Robinson Canó remains a Yankees demigod to me

‘‘demigod’ – noun – a being with partial or lesser divine status, such as a minor deity, the offspring of a god and a mortal, or a mortal raised to divine rank.’ – Oxford Languages.

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As the New York Yankees pursue Juan Soto, their generational superstar unleashed on the open market, there is much debate about the implications – karmic and cosmic – of them potentially losing the $700 million sweepstakes. 

Amid such tense uncertainty, with the crosstown Mets and rival Red Sox mooted as potential suitors for the prized outfielder, the search is on for contextual precedents of the Yankees losing a certified stud. 

To that end, as outlined by Joel Sherman in the New York Post, the last incumbent megastar to reject the Yankees as a coveted free agent was also a left-swinging Dominican with a four-letter surname: Robinson Canó. And there is a whole lot to retrace from that particular debacle.

Of course, in December 2013, Canó spurned the Bronx Bombers’ seven-year, $175 million contract offer and joined the Seattle Mariners instead. At the paradoxical behest of Yankee fan-turned-agent Jay-Z, Canó eschewed a hometown discount to net an additional three years and $65 million in the Pacific Northwest.

A $240 million pariah, Canó accused the Yankees of disrespecting him while making minimal effort to extend his stay in New York. Subsequently, upon returning to Yankee Stadium with Seattle, Canó was lustily booed by partisan crowds. He became persona non grata among Yankees fans, who considered Canó a money-grabbing prima donna.

I always struggled with that consensus, however. In fact, I disagreed with it wholeheartedly. Sure, I thought Canó made a mistake severing ties with the Yankees, with whom he was on a legendary track, but I also agreed with his sentiment that management could – and should – have done more to honour his influence and keep him around for the long term. Unlike most, I did not conveniently forget how good Canó was, nor what he meant to the Yankees for almost a decade. I refused to be fickle, and that put me in a minority.

In fairness, the Yankees’ offer to Canó wasn’t terrible. The $25 million average annual value (AAV) would have placed him joint-third in baseball, while a seven-year commitment seemed reasonable for a 31-year-old, slow-footed second baseman. Yet sometimes, teams need to do unreasonable things to land era-defining stars – especially those who are homegrown. The Mariners understood that, putting forth a 10-year offer, whereas the Yankees proved reticent, instructed by their risk-averse algorithms.

In hindsight, the Yankees’ post-Canó pivot affirmed his ill feelings. After refusing to budge with Robbie and Jay-Z, GM Brian Cashman gave $238 million to Jacoby Ellsbury, Carlos Beltrán and Brian McCann – a trio that combined for 5.5 wins above replacement (WAR) in 2014, per Baseball Reference. Canó logged 6.3 WAR on his own that year, reiterating the Yankees’ mistake. Moreover, through the length of Canó’s 10-year pact, he outperformed the mercenary triumvirate by 23.7 WAR to 19.7. By spending just $2 million more, on Canó alone, the Yankees could have received 20% more production, but such facts are rarely broached in the Bronx because the Yankees discredit all metrics except their own. 

Indeed, though it is assuredly an unpopular opinion, I have never stopped revering Robinson Canó – through all the scandal and strife that characterised the second half of his star-crossed career. To me, he is still a Yankees demigod – comfortably inside my Top 20 Yankees of all-time – and I will always defend his place in franchise history.

Consider this, for example. In nine Yankee seasons, Canó morphed from precocious protégé to headline hero; garnered perennial MVP consideration; made five All-Star appearances; won two Gold Gloves and five Silver Sluggers; and contributed heavily to the 2009 World Series championship team. 

All told, Canó played 1,374 regular season games for the Yankees, collected 1,649 hits, slammed 204 home runs, and hit .309 with a .355 OBP. Seven times, he hit over .300 in a Yankee season. Twice, he recorded over 200 hits. Thrice, he topped 100 RBI. And on five occasions, he breached the 20-homer plateau.

From 2006 through 2013, no Yankee produced more WAR than Canó. Not A-Rod. Not Jeter. Not Sabathia or Rivera, Pettitte or Mussina. As such, Robinson Canó was the most productive Yankee of his generation, and the record books quivered at the prospect of his eventual destruction.

At the point of his free agency, Canó projected to easily wind up the greatest statistical second baseman in Yankees history. Per Fangraphs, his career WAR to that point was 35.7, bettered only by pinstriped second sackers Willie Randolph (51.4), Tony Lazzeri (48.8), Joe Gordon (39.9) and Gil McDougald (39.7). On average, Canó posted 4.9 WAR per season during his Yankees tenure, meaning he would likely have eclipsed Randolph within four years. Everything from there would have solidified his lore.

Of course, such projections are typically used as a damning indictment of Canó – as a kind of ‘look what you gave up’ condemnation. But on the contrary, I view such data as proof of his Yankee eminence. More explicitly, even though he played so many seasons elsewhere, a case can still be made that Robinson Canó is the greatest second baseman in Yankees history. Longevity probably stands against him in that debate, and most of the other scions mentioned all have multiple World Series rings, but asserting Canó’s supremacy here is not as absurd as it seems.

To wit, despite playing almost 900 games for the Mariners, Mets, Padres and Braves, Canó still leads all Yankee second basemen, ever, in batting average, home runs, slugging percentage, doubles, wRC+ and intentional walks. By WAR7 – a Baseball-Reference metric that quantifies a players’ peak based on his seven best seasons – Canó is comfortably the best Yankee second baseman. Nobody ever had a greater prime at that position in franchise history, and I doubt anybody will soon come close.

Accordingly, in terms of pure raw talent, Canó is the second baseman on my all-time Yankees team. Stylistically, it is not especially close, either. Canó played with more swagger – more innate flair spliced with smooth charisma – than any Yankee this side of Reggie Jackson. Some labelled him casual and nonchalant while highlighting supposed failures to hustle, but Canó had such a surfeit of preternatural talent, he made baseball look easy. Ironically, that loose mastery and laidback dominance may have precluded Canó from emptying the tank and fulfilling his enormous potential, but such realisations speak to the extraterrestrial nature of his ability. Imagine what he could have achieved if baseball made him grind.

In the batters’ box, Canó was regal and unbothered, looming with the power of a juggernaut and the bat-to-ball skills of a savant. Around second base, he was languid and fluid, swooshing sidearm throws to first with effortless aplomb. And in cultural relevance, Canó was fun and inclusive, putting a refreshing face – and a trademark smile – to the staid Yankee brand. 

Some cite Canó’s relatively poor postseason record – a .222 average in 51 playoff games – while picking holes in his resumé, and such criticisms are broadly valid. However, as shown by the recent October struggles of Aaron Judge, it is tough to produce in the postseason – especially when you are the main cog expected to carry a team. Sure, Canó could have played a whole lot better in the fall, but so could a host of generational superstars. At least Robbie has a ring – something that cannot be said for Judge, nor for legends named Cobb, Bonds, Trout, Williams and Griffey Jr., among others.

Ultimately, when taken as a whole, Canó was one of the greatest second basemen to lace a pair of cleats. JAWS – a metric devised by Jay Jaffe to measure Hall of Fame worthiness – ranks Canó ahead of 17 second basemen already enshrined in Cooperstown, including Jackie Robinson (after whom he was named), Roberto Alomar and Craig Biggio. Canó is unlikely to be inducted, though, owing to multiple failed performance-enhancing drug (PED) tests – the other elephant in the room, alongside the Seattle defection, when it comes to assessing his legacy.

In 2018, while still with Seattle, Canó tested positive for furosemide, a banned weight-reducing diuretic often used as a masking agent in PED regimens. Suspended for 80 games by MLB, Canó said he received the substance from a licensed doctor in the Dominican to treat an undisclosed medial ailment. He claimed not to know it was banned by MLB, and chalked up the failed test to a clumsy mistake. Seasoned fans struggled to believe such clichéd claims, however, and suspicions of nefarious intent were enhanced when Canó failed another test – this time for Stanozolol, an old school anabolic steroid – two years later.

By that point, in November 2020, Canó was with the Mets, and any semblance of respectability was blown away by a season-long suspension. Missing an entire year scuppered any shot Canó had of reaching the 3,000-hit and 400-home run milestones – achievements that once seemed inevitable, but which became arduous tormenters during an ignominious decline.

Canó returned to the Mets briefly in 2022, but was soon designated for assignment. He caught on with the Padres for 12 games (hitting .091), then suited up for the Braves nine times (.154) before running out of big league rope. At 40, he washed out of the league – not so much blacklisted as physically incapable of competing at the highest level. 

While purely hypothetical, and entirely unprovable, part of me wonders whether Canó may have avoided such a scandalous demise if he remained with the Yankees, surrounded by a robust and proven support network. The Mariners are perpetually dysfunctional and have a notorious losing culture, while the Mets were similarly rudderless during Canó’s Queens jaunt. The mere fact agent-turned-GM Brodie Van Wagenen traded for a depleted Canó affirmed that very notion, and one has to contemplate whether the pressure of such a humongous contract encouraged Robbie to juice.

Regardless, almost universally, Robinson Canó is now more reviled than revered – and perhaps rightfully so. No PED cheat should ever be condoned, because their selfish actions do more harm than good to the game we all love. Yet as a baseball fan who came of age during the steroid era, I’m still unendingly perplexed by the foundational milieu that birthed my hardball interest and how the heroes of said era  are forever tainted.

Collectively, our eyes deceived us, but we cannot unsee the greatness wrought by so many chemically-enhanced stars. We know these guys did wrong, but to pretend we did not enjoy their contributions – their moments and their magic – at the time would be disingenuous. It is difficult to unstitch that bygone enjoyment, now so swaddled in nostalgia, despite all that has since transpired. And that is why I cannot stop venerating Robinson Canó, whose dominance defined my youth.

For what it is worth, Canó also seems to have found peace in recent years, reconnecting with baseball in the Mexican League. Poetically, Canó’s current team – the Diablos Rojos – swept a two-game exhibition series from the Yankees during spring training, as his journey came full circle. At 41, Canó hit a fabled home run and went 3-for-4 in the opener. I watched with a wry smile, cogitating on what might have been.

Incidentally, Canó demolished the Mexican League this season, hitting .431 with 14 homers and 77 RBI. Earning a comparative pittance – around $25,000 per month, according to Rustin Dodd of The Athletic – Canó won the batting title and led the league in hits. He plans to continue playing in 2025, perhaps in the Middle East – still unfurling that lyrical swing, still seeking redemption by giving something back. 

In sum, then, it is admittedly surreal that someone who rejected the Yankees, later played for the Mets, and was eventually outed as a drugs cheat, should still elicit such reverential feelings in me. But Canó does. I’m sorry. He, to me, is a baseball wizard and a Yankee luminary. He was on track for a place in Monument Park, his number 24 hanging in sacred perpetuity between the 23 of Don Mattingly and the 32 of Elston Howard. If only temptation and myopia did not get in the way. If only destiny did not go awry.

And so, as our attention returns to the current lefty-swinging Dominican superstar set to choose between a decade-plus in pinstripes or riches elsewhere, it is worth remembering the Robinson Canó affair and its epochal fallout. Maybe Juan Soto can learn a thing or two by studying Canó’s decision and subsequent trajectory. The New York Yankees certainly can.