Sheff For Hire

Gary Sheffield was drafted when I was 5-year-old, and for close to 20 seasons, he's been quietly (quite loudly) compiling gaudy numbers in more jerseys than Lance Armstrong.

Following his latest tirade; this time aimed at Joe Torre and the allegedly racist folks that govern the so-called Evil Empire; Sheff finds himself firmly back in the limelight, even after he swore this would be the year he finally shut his mouth and played ball.

Promises, promises.

Look, Sheffield is a lot of unlikable things. Besides having a head that at least metaphorically dwarfs even that of Barry Bonds, a selfish streak that most closely resembles the late stages of full-blown narcissism and a glove big enough to catch his own gargantuan ego, he's quite arguably a future Hall of Famer and perhaps the greatest mercenary baseball has ever seen.

Yes, baseball is a team game and clubs that play that way tend to win that way (I'm thinking the 2004 Boston Red Sox), but compared with the likes of basketball, football, and hockey, it remains a sport where teams that don't always make nice can still make history (I'm looking at the last decade or so of New York Yankees clubs).

That being said, few players have made the rounds better and gotten along worse than Dwight Gooden's nephew.

From Milwaukee to San Diego to Florida to Los Angeles to Atlanta to New York to Detroit, Sheffield's had more jerseys than a World Cup competitor (did I do that one already?), and managed to produce big swings and one ring along the way, with the latter coming as part of the, ahem, legendary 1997 Florida Marlins, a team with Jose Mesa's face emblazoned on their individual hand hardware.

The point is this: Gary Sheffield is a run-producing, controversy-spouting machine with one of the most fearsome swings in all of baseball ever, but he's a player without an identity, without a diamond to call his own (even though he probably has several hundred thousand dollars worth of ones he calls his own).

He's had no problem putting up the numbers: the man's driven in more than 100 RBI a year in six of the last eight seasons, and that includes 2006 in which he played in less than 30 games due to injury. At the age of 38, he's 37th all-time in RBI, and could be in the top 30 with a strong second half this year.

But questions linger. If (and when?) Gary is inducted into Cooperstown, what hat will he wear? Who will he thank, other than himself and God, and probably in that order? And will anyone other than his family cheer, or will the crowds sit silent in a way Gary himself never could?

Of course, Gary Sheffield is hardly an anomaly as a selfish, me-first pro ball player, but he may have created a new mould for a whole new generation. And in a different sense he's extraordinarily unique, for there may never have been another player with so much talent and so little substance or apparent appreciation for the game. So effective, yet unproductive.

But hey, that's just Gary being Gary. He's a complicated man, and no one understands.

He's Sheff.

For more from Aaron Miller, visit Grandstand Admissions.