Tony Campana has looked uncomfortable at the plate all season. He's batted .262 in 33 games, including two doubles, but generally doesn't offer much but a threat to bunt. Campana did enough in Monday's 7-3 win over Colorado, singling in the 3rd, and working his at-bat long enough in the 4th to allow Geovany Soto to score on a wild pitch.
In center field, however, is where Tony shines. Not because he's a particularly good fielder, although his speed does allow him to cover a bit of ground, but because he's not alone. Tony has friends, and plenty of them in center field.
This is nothing new. The bleacher bums love embracing their outfielders, especially the undersized, overachieving ones that have "Career Minor-Leaguer" written all over them. Tony was drafted by the Cubs in the 13th round of the 2008 Draft. He's stolen 144 bases in his minor league career, and carries a cumulative average of .303. Not bad, but he's still 5'8 and doesn't hit for any power, and has been told countless times he'd never make it. Adversity! That's the ticket.
I presume, it's difficult to boo him because of the adversity he's overcome. Even if his on base percentage continues to hover around .300 (from the 2-hole), Tony is well aware of his get-out-of-jail free card. One has to look no further than the different ways Soriano and Campana interact with the fans to witness the sort of privilege Campana enjoys.
Soriano and the left-field bleachers play a little game. "How many outs Sori," the fans yell, and Soriano more often that not obliges. He waves his index to indicate one out, and his index and pinky to indicate two. Sometimes he'll turn around and watch the crowd. His willingness to engage is usually determinate on his performance. It's unclear, to me at least, the purpose of the "How many outs" game. I've sensed the left-field bleachers feel Soriano will likely forget the number of outs, and are just trying to keep his head in the game. Or maybe they're seeking the thrill of a celebrity response. Can I get a retweet?
Beyond the number of outs, Soriano is generally disinterested in what the fans have to say. He carries himself as if he's heard it all before, probably because he's heard it all before. Or he doesn't understand English too well. I don't know. He seems to get the most joy out of tossing the third out into the crowd. He waits for everyone to stand up and get frantic and teases a few people before pointing to the lucky winner. I suspect he enjoys imposing his will on the game within the game. And tossing a ball is easier than hitting a 1-2 slider in the dirt out of the park.
Thirty-three games later and Campana is still reveling in his new found celebrity. Fans in left center and right center (mostly in right) shout things that I cannot make out. Tony seems to hear them just fine. He's the type of celebrity that takes all autograph requests. It doesn't matter if his reservation is in five minutes, there's people that came to see him, and these people need things signed. Tony flashes his boyish smile as if a female fan offered to blow him after the game. She might have, I can't hear what they're saying, remember. And then he does the cutest thing. He waves at a young fan. Not with his free hand, but with his glove. That big bird's nest of a thing. He'll do this a number of times and the 25-year old will look thirteen doing it. He can hit .150 and you still can't boo him. You just can't.
A drunk woman stands up and makes slaughterhouse-appropriate sounds. Tony smiles at her too. Jesus, this kid is a saint. "Tony," a guy yells. "I'm naming my first-born son after you." Tony laughs and is probably blushing. He has the best job in the world and now will be the namesake of someone's child.
Rockies catcher Chris Iannetta hits a high fly to short center field. Campana camps under it and records the final out of the game. Right center begins chanting Tony's name. The Cubs won and a bunch of people would rather cheer for him. Take your time getting healthy, Marlon. Tony could use a few hundred more friends.
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