Buster Posey’s sizzling comeback no dad-gum shock

www.sfchronicle.com/giants/ostler/article/Buster-Posey-s-sizzling-comeback-no-dad-gum-16166383.php



Eleven and Meat, Buster Posey’s father-son college coaches, don’t coach together anymore, the latter having retired three seasons ago.



But they share a daily baseball habit. First thing every morning, Mike Martin Sr. (Eleven, his uniform number when he coached) and Mike Martin Jr. (Meat, because he's always been skinny) reach for the sports page to see how Buster did the day before.



“I tell you what,” drawled Martin Sr. on the phone Monday morning, “I got real mad this morning ‘cause I couldn’t find the box scores. My wife had to calm me down. What’d he do yesterday?”



Well, Posey hit a single Sunday and raised his season batting average to .400.



“Are we still in first?” Martin Sr. asked.



We. Other than Posey, Martin Sr. has no tie to the Giants, but that’s how strong Posey’s gravitational pull is on the Martin men, who have seen a fair amount of great college players. Martin Sr., in 40 years as a Florida State coach, won 2,029 games, the Division 1 record. Martin Jr. moved into the head coach role and the team remains a powerhouse.



Posey’s torrid start this season, after many in the game had written him off due to age, rust and injuries, is zero surprise to the Martins. Posey could hit .600 this season and they would just nod. Big fans, in other words.



Martin Sr. is the storyteller of the two, and he loves the one about the day in 2006 that his son, long-time lead assistant, walked into Eleven’s office and said maybe they should try Buster at catcher.



It was Fall Ball season after Posey’s freshman year. The Seminoles figured to be strong the next season, with the glaring exception of catcher. Martin Jr., who had caught for his dad at Florida State and in the minor leagues, thought Posey might be a fit behind the dish.



“I was astounded, I was baffled,” Martin Sr. said, then re-created his response, with heavy sarcasm: “That’s great. So we’re going to take a first-team All-American shortstop as a freshman and turn him into a catcher.”



And so they did. The Martins did have plans to eventually switch Posey to third base, a position better suited to his body type than shortstop. But catcher?



The speed of the transition amazed Martin Sr. They strapped Posey into the gear and Martin Sr. expected to watch him waddle and clang clumsily in his new armor cage. Instead, Posey moved easily and gracefully.



Even more impressive was Posey’s instant grasp of the catcher’s leadership role.



“We’re playing on the road, we’re in Memphis, things are not going right,” Martin Sr. said, launching into another story. “We had a guy on the mound named Jess. Buster was catching of course, but he also was our closer.



“This guy on the mound is getting ripped by the opposing dugout, ‘cause he’d go ball-one, ball-two on every hitter. Well, I started for the mound, and as I’m walking out I kind of caught from the side view that Buster was walking fast, and I said, ‘Why’s he walking fast?’ I kind of speeded my walk up, ’cause I want to hear if Buster says anything.



“He always encourages people. But this particular time, Geoff was not being Jess, he was intimidated. Buster got to the dirt before I did and I heard him say, ‘Look, Geoff, if you’re scared, give me the dad-gummed ball and I’ll pitch.’



“All I did was say, ‘OK, big guy, go get ’em,’ and turned around and left. The guy finished the dad-gum game.”



The move to catcher was great for Posey — it boosted his big-league stock. But the Martins have no doubt Posey would have found major-league stardom as a corner infielder or pitcher. As the Seminoles’ go-to closer, Posey had a 94 mph fastball and “plus” changeup and slider, and command.



But at catcher, he found a calling. As a sophomore, Posey batted .382 and finished second in the voting for the Johnny Bench Award. He won the award as a junior, batting .463 with 26 homers.



What Martin Sr. recalls most vividly is Posey’s presence and determination, and offers up another story to illustrate.



“We’re playin’ in Jacksonville against the Gators, and Buster’s hurtin’, he had pulled something in his upper leg, and I’m saying to myself, ‘I ain’t playin’ him.’ The game got close, seventh inning, and I looked to my right, and there he was, trying to get into my field of vision, and he’s stretching. I just looked over, said to myself, ‘You stupid idiot, don’t even look at him. You know you’re not going to play him, you’re not going to play him.



“He kept stretching and finally he got closer to me and he said, ‘Well, I can hit.’ I said, ‘Buster, I want you to sit down.’ He said, ‘Eleven, I’m OK.’ I’ll be dad-gum if the guy (at bat) drove the ball into the gap and we’ve now got a man on first and second, two outs, and Buster takes one step towards the dugout step and looks at me. It was like it was choregraphed. The people in the stands were going ‘BUS-ter PO-sey!’ (clap-clap, clap-clap-clap).



“I went, ‘Oh, Christmas Eve, I got to play him.’ I said, ‘Do NOT extend yourself, you got me?’ ”



Posey hit a screamer into the left-center gap and sauntered into second with a two-run double.



“He wanted to win the ballgame,” Martin Sr. said. “He knew how to protect himself, but he wanted me to understand, ‘Give me the dad-gum bat.’”



You can see why the Martins keep such close tabs on Posey 13 years after he left their program. And Posey stays in touch. Typically he shoots his old coaches a text at the start of every season, and around playoff time. They send Posey warm wishes when he breaks records and adds to his family.



Martin Sr. coached 70 All-Americans, five of whom were named national Player of the Year. But Posey was special. And in that way, a challenge. Martin Sr. threw his memory back to a game in Posey’s junior year. The winner of the game would advance to the College World Series. The Seminoles were down by a run, had two men on base and Posey on deck.



The coach wanted to give a word of encouragement to Posey, but didn’t want to risk distracting him with some insipid cliché.



“You never want to feel like you’re saying something stupid to a real, real, real good player,” Martin Sr. said. “But I just got to say something to BP. I walked over to the on-deck circle and I said, ‘BP, you know, there’s a time when people need to be picked up. And people look at certain people to pick us up.’



“I turn around and I’m not kidding you, I took two or three steps and I called myself every ugly name in the book. ‘Stupid blankety-blank, just keep your mouth shut.’ Well, he hits a three-run bomb.”



Posey’s teammates mob him at home plate, and Martin Sr. waits at the top of the dugout.



“Well, he comes by me, not lookin’ at me, and not high-fiving me but just touches my hand and kind of slows down and says, ‘Is that what you’re talkin’ about?’”