MESA, Ariz. — Geovany Soto went to high school in Puerto Rico, has lived in San Juan most of his life, and will play his next significant game this weekend for Puerto Rico in the World Baseball Classic.
As for his first significant game, at age 5, Soto remembers it very clearly. It might have been just below the reservoir. Or maybe down near that ice rink. But it was definitely in Manhattan’s Central Park.
“It was awesome,” said Soto, now an All-Star for the Chicago Cubs and one of the best young catchers in baseball. “You go with your dad to the practice field, but never in my life I’d ever put a uniform on and played with other kids. I felt like, ‘Wow, it’s really happening — I’m going to play baseball.’ ”
Soto burst upon the major leagues last year, batting .285 with 23 home runs and 86 runs batted in and winning rookie of the year honors for the 97-win Cubs. He did so with many fans figuring he was yet another in the long line of top catchers with pure Puerto Rican pedigrees: from Benito Santiago and Javy López to Ivan Rodríguez and the three Molina brothers. But Soto’s first years playing baseball came in New York City.
Practice Tuesdays and Thursdays, doubleheaders on Saturdays. His parents, Antonio and Norma, had moved the Soto family from San Juan to the Bronx so that Antonio could learn the auto-body trade and Norma could train as an insurance agent. But one parent always found time to take Geovany on the 6 train down to Central Park so that his dreams could be as sprawling as the fields.
“I didn’t strike out once,” Soto said. Then again, he added with a smile, “the ball was on a tee.”
Soto spent ages 4 through 8 in a fourth-floor apartment near Westchester and Boynton Avenues, before the family moved to Florida for a year and then back to San Juan for good. Now 26 and a solid 6 feet 1 and 225 pounds, Soto has made a home at another intersection: Clark and Addison in Chicago, otherwise known as Wrigley Field.
Soto thrilled the Cubs last year, not only with his outstanding performance at the plate but with his maturity behind it. In part because of his excellent English, Soto handled the veteran pitching staff with such aplomb that many Cubs considered him the team’s backbone and most valuable player — despite the presence of established stars like Derrek Lee, Aramis Ramírez and Alfonso Soriano. Soto knew when to talk and when not to. Particularly one day when the staff ace, Carlos Zambrano, was struggling.
Zambrano expected platitudes from an impertinent rookie. But after marching out to the mound, Soto started moving his lips — with no sound, no message. Nothing. Other than the subliminal, “Loosen up, Z; this is fun.”
“Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say,” Soto said. “What am I going to say? Just throw strikes and get out of this inning? I just tried to get him to relax and get the pressure out of himself.”
Added Zambrano: “He doesn’t do the same things that everybody else does. He was just giving me a breather.” Zambrano said that during his no-hitter against Houston in September, he shook off only about a dozen pitches called by Soto.
Actually, Soto exuded a confidence that he did not always have. He had broken out in 2007 with a stunning .353-26-109 stat line in his third full season at Class AAA Iowa, but Soto had been decidedly mediocre in his six previous seasons. So even when he was hitting .352 for the Cubs in late April, he questioned his ability when he then struck out in eight straight at-bats.
“I didn’t know what to expect from a full season in the big leagues,” said Soto, who had been called up in September the previous three years. “I started out good and all of a sudden went bad. I was like, Oh my God, they got me already. There were some games where I felt lost. It was just a matter of making adjustments every single day.”
The adjustments Soto made during his long minor league struggles came both above and below the shoulders. After starring in high school, he wondered if he was washing out. He also ballooned to as much as 250 pounds. It was only after losing weight that he began to emerge, leading to his breakout season for Iowa.
“Nobody was high on him after 2006, myself included,” said Gary Hughes, a special assistant to the Cubs’ general manager, Jim Hendry. “But there was a different Geovany Soto out there.”
The new Soto had more flexibility through his midsection, allowing him to turn on pitches, and the stamina to keep calling them deep into games and seasons. (He caught 140 games last season, including the All-Star Game and the Cubs’ short three-game appearance in the playoffs.) Ryan Dempster, who won 17 games throwing to Soto, praised him for his astute pitch-calling and game preparation, even as the young catcher was one of the team’s best offensive players.
Soto will still bat sixth or seventh this season, because the Cubs added Milton Bradley to the threesome of Soriano, Lee and Ramírez. But if Soto repeats his performance or takes another step forward, he will emerge as the Cubs’ best all-around catcher since Jody Davis, and perhaps even Gabby Hartnett.
An awful lot has happened since Soto would lug his bicycle up those four flights in the Bronx, grab his little mitt, and hustle down to Central Park. He might strike out occasionally, but the tee is long gone.
As for his first significant game, at age 5, Soto remembers it very clearly. It might have been just below the reservoir. Or maybe down near that ice rink. But it was definitely in Manhattan’s Central Park.“It was awesome,” said Soto, now an All-Star for the Chicago Cubs and one of the best young catchers in baseball. “You go with your dad to the practice field, but never in my life I’d ever put a uniform on and played with other kids. I felt like, ‘Wow, it’s really happening — I’m going to play baseball.’ ”
Soto burst upon the major leagues last year, batting .285 with 23 home runs and 86 runs batted in and winning rookie of the year honors for the 97-win Cubs. He did so with many fans figuring he was yet another in the long line of top catchers with pure Puerto Rican pedigrees: from Benito Santiago and Javy López to Ivan Rodríguez and the three Molina brothers. But Soto’s first years playing baseball came in New York City.
Practice Tuesdays and Thursdays, doubleheaders on Saturdays. His parents, Antonio and Norma, had moved the Soto family from San Juan to the Bronx so that Antonio could learn the auto-body trade and Norma could train as an insurance agent. But one parent always found time to take Geovany on the 6 train down to Central Park so that his dreams could be as sprawling as the fields.
“I didn’t strike out once,” Soto said. Then again, he added with a smile, “the ball was on a tee.”
Soto spent ages 4 through 8 in a fourth-floor apartment near Westchester and Boynton Avenues, before the family moved to Florida for a year and then back to San Juan for good. Now 26 and a solid 6 feet 1 and 225 pounds, Soto has made a home at another intersection: Clark and Addison in Chicago, otherwise known as Wrigley Field.
Soto thrilled the Cubs last year, not only with his outstanding performance at the plate but with his maturity behind it. In part because of his excellent English, Soto handled the veteran pitching staff with such aplomb that many Cubs considered him the team’s backbone and most valuable player — despite the presence of established stars like Derrek Lee, Aramis Ramírez and Alfonso Soriano. Soto knew when to talk and when not to. Particularly one day when the staff ace, Carlos Zambrano, was struggling.
Zambrano expected platitudes from an impertinent rookie. But after marching out to the mound, Soto started moving his lips — with no sound, no message. Nothing. Other than the subliminal, “Loosen up, Z; this is fun.”
“Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say,” Soto said. “What am I going to say? Just throw strikes and get out of this inning? I just tried to get him to relax and get the pressure out of himself.”
Added Zambrano: “He doesn’t do the same things that everybody else does. He was just giving me a breather.” Zambrano said that during his no-hitter against Houston in September, he shook off only about a dozen pitches called by Soto.
Actually, Soto exuded a confidence that he did not always have. He had broken out in 2007 with a stunning .353-26-109 stat line in his third full season at Class AAA Iowa, but Soto had been decidedly mediocre in his six previous seasons. So even when he was hitting .352 for the Cubs in late April, he questioned his ability when he then struck out in eight straight at-bats.
“I didn’t know what to expect from a full season in the big leagues,” said Soto, who had been called up in September the previous three years. “I started out good and all of a sudden went bad. I was like, Oh my God, they got me already. There were some games where I felt lost. It was just a matter of making adjustments every single day.”
The adjustments Soto made during his long minor league struggles came both above and below the shoulders. After starring in high school, he wondered if he was washing out. He also ballooned to as much as 250 pounds. It was only after losing weight that he began to emerge, leading to his breakout season for Iowa.
“Nobody was high on him after 2006, myself included,” said Gary Hughes, a special assistant to the Cubs’ general manager, Jim Hendry. “But there was a different Geovany Soto out there.”
The new Soto had more flexibility through his midsection, allowing him to turn on pitches, and the stamina to keep calling them deep into games and seasons. (He caught 140 games last season, including the All-Star Game and the Cubs’ short three-game appearance in the playoffs.) Ryan Dempster, who won 17 games throwing to Soto, praised him for his astute pitch-calling and game preparation, even as the young catcher was one of the team’s best offensive players.
Soto will still bat sixth or seventh this season, because the Cubs added Milton Bradley to the threesome of Soriano, Lee and Ramírez. But if Soto repeats his performance or takes another step forward, he will emerge as the Cubs’ best all-around catcher since Jody Davis, and perhaps even Gabby Hartnett.
An awful lot has happened since Soto would lug his bicycle up those four flights in the Bronx, grab his little mitt, and hustle down to Central Park. He might strike out occasionally, but the tee is long gone.
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