Venezuelan-born Guillen earns players' trust, in any language
BY DAVID HAUGH
The Chicago Tribune
Posted on Tue, Oct. 25, 2005
CHICAGO - Forever looking for a laugh in any language, Chicago White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen was asked last week if he thought the seven Hispanic players on his 25-man World Series roster should take an English course in the off-season.
"I hope they don't," Guillen said, "because my kids make a little money with them."
Indeed, Guillen's sons Ozzie Jr., 21, and Oney, 19, often act as interpreters during interviews for Sox players who speak Spanish as their primary language. When Jose Contreras faced the media at a podium at Angel Stadium on Oct. 16 after pitching the American League pennant-clincher, it was Guillen Jr. who translated his joy across the country.
The underlying message of that moment, a symbol of this historic season, required no words.
More than any other player, Contreras represents how small the communication gap is between player and manager in a heavily Hispanic Sox clubhouse. On a White Sox team without a superstar in the mold of Sammy Sosa or Barry Bonds, Guillen is the marquee attraction, absorbing media pressure he is not afraid to place on himself. Players do not resent his top billing because his messages to them, in any language, are as direct as a fastball under the chin.
"You appreciate that,'' catcher A.J. Pierzynski said. "What you see is what you get."
Whatever the language, Guillen has led the Sox with a voice that has carried them all the way to the World Series. Clearly, in Oz they trust, and nobody trusts the dynamo manager more than Contreras, the second-half ace of the pitching staff who refers to Guillen as "my friend."
Contreras credits Guillen, one of two Hispanic managers in major-league baseball, with restoring the confidence he had lost pitching in New York.
"(Ozzie) is a funny guy and he's easy to get along with. . . . I think that's why we've had the success we've had,'' Contreras said through an interpreter. "It's a friendship on and off the field."
Other Latin-born players such as shortstop Juan Uribe and pitcher Freddy Garcia, Guillen's relative through marriage, speak of feeling at ease around a fellow Latin who happens to be their boss.
Even tough-luck pitcher Damaso Marte, who briefly got on Guillen's bad side when he was late to the clubhouse last month, said the absence of a language barrier improved his understanding of how that situation was handled.
"There's respect," Marte said.
Guillen helps foster that respect with something as simple as a daily greeting. He forges relationships that many old-school managers resist.
Typically, the Sox clubhouse resembles a fiesta. On most days, salsa music is blaring through the sound system or Telemundo is commanding players' attention on the TV sets. The players occupying the middle row of lockers next to each other, on purpose - Contreras, Orlando "El Duque" Hernandez, Garcia, Luis Vizcaino and Marte - appreciate the atmosphere.
Vizcaino used the Spanish words "mi casa'' ("my house") to describe it.
"I feel like this is like my second home and I've never felt that way before about a baseball team," Vizcaino said.
Vizcaino came to the Sox from Milwaukee, where he played for Ned Yost. "He didn't speak much Spanish. It made it hard. I felt more alone and less part of things. With Ozzie, every day he talks to you. It makes us feel together."
Guillen did not enjoy such a luxury for much of his playing career. As a 19-year-old minor-league shortstop from Caracas, Venezuela, thrust onto the Double-A level in Beaumont, Texas, in the San Diego Padres' farm system, Guillen had only "my bat and my glove to speak for me," he recalled recently.
He picked up a few English phrases on the street and from former teammate John Kruk, now an ESPN analyst.
"I didn't understand (anything)," Guillen said. "I was by myself, no car, nothing. Now, you go to Double A, they have someone there to kiss you, (ask) what you need, what can we do for you. When I was there, it was like, `If you're no good, go back to your country.' ''
After being traded to the White Sox, for whom he started as a 21-year-old rookie in 1985, Guillen played for Tony La Russa, a rarity among managers in that he spoke Spanish.
"Just barely, (but) good enough," Guillen said.
La Russa, now with the St. Louis Cardinals, is one of a handful of bilingual managers, along with Dusty Baker of the Cubs, Mike Scioscia of the Los Angeles Angels and Felipe Alou of the San Francisco Giants. The list is likely to grow as Hispanic players continue to gain representation on major-league rosters.
According to MLB figures, 24 percent of the 829 players on rosters this season were born in the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Mexico, Venezuela or Cuba. The number expands to 40 percent at the minor-league level.
The numbers provide support for Latin players adapting to a new language and land, which Guillen wishes he would have had when he played.
"It was tough because we didn't have coaches, players, teammates . . . you had maybe two or three guys on every team," he said. "If you would see somebody here from another team who (spoke) Spanish, you would take them to the house to eat together, go to the hotel together. Now there's like 10 guys. You're not going to take 10 guys to your house. Now, it's easier.''
The Latin influence on the Sox might well make Guillen a better manager because he can get through to, say, Contreras in a way Yankees manager Joe Torre could not.
"Absolutely, it goes both ways," Sox general manager Ken Williams said. "We're diverse because we're looking for the best in talent and character. It just happened that way. I could care less what the makeup of the club is as long as it works together as a whole."
It works, to a large degree, because of the absence of what Guillen referred to as "the wall" between players and some English-speaking managers.
"American guys can't say anything behind me," Guillen said. "Sometimes when you're an American manager and the Latinos are all over you, you don't know what they're saying. That doesn't happen with me. I understand everyone."
Not every player in the Sox's clubhouse can say that, but the players who know only a few words of Spanish get by. Pierzynski, for example, often speaks with his eyes and hand gestures such as a closed fist or pat on the rump during trips to the mound to communicate with the Sox's five Hispanic pitchers.
"I can understand enough," Pierzynski said. "I know a few words. It isn't a problem."
Throw in Japanese second baseman Tadahito Iguchi and it's easy to understand why Sox players have developed a vocabulary all their own that might be difficult to understand anywhere else but the diamond.
"Everybody speaks different languages," center fielder Aaron Rowand said, "but everybody speaks baseball."
Guillen hopes the rest of baseball hears the statement made by the Sox's success and see the impact a Latin manager can have on a roster. The role of Hispanic pioneer is one Guillen embraces.
"That's my goal," he said of paving the way for more Latino managers. "You have to hire a manager because they should be good enough to do this, not because you're a Latino and they're going to feel sorry for you and say, `OK, here.' ... But I hope it means more (jobs).''
It means a lot to Guillen to be able to speak to so many people of both languages.
At the end of his news conference after the pennant-clincher in Anaheim, the moderator asked Guillen if he wanted to say anything to Venezuela. He paused, collected himself, and spoke expansively in his native tongue about gratitude.
In the media or the clubhouse, Guillen chooses words that resonate, making up for in sincerity what he might lack in syntax.
"No matter what color, what country, what religion, what you believe, we have a team," he said. "I respect people's religions, people's race, where they grew up. Iguchi (has) his own way. The Dominicans have their own way. The Venezuelans have their own way. They might not hang around together in the streets, but when they're at the ballpark, they're there for one reason - the Chicago White Sox."
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