playing a game of
one-on-one tag inside a small rectangular area; and, with thick
bungee cords hooked to the waist at each side and in back,
fielding tennis balls. (On other mornings you could find
Garciaparra kicking 52-yard field goals or running sprints while
pulling, plow-horse style, a metal sled weighted with a 25-pound
plate.) Garciaparra and Merloni then snuck in their only actual
baseball work: They played catch for about five minutes and
flipped balls to each other to hit for another 15.

After a break for lunch, the baseball players joined about a
dozen NFL players and prospects for 2 1/2 hours of indoor
strength training. They heaved medicine balls against a wall;
jumped as high as they could while restrained by cords fastened
to a platform; jumped from a standing position onto a
36-inch-high platform in between sets of squats; did abdominal
crunches atop a large stability ball, with a piece of foam
wedged between their legs; repeatedly yanked a rope attached to
a variable resistance machine in a motion that loosely mimics
trying to start a very stubborn lawn mower; and tackled various
other exercises before they ended their day being stretched by a

Beginning on Jan. 2, Garciaparra pulled similar double sessions
every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. There were only
morning sessions on Wednesdays, a "recovery day" devoted to
exercises in an outdoor pool, and Saturdays, which involved
various drills. Sundays were off days.

Much of Garciaparra's training is designed to enhance the
rotational strength of his midsection. "He has exceptional
strength around the trunk area," Verstegen says. That is evident
in his hitting style. Garciaparra bats from a slightly open
stance with his hands and hips cocked back, toward the catcher.
As the pitcher delivers the ball Garciaparra takes almost no
stride with his front foot. Instead, he derives his power from a
ferociously fast uncoiling of his hips and hands into the pitch.

"What's amazing about Nomar is that no matter what type of pitch
you throw, where you throw it or when you throw it, he can hit it
and hit it hard," Sele says. "He reminds me of Kirby Puckett."

Like a roofer pounding in nails, he hits the center of the ball
on the center of his bat barrel with such astonishing frequency
that the barrels of his bats--which he "breaks in" with repeated
batting practice, a custom other hitters wouldn't dare employ for
risk of breaking game bats--become harder than those of his
teammates. Says Merloni, "I cannot tell you how many times we've
sat there in the dugout and gone, 'How the hell did he do that?'
He never gets fooled, almost never breaks a bat. He couldn't care
less about what a pitcher throws. He figures if it's a strike or
anything close to it, he'll hit it."

This is an era of great slugging in baseball, one in which
players have found aid in iron, pills and powders. It is an era
in which a 5'8" backup infielder like Merloni weighs as much (214
pounds) as NFL Hall of Fame linebacker Jack Ham did early in his
career. Garciaparra may be the most highly evolved of these
highly trained modern players, having devoted himself so
completely to training that he regularly rips off such tech-speak
as "cleansing the lymphatic system" and "firing my glutes."

"If I hadn't done the training, today I'd be just a good fielding
shortstop hitting seventh or eighth in the lineup. Maybe
leadoff," he says. In other words, he would be Cristian Guzman,
the Minnesota Twins' light-hitting shortstop. Instead, he has a
better career slugging percentage (.573) than 6'3", 210-pound
Texas Rangers shortstop Alex Rodriguez (.561). Scott Boras,
Rodriguez's agent, ran a statistical study that predicts
Garciaparra at age 40 will have 513 home runs, 3,581 hits and a
.336 career batting average.

If he makes it to 40. Despite his fanatical training, Garciaparra
has not been an especially durable player. He has missed 77 games
over the past four years, mostly because of leg injuries.
Verstegen, aware that Garciaparra patrols shortstop with abandon,
says, "He plays with such explosiveness that he may always be on
the borderline of injury. It's my job to reduce those chances,
and I think about it all the time."

So intense is Garciaparra that he once earned the nickname No
Nonsense Nomar. That was in T-ball in Whittier, Calif. His
father, Ramon, a high school baseball coach, always preached to
his son, "Don't strike out," and to reinforce the message paid
him 25 cents for each hit but fined him 50 cents for each whiff.
(Last year Garciaparra, with 50 strikeouts in 599 plate
appearances, was the eighth toughest batter in baseball to fan.)

When Nomar was 13, Ramon put him in a batting cage to hit against
a college pitcher who threw 90 mph. Nomar whiffed badly on the
first pitch. "Come on, let's go!" Ramon said. His son whacked the
next two pitches right back at the college guy.

"My father was always pushing me and telling me, 'I know you can
do it,'" Garciaparra says. "Well, I didn't know. But I'd try, and
then I could do it. After he was right so many times, if he told
me to jump off a bridge and I would be perfectly fine, I'd do

Garciaparra made the big leagues in late August 1996. Williams,
the Red Sox icon, was watching Boston play on television one day
when he saw this kid with the wiry build, the quick, slashing
stroke, one of those old-time, crooked-nose faces that belong
atop a flannel uniform--Garciaparra has broken his nose four times
and has slight difficulty breathing through it--and an inferno for
a pilot light. Williams grabbed a phone and called Boston general
manager Dan Duquette.

"Dan, that shortstop you brought up reminds me of a player, but I
can't quite figure out who," Williams said.

Two weeks later Duquette's phone rang. Williams didn't even
bother saying hello. "DiMaggio!" he shouted into the phone.
"That's who he reminds me of. DiMaggio! The build, the face, the
foot speed, the way he swings and the ease with which he plays
the game. It's uncanny."

"Now," Duquette says, "Nomar is such a testament to what a
ballplayer can be with training that he will go beyond DiMaggio,
in terms of power."

Like a page-turner of a novel, Garciaparra keeps you eager to see
what comes next, especially this season, when he will have the
most efficient RBI machine in baseball, free-agent signee Manny
Ramirez, riding shotgun with him. Garciaparra is likely to bat
third and Ramirez fourth, though close-to-the-vest manager Jimy
Williams, who won't reveal the color of the sky until the sun
comes up, has made no pronouncements. "What he did tell me was
that he's going to make a lineup for spring training and keep it
that way," says Garciaparra, the devout disciple of order, who
last year grew so weary of Williams's lineup shuffling (the Sox
used a major league-high 140 lineups) that he said he pleaded to
the manager in midseason, "Just leave me fourth."

Last week Garciaparra declared, "It really doesn't matter to me
where I hit, and Manny feels the same way. I'd just rather be
kept in the same spot." With Ramirez behind him, Garciaparra
could well maintain the trajectory that has characterized his
career--a straight line upward. Here are his annual batting
averages, beginning with his 24-game cameo in 1996: .241, .306,
.323, .357, .372.

His brethren in the fraternity of elite shortstops, Rodriguez and
the New York Yankees' Derek Jeter, may have scored contracts over
the winter worth a combined $441 million. (Garciaparra has been
content with a seven-year, $45.25 million deal, assuming the Red
Sox pick up option years in 2003 and 2004.) Only Garciaparra
among them can envision as a real possibility an even more
jaw-dropping number: .400.

"He will hit .400," says two-time American League batting
champion Edgar Martinez of the Mariners. "He's only 27. He's
still a baby. I felt like I was at my best when I was 32. That's
when you have the knowledge and experience. And you know he will
still be in shape. He'll do it. He has a lot of time to do it."

Williams is sure Garciaparra could do it if only he would take
100 walks--he walked a career-high 61 times last year. The idea of
taking pitches, though, is anathema to someone who put the first
pitch he saw in play 125 times last year, and batted .432 doing
it. "They call it hitting, not walking," Garciaparra says. "The
way I look at it, you can go up there and stand at the plate
looking real pretty, or you can be aggressive and swing. I'm
never going to look pretty, so I'm going to hit.

"You know what? Four hundred is possible. It's hard, obviously,
but I wouldn't say it's impossible. You need a lot of things to
go your way. I think more than anything else, it depends on how
the year goes for the people around you."

Do you want to be the one to tell No Nonsense it can't be done?
There is an old French fable about hornets and bees that begins
with this moral: By the work, one knows the workman. What
Garciaparra has made of himself, in uniform and out, reveals who
he is. He is a devout laborer, hammer in hand, who keeps
pounding, pounding away.

COLOR PHOTO: COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY WALTER IOOSS JR. COVER A Cut Above How Boston's Nomar Garciaparra made himself the toughest out in baseballCOLOR PHOTO: PHOTOGRAPH BY WALTER IOOSS JR.FOUR COLOR PHOTOS: PHOTOGRAPHS BY JASON WISE TORTURE TRACK At the Athletes' Performance Institute in Tempe, Ariz., Garciaparra's grueling six-week, two-a-day strength and conditioning routine includes (from left) abdominal crunches while lying on a stability ball, agility drills like resisted fielding, the VertiMax jump (under the gaze of Verstegen) and balance training.TWO COLOR PHOTOS: JOHN IACONO

Short 'n' Sweet

Nomar Garciaparra's seven-year, $45.25 million contract isn't a
match for the megadeals of Alex Rodriguez (10 years, $252
million) and Derek Jeter (10 years, $189 million), but his
on-field performance is. For the three seasons combined since
Garciaparra signed his contract in March 1998, he ranks first
among 25 major league shortstops (minimum: 300 games) in batting
average, doubles, runs batted in and slugging percentage. Here
are the triumvirate's three-year averages and, in parentheses,
where they place among all shortstops. --David Sabino


Batting .326 (1) .321 (2) .300 (5)
Hits 198 (2) 204 (1) 177 (3)
Doubles 41 (1) 31 (4) 33 (T2)
Home runs 31 (2) 18 (3) 36 (1)
RBIs 108 (1) 85 (3) 106 (2)
Runs 112 (2) 126 (1) 111 (3)
Slugging pct. .571 (1) .478 (3) .546 (2)
On-base pct. .371 (3) .397 (2) .356 (7)
Fielding pct. .968(16) .979 (6) .972 (13)
Chances 660 (T4) 660 (T4) 656 (7)
Double plays 84 (10) 85 (8) 92 (5)

"DiMaggio!" Ted Williams shouted into the phone. "That's who
he reminds me of. DiMaggio!"