In the late days of an Iowa summer, Albert Garcia sat and needled ink into Javier Báez’s skin. An intimate ritual. Báez had been wanting this tattoo for months. He waited to set up an appointment with the right person, someone he knew would do justice to his sister’s memory, someone he could trust.
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Any Báez story starts and ends with his late sister, Noely. It was an often told part of the mythos as Báez rose to fame in cities like Chicago and New York.
But seven years ago, Báez was in Des Moines, Iowa, a touted prospect still searching for his place in the game, still developing his own voice and identity. He hit .169 in his first 52 MLB games in 2014. He didn’t make the Cubs roster to begin the new season. And then he learned his sister’s latest lung problems were severe and the prognosis was grim.
Noely — his source of joy, his biggest inspiration — had spina bifida, a birth defect that leaves part of the spinal cord and spinal nerves exposed. He boarded a plane to Florida, but Noely was gone before he landed, and in the hospital, he held her lifeless hand and said goodbye. Báez took a month-long leave from the Cubs. He eventually returned to navigate the ups and downs of a minor-league summer.
He was crushing Triple-A pitching, but a broken finger derailed his chances at a midseason call-up. As the season wore on, Báez still had not been called back to the majors.
For a time, he felt ready to quit. To go home and be with family and escape all the noise and pressure that sometimes felt like too much to carry.
But Báez had called Garcia to Iowa for a reason. Garcia, a tattoo artist well-known in the baseball community, had tattooed Báez the previous summer on a road trip in Cincinnati, a small graffiti-style tattoo of a character driving a tank. This time, Báez and his brother, Gadiel, wanted portraits of Noely. Garcia asked for a detailed photo, and Báez gave him several options to choose from. They settled on a portrait of Noely smiling and throwing up a peace sign with her fingers. The tattoo would be inscribed into Báez’s right shoulder. The lengthy ink session was part therapy, part healing, one more way to honor a lost sister while grappling with the fact the world moves on.
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Garcia that day saw Báez in his rawest form. Emotional, beat down, unsure. So different from the dazzling player who, only a year later, would capture the heart of Chicago with beautiful glovework, magical tags, moonshot home runs and contagious, exuberant energy.
“I think he felt some comfort after our session,” Garcia said. “There was a reason he wanted to get the portrait of his sister. Him and his brother getting those portraits, I like to think it gave them a little more encouragement just to keep on.”
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The other narrative always tied to Báez is the dichotomous nature of his game. The homers and the strikeouts, the highlights and the occasional errors, the boom and bust of a player so good yet sometimes so frustrating. Sometimes, scouts, fans, coaches and players wonder if Báez’s flaws come from a bad attitude, arrogance, or worse, indifference.
Too many people still don’t get it. The unbridled passion that creates Báez’s gaping flaws is the same source that fuels his greatest strengths.
Too many people still have Javy Báez all wrong.
“What do you think?”
Tom Clark can still hear those words echo in his head. Like something from a clichéd baseball movie, he was sitting in a car with Tim Wilken, then the Cubs’ scouting director, a time-tested baseball man who had seen it all.
The two scouts had been evaluating Báez for nearly a year. Clark had seen him play summer ball and even followed as his high school bounced around Florida and the southeastern U.S. playing anyone it could find.
They saw the hands, which other evaluators had already started comparing to Gary Sheffield. They saw the feel and the guts and the baseball instincts — in Wilken’s mind, all that got a perfect score of 80.
They also knew the word on the street, things like this from a scouting report published in Baseball America: “His tools fit the catcher profile, but his makeup does not. He plays with energy, but it’s not always positive, and he turns off some scouts with emotional outbursts and an off-field demeanor some describe as aloof.”
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To draft a player is to make an investment, and to make such an investment in a high-stakes game means risking your reputation. The Cubs’ duo loved Báez. But they wanted to be sure. That’s why Clark had been watching Báez so closely for so long.
Clark had experienced some of the oddities first-hand. At a tournament in Sebring — the same one where Báez pointed at the MLB logo already tattooed on the back of his neck and told other players he was committed “to the University of Major League Baseball” — Clark had met with Báez and basically got the cold shoulder. He found a young kid who didn’t like to engage. Introverted and edgy on the surface.
“He really didn’t want to talk a whole lot,” Clark said. “I think he was ready for the process to be over. He wasn’t very verbal at all.”
Báez played at Arlington Country Day School, an institution that has since shut down but at the time had split from the Florida High School Athletic Association. As Wilken described it, ACD was “kind of like the Harlem Globetrotters” of Florida high schools. They had no true home field and took infield practice on a glorified grass lot. One Jacksonville source called the school “sketchy.” Another said it was “definitely crooked.” Playing against poor competition, Báez hit a stupid .771 as a senior.
“There was a lot of mystique about him,” Wilken said.
Clark had rare insight many scouts did not. He served for several years as the baseball coach at Lake City Community College. Many of his players, like Báez, came from Puerto Rico. Often, they did not know more than a few words of English. Even when they did, they were still adjusting to a new culture and new world, embarrassed or afraid to slip up and be judged.
Players would come into Clark’s office and bring an English-speaking teammate along. Clark always encouraged the kids to say whatever they needed to say themselves. A way of getting them to open up. A method of showing patience, building trust.
“I just didn’t think he was any different than those kids I had coached,” Clark said.
Báez had come to Jacksonville only a couple of years earlier. The family moved to the United States largely to help Noely get better medical care — they were already traveling to the U.S. often for treatments, spending money they did not have. When Báez was about 11 years old, his father, Angel, died. Angel was the man who taught him the game of baseball. He worked for a landscaping company and cared for the local baseball fields and parks in Bayamón, where Báez grew up.
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Angel contracted dengue fever, a condition that made him lightheaded. One evening he went into the bathroom and began vomiting. Báez was in the bathroom assisting his father. His mother, Nelida, was at the hospital for another of Noely’s many visits. But sensing something was wrong, Báez ran to get one of his two brothers. By the time he came back, his father was on the floor, blood everywhere. He had stood up, fallen and hit his head. He was rushed to the hospital but died as a result of the gash.
Báez briefly saw a psychologist after his father’s death, to help process the grief. Per the New York Post, Báez told his mother: “I’m not going back because if I keep going back, I’m going to make this psychologist go crazy.”
The family first moved to a small North Carolina town near some extended family. Báez, in the past, has admitted he does not even know what part of the state they were in. He only knew it was boring and lonely, with no baseball in the winter. Báez began begging his mother to take the family somewhere else, back to Puerto Rico.
The family instead settled on Jacksonville, where the weather was warm and the baseball was good. Where they felt positive about the care Noely could receive.
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Tom Clark knew all that background. Before he got Báez to open up verbally, he watched his interactions. He saw how the family would set Noely up in her wheelchair right on the fence during games, how she would smile and cheer whenever her brother did something, how Báez would sit with Noely during the middle of innings and how he seemed so caring in those moments. Báez often told people he would trade legs with his sister if he could.
“It was unconditional love,” high school teammate Billy Burcroff said. “His sister was his everything.”
That made the entire Báez dynamic even more fascinating.
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“He played the game with such pizzaz, and then you get the 180 after the game,” Wilken said. “He’s quiet, kept to himself. But if you did your homework and you knew he was family first, then that might have answered some questions for people.”
Later that spring, Wilken and Clark sat in that parking lot, fresh off a visit with Báez. When Wilken asked Clark, “What do you think?” Clark did not hesitate.
“I was all in,” Clark said, “and I think a lot of people missed on the makeup.”
For whatever reason, Báez has always been slow to trust. Even slower now that he has risen to fame, now that somebody, somewhere always seems to want something.
An interview for this story was first pitched in January. Nick Chanock, Báez’s agent, wanted to talk with Báez about the idea in person. Báez, Chanock said, is old school like that. He responds to things better face to face. And a hurried interview in a locker room is no way to really begin understanding him. Everyone seemed on board. But MLB’s lockout messed up the travel plans. Spring training was condensed. Despite a few starts and stops, that interview never happened.
It may be even better, though, to hear from the people who know Báez best. Like Travis Higgs, a teammate at Arlington Country Day School who began playing with Báez and who at first wasn’t sure what to make of the shy, scrawny kid with a rattail haircut. Typically, Báez and his family would load up in a rusted old van — “like, old van,” Higgs said — and travel to games.
Although Báez could barely speak English for his first two years in the U.S., he earned the respect of his teammates quickly. Once he got acclimated, he could be a jokester — playing hacky sack in the dugout, inventing new handshakes, spitting sunflower seeds into people’s helmets. But, as teammate Kyle Barnett put it, he also treated baseball as a business.
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“Basically, if you treat Javy with respect, he will treat you with respect,” Barnett said. “If you do not treat him with respect, he will come back at you times five.”
One day, Báez traveled with Higgs and his family to a tournament in another part of the state. Báez ended up staying for a night at the family’s large farm. They rode four-wheelers into the night. And like a light bulb flipping on, Báez became funny and engaging.
Báez, as the Cubs scouts also learned, is more the type to venture out into the woods and chase snakes. Just like he has a soft spot for his family, Báez has a massive heart for animals. Dogs, cats, horses, you name it. He has many pets to this day and is known to take in strays. Earlier in his MLB career, Baez would spend part of the offseason on the Higgs’ farm, lifting weights in the barn, roaming around and feeding the horses and chickens, too.
“Man, he loves that stuff,” Higgs said. “He wanted to come there every day.”
The farm also gave way to moments that displayed Báez’s uncanny talents. Báez was an unbeatable ping-pong player. He would use both hands, often switching the paddle over to his left hand and smacking a shot back across the table.
“I’ve never met anybody like him,” Higgs said. “Just very talented. You never knew what he was going to do.”
Once, Higgs and Báez were hanging out on the dock near the Higgs’ 10-acre pond. Higgs’ aunt lost an expensive earring. It tumbled into the water. Báez dove in the pond, went to the bottom and came up with the tiny earring in hand.
Another time, Báez snatched a fish out of the water with his bare hands. He splashed out of the pond, holding the fish above his head.
Higgs and his parents all looked at each other, amazed.
The bond Albert Garcia has with Báez — one that really started taking shape during that session in Iowa — runs deep. There are a lot of guys out there itching to do tattoos for athletes or celebrities. A lot of people in their midst with something to offer but more to gain.
Garcia prides himself on being different. He aspires to connect with his clients, build relationships. One small example: High-profile tattoo artists traditionally own the rights to their work. So when an athlete is doing some sort of promotion — like when Báez appeared on the cover of “MLB: The Show,” the artist has to grant permission for their art to appear on the cover. Garcia gives his clients full rights, tells them not to worry about it.
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Báez and Garcia are particularly close. Garcia was a single father and essentially homeless before a chance connection with a minor-league baseball player led to all this. Garcia has turned down a lot of interview requests about various clients over the years. But here’s the thing with Báez: The people in his inner circle want others to know what they know.
In addition to the portrait of Noely and another silhouette of her on Báez’s leg — with candles and fireworks in the background to represent a celebration of her life — Garcia has done many other tattoos on Báez. One of his favorites is the ode to Puerto Rico on Báez’s forearm. Garcia helped do a sleeve with the Puerto Rican flag, a flor de maga (the country’s national flower), a Flamboyán tree and a coquí frog.
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To understand Báez is also to understand what his home country means to him. And what he means to it.
Garcia has seen all that up close. He has traveled with Báez to Puerto Rico, even stayed the night in his childhood room. There are a lot of memories conjured when Báez returns home. The death of his father. Reminders of Noely, who doctors first said was only supposed to live a few hours, then maybe a few weeks. She made it 21 years.
Báez is the type of guy who can have a multimillion dollar home but would prefer to hang out in the garage. In Puerto Rico, he likes to see old friends and visit old haunts, like a janky auto shop. But as Báez rose to success, he became a national icon. Garcia says Báez is hailed like Kobe Bryant in Puerto Rico, respected both for his abilities, his drive and his flair.
Garcia has walked the streets of Bayamón and noticed people with similar tattoos on their bodies.
“I was seeing regular Puerto Rican people influenced by his forearm,” Garcia said. “They felt some kind of pride, and they wanted to show it the same way.”
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All that fame is nice but also difficult for a natural introvert to handle. Garcia has seen fans mob Báez when he walks to his car. He’s heard stories about all the people asking for money or pitching business ideas. Báez, Garcia says, has had to develop a thicker skin. Like many celebrities before him, learning to say “no” can be the hardest part.
Over time, Báez has continued opening up. In spring training, fans call out “El Mago” as Báez heads to the clubhouse. Especially for children, he will stop and sign autographs or take pictures.
During the 2018 home run derby, Tom Clark could not help but feel proud. He remembered the kid who would barely interact with a professional scout back in high school. Now he was live on ESPN, pulling a sport coat that belonged to Puerto Rican hero Roberto Clemente over his shoulders. Báez laughed, joked and posed for the cameras.
“His personality has really emerged,” Clark said. “You’ve had people say that he’s too flamboyant out there, whatever. He plays hard. … I just think people really missed the mark.”
Show time 🎩🔥 pic.twitter.com/2eF8YsTtvX
— Javier Báez (@javy23baez) July 17, 2018
When Garcia talks about Báez and what drives him, he always talks about that night in Iowa, that tattoo on his shoulder.
“I feel like he always goes back to that,” Garcia said. “He goes back to his family and his sister, especially. Even though we get those moments where we want to give up, he goes back to that, and he just can’t. He’s got to try harder.”
So much has changed since that dark time when a grieving Báez felt tempted to walk away. He blossomed into stardom and won a historic World Series. But Báez also saw the ugly build-up and tear-down cycle of pro sports run its course in Chicago. He was traded to the Mets last summer, where he improved his free-swinging ways but still courted controversy. There was that incident where Báez gave the thumbs down to Mets fans in Citi Field, a moment that will always be part of Báez’s career.
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Every now and then, that drive that makes him great leads to exciting moments, like Báez jawing and dusting the ground with his bat after a walk-off win against rival Amir Garrett. There’s still an occasional lapse of focus, like last season, when Cubs manager David Ross had to bench Báez after he lost track of outs.
Once upon a time, Báez was reportedly offered an eight-year, $168 million contract extension from the Cubs. He did not take it. Back then, there were no limits on Báez’s ceiling. But the 2020 pandemic was brutal for Báez, a player who must be stimulated and engaged in order to succeed. Some who have been around Báez say that’s always the key: Get him to engage, and he’s a tremendous teammate and asset. But let Báez draw inward, and you’re heading for trouble. Báez hit .203 in the shortened 2020 season.
This offseason, despite a strong second half last season with the Mets, the old criticisms surfaced all over again. He was part of a star-studded class of free-agent shortstops. Some teams wondered aloud about his makeup and his work habits. The market, though lucrative, was not quite what Báez once envisioned for himself.
So eight years into his career, Báez is still trying to prove people wrong. This offseason, that meant reevaluating his routines and his training. Critics questioned whether his energetic play and violent but chaotic swing would allow him to perform into his 30s. Some teams were hesitant to talk about signing Báez for the long term.
But on Nov. 30 — after manager A.J. Hinch and Tigers officials traveled to Miami to meet with Báez, after they put him on a FaceTime call with Miguel Cabrera, after they discussed the team and the trajectory and the expectations — Báez agreed to a six-year, $140 million contract with the Tigers. The deal did not get done until late into the night. There were some last-minute hangups, a bit of mystique to the way Báez operates.
The Tigers, though, signed up for the good and bad. They put their trust in this electric player. Team CEO Chris Ilitch called the signing a turning point for the franchise. In an introductory Zoom call, Báez talked about being excited to play with the team’s promising young core, how it reminded him of the Cubs’ rise a few years ago.
“We’re gonna have magic,” he said.
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One day this spring, Travis Higgs rode with Báez to his new Tampa home after a spring training game against the Pirates. The traffic-filled slog took nearly an hour. Higgs listened as Báez talked for the first time about his new team and his new surroundings.
Like his family, like Garcia, Higgs has been there through a lot of good and bad. He knows when Báez is genuinely happy and when he’s deeply brooding. These days, Báez is in good spirits, approachable in the Tigers clubhouse.
The two talked about having fun with Cabrera, the Tigers’ young talent, the promise of this next chapter.
In Detroit, Báez has yet another chance to prove his critics wrong. He has an opportunity to win the trust and love of a new team, a new city, a new extended family.
(Top photo: Kim Klement / USA Today)
