BravesNuWorld || An Atlanta Braves Blog

Chipper Jones’ numbers have been abysmal: all star votes, gold gloves, SportsCenter mentions, hell, even fantasy league drafts–all have been laughably insufficient.

His…other numbers, however, have been other worldly.

I think it’s official that Braves fans–no, baseball fans–are witnessing something very special. Chipper Jones, at 36 and some change, is the best hitter on planet earth, and has been since, well, he was still 34. He has hit .400 since last May which is saying quite a lot for an athlete in a sport whose best athletes have more dry spells than the Sahara Desert. Traditionally, his meaning to the Braves only becomes too painfully apparent in absentia; when he’s missing, the Braves look lost, scared even. That a very successful franchise’s prowess seems predicated on one man is testament to his inimitable value; that his contribution is lost on many baseball fans–Atlanta’s by no means excepted–is ludicrous.

The business like approach of the franchise to which he belongs is one likely reason for Hoss’s low profile compared to the stars of the flashier teams like the Mets and Red Sox. The fans in Atlanta, notoriously demure, have admired him much the way they did Dale Murphy, which is to say dispassionately, and I doubt very much they’ll know what they had until it is gone.

Chipper hit his 12th home run yesterday, and was thrice on base during another Braves pummeling of their division rival New York Mets– before he was plunked in the shin by an errant pitch. As he limped off the field, arms wrapped around the trainers (who probably have put on 10 lbs. of muscle from all the heavy lifting this year) Turner Field became something it rarely ever does: hostile. The torrent of boos that descended on the field after Chipper exited was deafening. Several other Braves had been sporting nice bruises and goose eggs from their inside offerings in the series, but now they had gone too far. In the next at bat, Teixeira hit a double down the line to plate two more. The crowd cheered briefly, and then, amazingly, went right back to voicing their displeasure, even louder than before. Chipper was gone, but this time it was the Met dugout that looked scared. The future hall of famer’s elegy had finally arrived, it seemed, in a cacophony of anger, as an entire city rallied to Chipper’s side.

Wednesday night proved that Chipper Jones’ contributions may have finally started to resonate. That fast ball may have stung all of us, jostled us from our collective reverie, and forced us to remember that we are witnessing something that comes around about as often as Haley’s comet. He has been the face of the Braves franchise for more than a decade when most others have changed theirs more than Joan Rivers. He is the Braves’ version of Tony Gwynn, only a better hitter.

Chipper Jones is more than the straw that stirs the drink–he is the drink, and has been for a decade. Here’s to Hoss: may we continue to appreciate him like a fine wine, as he continues to mature like one.

Ray–[BravesNuWorld]