When the Yankees traded for Nick Swisher in the offseason prior to last season, I was almost irrationally excited. I knew that they probably got good value for a player who had a down season in 2008, and I was skeptical that he could play 1B full time (which was how his role was spun before the Teixeira signing).
But my irrational excitement was not caused by any value assessment, but by a much more ludicrous desire: After a decade of waiting, the Yankees had their very own meat grinder. I saw his fan-favorite status coming a mile away.
I coined the term "meat grinder" later in the season, though the idea was firm in my head beforehand. A meat grinder is a variation of the much-bemoaned grinder term, applied to players like Darin Erstad, Nick Punto, and most notoriously, two-time World Series hero David Eckstein. These kind of players received gushing praise from newspaper hacks about their dedication to getting the job done, at the expense of being good players who significantly helped their team.
The meat grinder, conversely, got no such praise from newspaper hacks, even though he served the same role. The meat grinder never played anywhere close to the middle of the field, and 3B and LF are about the most athletically-demanding positions a meat-grinder would play (if not just a perpetual DH). The meat grinder almost never bunts, because most likely he didn't learn how to. He most likely did steroids at some point or another, but it's okay because he was never Hall of Fame material anyway.
But the meat grinder is no less of a fan favorite than the traditional grinder; if anything, their usual drunken habits and fat physique makes them more relatable as fan favorites. They have a tendency to make ludicrous plays when they do actually field, and they fuck up with these kind of plays just as often as they succeed.
To be fair, Nick Swisher may be too good to be a true meat-grinder; he hit 27 home runs this season, and if he hits near the 30-hr mark this season, he may lose his meat-grinder status. But his personality is true meat grinder, and low expectations and low paychecks only help the meat grinder's case. (Even Jason Giambi, bloated contract and all, became a meat grinder in 2008 because of low expectations and a juicy mustache).
The comparison between meat grinders and regular grinders is pretty substantial; like David Eckstein and Darin Erstad are a poor man's Derek Jeter and Jim Edmonds, so are Nick Swisher and Dmitri Young a poor man's Adam Dunn and Prince Fielder. Just like David Eckstein is the poster child of the traditional grinder, Matt Stairs is the poster child of a meat grinder. And just as a middle infielder with absolutely no redeeming statistical qualities become a favorite as a grinder, so can a backup catcher if he hits occasionally (Todd Pratt is almost as legendary of a meat grinder as Matt Stairs).
The reason meat grinders don't get recognized as such is often because, at one point, they were seen as bigger stars than they actually were. Matt Stairs had 38 home runs in 1999, which may seem like he would never be called an anything grinder. But 38 home runs barely put him at the bottom of the top 20 home run hitters sin the steroid-fueled 1999 campaign, tied with such luminary mashers Dean Palmer and Jay Bell. Since then, his redeeming qualities have mainly been hitting monster home runs in clutch situations, and then doing basically nothing the rest of the season.
Meat grinders are a newer phenomenon than regular grinders, and their names include Ron Coomer, Geronimo Berroa, Candy Maldonado, Hal McRae, and Tony Clark. Former All-Stars can become meat grinders in the latter stages of their career, such as a post-Japan Cecil Fielder. Hell, even Jose Canseco, is his rather hilarious stint with the Yankees in the last few months of the 2000 season, achieved meat grinder status after hitting a monster home run into the upper deck of left field in the old Yankee stadium. The next week, he made multiple errors in the one attempt to start him in right field.
Meat grinders get something of a bum rap in baseball circles, most likely because they were heavily-valued prospects because of their power, but turned out to be better suited for a meat grinder role. They also tend to be less exclusively white than regular grinders, and can often be drastically overpaid, which for anyone not named Juan Pierre is a no-no for grinders.
But for fans raised watching baseball in the '90s or later, the meat grinder has been a fixture of their baseball life, as essential to their baseball experience as the five-man rotation, inter-league baseball, and realizing just how worthless their baseball cards truly are. Even if it jeopardizes the Yankees season, I'd feel very uncomfortable if Nick Swisher fulfilled or surpassed expectations this season. I can't bear to see my team's meat grinder become something more than that.
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