Andre Dawson, but no other player, was elected to the Hall of Fame in January, and it was announced today he’d go in as an Expo. I was disappointed Roberto Alomar, the overarching athlete of my youth, was not elected, but Dawson’s election and the franchise’s attendant publicity has been pleasant. The week of the election, Tyler Kepner of The New York Times wrote an excellent article about the Expos, a great but difficult read. It has been difficult to look back on the Expos. Dawson stated today he didn’t want to be remembered as one. Indeed, almost everything that went wrong did:
The Expos had always drafted well, and were often close, but never close enough. Kepner reveals that Reggie Jackson was courted in the 1970s with a free-agent contract. (He didn’t sign, and would later play in Southern California for a team that had no stars and was later sold to Disney.) In 1979, Dawson’s Expos were eliminated by the Pirates, who would win the World Series. In 1980, the Expos were eliminated by the Phillies, who would win the World Series. The 1981 Montreal club had at-bats from Tim Raines and finally reached the postseason. They were eliminated by the Dodgers (and Rick Monday), who won the World Series. Those three awful years was the best it got for a franchise that has seen more than its share of bad luck, conspiration, apathy, and bad, unregulated business practices.
By the mid-80s, the Expos’ strong homegrown player base was getting older and the team re-entered the free agent market in earnest. Or tried to: Canada’s high taxes and drooping dollar scared free agents away from paying the freight. There were lean years (spurred by the trade of Carter for an assembly of Mets hobo-prospects), and by 1989, the team’s fine owner, Montreal philanthropist and son of bootleggers Edgar Bronfman, decided he had enough. In a last hurrah, he acted appropriately, trading a high-ceiling prospect for a proven veteran. Unfortunately the prospect was Randy Johnson and the veteran was Mark Langston.
The rest of the Expos’ time in Montreal would be a coda. A year after Bronfman left a main support column from their out-of-the-way stadium fell to right field, and the team played the string out on the road. (And my dad stopped making the two-hour drive with me to Montreal for games.) Nos Amours held baseball’s best record in 1994, but there was a strike. That offseason Larry Walker, a Canadian brute who Jim Leyland had called the best he’d ever seen, was sold for peanuts, clearing the path for Moises Alou and Pedro Martinez’s untimely exits. The mid-90s brought Henry Rodriguez, who was amazing, but precious little, and by the time Vlad Guerrero showed up with a respectable supporting cast, few saw it first-hand. Games were neither televised nor broadcasted in English.
Of course, teams did play baseball those 35 years. It wasn’t a funeral march: there were many fine players and moments. The public address announcements were in French — as they should be — and the Expos were the last team in the Majors to switch from wool uniforms. Respect. The Expos, Canadiens and Alouettes shared colors — the only other city whose teams did that was Pittsburgh. Respect. The Canadiens, hockey’s greatest franchise, hang the Expos’ retired numbers up at the Molson Centre. Respect. Tim Wallach, the working man’s Brooks Robinson, and Jose Vidro, Montreal’s final all-star starter and one of last decade’s best second basemen. Respect. Guerrero, who did unparalleled things in the field and at-bat, and Ellis Valentine, who had a cannon for an arm. Respect. Tim Raines.1 And my favorite, Brad B. Wilkerson, home run hitter, late of the Red Sox, centerpiece of the Alfonso Soriano trade of 2005, fan of Dr. Dre, country strong but now out of baseball.
As players know, baseball can be very random. Baseball is so random that players can ride these waves for a whole season, one long anomaly. A well-hit ball is caught and ends the game where a bloop would have worked. But scouts will tell you that process is what’s important: swing the right way, run the right way, react the right way and things will happen. A team of players who do things the right way is a strong foundation, one that should eventually win and win big.
The Expos brought up great players and added layers of bricks to the wall, but it was never enough. (They never had more wins than last season’s disappointing Red Sox squad.) They never boiled over, they never caught fire. There was plenty of bad business, and indeed, what happened to the finest team in baseball burns. But looking back, there’s a rich history, a sad song, and a low, steady flame that can still sometimes warm.
- In 1981, Tim Raines was on pace to steal 117 bases. But it was a strike season, so he didn't break any marks. Tim Raines, of course, was the best lead-off man in his league. But the best lead-off man in the other league, Rickey Henderson would break the single-season stolen base record a year later, and might have been the best baseball player ever.