April 3, 2002
By Pedro Gomez
The Arizona Republic
PHOENIX - Watching Mark Grace take batting practice brings joy to the baseball soul.
Seven line drives to left field in his first session. Seven more to center in his second trip inside the cage followed by another seven, this time to right field.
Grace uses batting practice for its intended purpose, not to crush balls as far as possible.
When players are down to their final two swings during BP, Grace calls out, "Single and a homer." The Diamondbacks first baseman proceeds to rip a laser into right field and then one over the fence, also to right. His pregame mission accomplished once again.
The game is sacred to Grace. He reveres it, which is why his reputation within the game is impeccable.
"He was born to play baseball," teammate Danny Bautista said. "He feels the game from the inside. He has the spirit of the game within him."
Grace opens his 14th major league season with a distinction that makes him wince. At 37, Grace is the oldest cleanup hitter in the bigs, edging Texas' Rafael Palmeiro by three months.
While he cringed at the thought, deep down there was a sense of delight to the distinction.
"There are titles you like to have," said Grace, who had more hits and doubles than anyone during the 1990s. "Being the oldest cleanup hitter, I'm not sure that's one I really like. I guess it's kind of flattering to be the oldest, but it's more flattering to be the cleanup hitter for the world champs."
One day after he made three defensive gems at first base and launched the game-padding solo home run in Arizona's 2-0 Opening Day victory, there was little the three-time All-Star did on the field to distinguish himself during the Diamondbacks' 9-0 thrashing of San Diego on Tuesday night.
But this is someone whose worth could never be measured by a box score. Stats simply don't tell what Grace brings to a ballclub.
It's impossible to imagine the Diamondbacks winning last year's World Series without the addition of Grace to the mix.
He brought a self-deprecating personality that was lacking in previous years. He made himself the butt of jokes during the down times and never took himself too seriously.
Grace could parachute into any decade and be a major league player, which is probably the highest compliment any big leaguer can receive, one that only a few dozen could claim.
The term "old school" has been floated for several years now.
It's used to refer to athletes who play the game the way it was intended, those who play for the sport and competition, not the money.
Step into the Diamondbacks clubhouse long after any of their games and chances are very good that Grace will be sitting in his underwear and a ragged T-shirt in his locker stall, a bucket of beers by his feet and a Marlboro in his hand.
You want to talk ball, simply pull up a chair.
It's a picture that dates to the game's earliest days.
Nowadays it's a mad scramble for players to shower, dress and bolt out of the clubhouse.
Unfortunately, this is where many young players are missing out on an invaluable education, the passing down of knowledge.
"You get a different perspective other than your own," Grace said of the postgame rap sessions. "It doesn't mean you have to have a beer. You can sit here with a Hawaiian Punch if you want. But the beers act like a truth serum.
"Absolutely you learn from those talks."
Grace remembers when team meetings took place at Jay's, a bar in Pittsfield, Mass., home of the Chicago Cubs' Double-A affiliate, when he was a 22-year-old minor leaguer.
"Our manager said we could do whatever we want as long as it didn't affect us on the field," Grace said.
At nearly 38, Grace has lived a hard and fast baseball life to the fullest, one that would have made Sinatra proud.
More important, he is a treasured link to times that, sadly, may never return.
Reach Gomez at pedro.gomez@arizonarepublic.com or (602) 444-2364.