Javier Baez Will Save the Chicago Cubs or He Won't

Tuesday night, in Denver, the Chicago Cubs and the Colorado Rockies attempted to kill baseball. In the top of the seventh, the Cubs sent nine batters to the plate, the Rockies sent four pitchers to the mound, and none of them did much of anything. Over the course of what felt like half an hour, but was actually closer to an infinite length of time, ball after ball was thrown just out of the strike zone. Six straight walks and a sacrifice fly gave the Cubs a miraculous lead, loading the bases for Javier Baez on the night of his major league debut.

This was his moment.

Cubs fans have been impatient for Baez, a natural shortstop with the kind of power that Wrigley Field hasn't seen since Sammy Sosa packed up his yellow sweater and went home. He has, in the words of Cubs commentator Len Kasper, "the fastest bat in the minor leagues," making him sound like some kind of forlorn gunman cursed to roam the ballparks of AAA. His swing isn't just quick, it's flashy, with a high leg kick and a Sheffieldian bat-wiggle that suggests Baez won't just be good, he will be fun. On a franchise that hasn't had much fun in a long time, this is invaluable.

The Cubs have spent years waiting for Baez to mature, but this 21 year-old has thought himself ready for a long time. Yesterday, Patrick Mooney wrote about a story from Baez's high school days, when he was invited to a banquet for Florida's top young baseball players. Asked to give his name and the college he would like to attend, he leaned over the mic and said, "Javier Baez, Major League Baseball University." Whether or not this is true—and it's such a good story that it simply has to be—it shows a young player who thinks major league stardom is his birthright. On the back of his neck is a tattoo of the MLB logo, put there before he was drafted to match the jersey he expected to someday wear. That kind of swagger will become legendary if he plays up to his potential. If not, well…let's not worry about that now.

Given the chance to earn the tattoo in the top of the seventh, Baez lined out to deep right field, and the Cubs' announcers did their best to hide their disappointment. While pitching prospects tend to come on strong—and often implode after a year or two—elite hitters grow like a creeping vine. That Sheffield fellow always being compared to Baez didn't start hitting homers until his fifth season in the majors—he was a crusty 23 years-old—and no one expects Baez to instantly replicate his minor league production. Even so, in a dark corner of the fan's demented mind, there is hope that he might be the next Mike Trout—a top prospect who turned out to be better than any of us could imagine.

The Cubs don't want you thinking such thoughts.

"There's an acknowledgement that he can struggle…and that's okay," said Kasper, like a father struggling to teach his son that winning isn't everything.

"There's a greater chance that he struggles," one-upped Jim Deshaies, "than that he goes off."

But fans will only be happy to see Baez struggle for a week or two. A bad two months can be rationalized away as growing pains, but if he starts next year slow, unease will start to grow. It doesn't take long for a fanbase to give up on a top prospect, and starting a career with a hitless streak is an easy way to burn through their patience. The license to struggle expires faster than we think.

After the idiocy of the seventh inning, the Cubs and Rockies traded mediocrities for over another hour, staggering into the bottom of the 11th with the Cubs ahead by one. Baez had gone 0-5, and those Cub fans still watching were preparing themselves to write off his lousy debut as "just one game." But then the Cubs, succumbing either to destiny or to the fact that bad teams tend to play badly, let Colorado tie it. We would go to the 12th. Baez would bat again.

This time, things went according to plan. His bat waggled, his leg kicked, and he swung so hard that he nearly knocked himself over—an undignified moment, if he hadn't just sent a baseball flying 406 feet into the bullpens of Coors Field. Based on a short film clip that surfaced yesterday of Babe Ruth hitting a foul ball, the tumbling swing looked almost Ruthian. It's silly to lay such a heavy adjective on a kid with one big league hit—just as it's silly to compare him to Gary Sheffield—but for a moment last night, there was no reason to rationalize, to hold back hope, to think anything other than, "This kid will be the greatest who ever lived."

Based on the back of his neck, Javier Baez would agree with you.

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