February 10, 1999

The Remaking of Jose Canseco
A more settled slugger heads to Tampa Bay and maybe Cooperstown

By Pete Williams
USA Today Baseball Weekly

WESTON, Fla. - You pull up to Jose Canseco’s home slowly, not certain what you’ll see. Safari animals in the front yard, perhaps? A Ferrari screaming out of the garage? Nude starlets lounging beside the pool?

You pull into Jose Canseco’s driveway uncertain of where to go next. There are two massive buildings and numerous entrances, connected by covered, column-lined pathways leading through palm trees and along a manmade lake. There is a spectacular pool area with stones and caves and waterfalls. You remember that the place is for sale – for $4.5 million, recently discounted from $6 million – and start wondering why this tropical paradise just west of Ft. Lauderdale is still on the market.

You are met by Manny the attorney, who says Jose is inside with Juan the agent. Joseph the personal trainer will be along later. You enter through the back of the home and wait in Canseco’s ….family room? It’s a sunny, two-story area with sculptures and leather sofas and a giant column covered by a mosaic tile design that snakes upward to the ceiling, where, had you brought binoculars, you might have appreciated the intricacies of even more artwork.

You half expect Canseco to come swinging down from the balcony. Instead, you are greeted by Jessica Canseco, an ex-Hooters waitress who has competed in those “Fitness America” pageants on ESPN. Clad in spandex and looking even more fit than her well-chiseled husband, Jessica politely offers drinks before disappearing to retrieve her husband. You wonder how long it might take her to cover 20,000 square feet, including eight bedrooms, on 3.9 acres. Not long, you decide.

You settle into a deep-cushioned brown loveseat and it’s then that the popular image of Canseco begins to fade. The widescreen television is turned to CNBC. You notice the coloring books and toys strewn across the coffee table. A miniature BMW is parked in front of the TV, waiting for its infant driver to return.

As if on cue, two-year-old Josie Canseco arrives, carried by her father. You compliment both on their home and wonder why they’d ever want to leave. “Jessica wants a place on the beach,” Canseco says, and you nod. Like so many things about the 34-year-old slugger, it makes perfect sense and no sense at the same time.

W e are in Canseco’s weight room now, another two-story area, this one mirrored on three sides and containing two dozen exercise stations and at least five tons of cast iron plates. Canseco says it’s larger than any weight room he’s seen in the majors and it’s hard to disagree. This wing of the Canseco compound also includes a full-court basketball gym, sauna and steam rooms, and tanning bed. Alex Rodriguez and Alex Fernandez, among others, hold unofficial memberships to Jose’s Gym.

Canseco leans against a squat machine, watching Josie play with a clinging male cat named Taz. Canseco anticipates the question before it is asked. “I have no idea what people think I am,” he says. “I don’t know what reputation I have. I’m just a family man with a daughter, just trying to do the best for her. I don’t know what exactly I’m trying to live down. I can’t worry about that.”

Canseco says he’s learned not to worry about the burdens of his colorful past: the speeding tickets and the arrest for carrying a handgun in his car, against California law. The time he ran first wife Esther’s car off the road. The time New York paparazzi caught him leaving Madonna’s apartment.

Most of that is ancient news, although as recently as 15 months ago, Jessica Canseco called the police during a domestic dispute. She did not file charges, but the cops took her husband in anyway, explaining that it was standard procedure in the post-O.J. era. A district attorney filed charges, however, and Canseco underwent counseling as part of a settlement.

Canseco says such episodes are isolated instances, exaggerated by the press because of his reputation. “If you break them down, how bad were they really?” he says. “I’ve never endangered anyone’s life out on the road by speeding. I had a registered gun in its pouch under the seat for protection. I’ve gotten threats before, I just didn’t realize I was on state property. With Jessica, she called the police just thinking she would scare me. She didn’t want me arrested, even when they came. I’m always made out to be a criminal and that doesn’t make sense to me. But it’s just the way it is.”

Still, the off-the-field behavior, coupled with injuries that have landed him on the disabled list 10 times and sidelined him for the equivalent of two seasons, have contributed to his reputation as an underachiever, someone who squandered away the talent that might have made him the best player of his generation.

What if, for instance, Canseco had never convinced Kevin Kennedy, then the manager of the Texas Rangers, to let him take a turn on the mound in 1993? “There are always some things you’d like to do differently,” Canseco says, pointing to the elbow scar that serves a reminder of the pitching stint, and subsequent surgery, that cost him most of the ’93 season and much of his once-powerful outfield arm. “You’d like to turn back the hands of time and change things. But hopefully you learn from them.

“I know I should already have 500-plus home runs, but I think it’s still just a matter of time before I reach the 500 and 600 level. With the ability I have, I think I can play until I’m 40 and beyond.”

Wishful thinking? Not necessarily. Last season, Canseco enjoyed perhaps his finest season since 1989, when he won the American League Most Valuable Player award and became the first player to hit 40 homers and steal 40 bases in a season. Playing for the Toronto Blue Jays under an incentive-laden contract with a base salary of just $750,000, Canseco hit a career-high 46 home runs, drove in 107, stole 29 bases and maxed out the deal at $2.23 million.

And yet, he struggled to find a job after the season. Canseco and his agent, Juan Iglesias, initially asked the Jays for a four-year, $28 million deal, an ambitious offer, to be sure, but not ridiculous in a market that rewarded banjo-hitting Jose Offerman with $26 million over four years.

But because Canseco no longer can market himself as an everyday outfielder, the demand for his services as a designated hitter was limited. Three of the potential fits, the Red Sox, Rangers and A’s, already had seen Canseco tenures end bitterly. The Blue Jays, frustrated at Canseco’s requests a year after they gave him a chance to redeem himself following an injury-plagued year in Oakland, gave up after he turned down a one-year, $3 million offer. For all of his Roto numbers, they figured, he still hit only .237 and was tossed out five times trying to steal his 30 th base – twice in questionable situations.

That left the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, who finished last in the American League in runs and home runs during their first season and were in desperate need of right-handed power. But as much as the team needed Canseco’s bat, it might have needed his name more. The Rays’ inaugural attendance of 2.5 million was more than 15 percent below the projections of managing general partner Vince Naimoli. While the hustling Rays finished second in the league in defense and had the fourth-lowest team ERA, fans seemed disinterested in watching a punchless offense headlined by an aging Wade Boggs and the ghost of Fred McGriff.

“Jose will draw a lot of attention and we needed somebody like that,” says catcher John Flaherty. “For whatever reason, we got labeled as being a boring bunch. Now with Jose, I don’t think you’re going to have people going to the bathroom when he’s coming to the plate.”

Says manager Larry Rothschild, “There’s a fear factor when he’s at the plate. He has a lot of confidence and when he’s healthy, he produces.”

Canseco might have been a Devil Ray in 1998 were it not for the spat with Jessica. The Rays had Canseco in their plans, but backed off, figuring he was too big a public relations risk for an expansion team. But after a year of good behavior, health, and hitting, he became less of a risk.

“With his past, we had to make sure we weren’t disrupting things for the sake of a few wins,” says general manager Chuck LaMar. “We feel comfortable now that he’s put those problems behind him.”

Not that the Devil Rays have to risk much. Canseco’s contract guarantees only $2 million for 1999, although he can make up to $2.9 million more based on plate appearances. The Rays believe it’s a no-lose situation; Canseco has hit at least 30 home runs in each of the six seasons he’s had at least 480 at-bats. If he breaks down, the $2 million they’ll owe him is less than 40 percent of what they must pay McGriff.

The Canseco deal is arguably the best buy of the offseason. Of the other seven American Leaguers who hit 40 home runs last season, five will make at least $8 million in ‘99. Cleveland’s Manny Ramirez will receive $4.1 million, while Seattle’s Rodriguez ($3.1 million) is biding his time until he signs perhaps the most lucrative contract in sports two years from now.

Consider this: In terms of guaranteed salary, Canseco will be only the fifth-highest paid Jose in ‘99, behind Offerman ($4.5 million), Valentin ($3.036 million), Vizcaino ($3 million), and Hernandez ($2.4 million) - and just ahead of Lima ($1.95 million.) Heck, Benito Santiago missed nearly all of last season after crashing his sportscar, but he too got a new deal worth $2 million.

It’s all a far cry from June 27, 1990, when Canseco signed a five-year, $23.5 million contract with the Oakland A’s that ranked as the most lucrative contract ever. Back then, he was the most high-profile figure in a swaggering clubhouse that included Rickey Henderson, Dennis Eckersley and Dave Henderson. In those days, Canseco drove a red Lamborghini convertible with license plates that read ``40-40'' and created a 1-900 number where fans could call in and hear his innermost thoughts. When A’s fans showed up early for batting practice, Mark McGwire was, at most, the co-star of the Bash Brothers.

Off the field, Canseco had the chance to become what Rodriguez is evolving into now: a gregarious, handsome, bilingual star with Jordanesque endorsement potential. That ended after Canseco blew off too many appearances and offended too many would-be corporate partners, developing a chip big enough for his broad shoulders.

But Canseco does not qualify as a cautionary tale, at least not yet. Because of McGwire’s landmark success, it’s easy to forget that just two years ago, they went to spring training with nearly identical career numbers; McGwire, with 329 home runs, had just two more than Canseco.

Now with 397 home runs, Canseco needs just three healthy seasons to reach the 500 home run mark that ensures Hall of Fame induction. Tampa Bay holds a pair of one-year options on his contract, which includes a clause stating that if Canseco makes it to Cooperstown, he will do so as a Devil Ray.

Should Canseco stay healthy and earn all the incentives in his contract, he’ll make a relatively modest $16.2 million through 2001, the equivalent of, say, Gary Sheffield’s earnings for a year and a half. Sheffield, who comes with no less baggage than Canseco, has hit 30 homers twice – five fewer times than Canseco.

“I see what everyone else is getting and I don’t worry about it,” Canseco says. “If I play, I get paid and I have no problem with that. The future of baseball is going that way anyhow. Besides, I’ve got plenty of money. When you’re younger, the money matters. But as an older player it’s more about playing somewhere where you can be comfortable.”

He pauses, as if expecting the listener to fall off the weight bench laughing. But even sitting in the luxury of Cansecoland, it’s hard not to believe him. Values change, after all. He’s a father now, and the flecks of gray hair prove it. The 1-900 line was disconnected years ago. His mirrored, four-car garage with the tiled floor contains nothing more powerful than a Mercedes 5420.

Since 1990, Canseco has made $41.5 million from baseball. That’s a lot of money, even before Canseco mentions that he invested in high-flying Internet stocks more than a year ago. This is how the new Canseco spent much of winter vacation: at home online with Josie tracking the likes of Amazon and Yahoo.

Canseco likes to talk about stocks and business. His twin brother, Ozzie, runs the South Florida Sports Council with Iglesias and together they represent Jose, Livan Hernandez and Alex Gonzalez of the Marlins, and Felix Heredia of the Cubs. It’s something Jose says he’d like to pursue further when his career is over.

Manny the attorney enters the weight room along with another man he introduces as Michael the investment advisor.

“Amazon’s up another 10 today,” Michael tells us.

Canseco shrugs. “I told you it would.”

Canseco is explaining his workout regimen now. Four nights a week, Joseph the personal trainer puts him through a rigorous weight session. Like many players, Canseco guzzles protein shakes and takes creatine. He tried androstenedione - just once. “It didn’t do much for me,” he says, “I think it’s just a lot of hype.”

At 6-foot-4, 240 pounds, Canseco no longer is as big as McGwire. But he’s more defined. Asked how much he can bench press, Canseco says, “Just put 600 pounds in the story. With me, people will believe anything.”

It’s been more than a decade since Thomas Boswell of The Washington Post said that Canseco used steroids, a charge the columnist later admitted was wrong. “You see my room here,” Canseco says. “If people saw the regimen I went through every day, they’d realize why I look the way I do. It doesn’t come easy. You have to dedicate a lot of hours to it.”

Canseco, who as a younger player had little patience for studying pitchers and their tendencies, now has become a learned observer of the game. He once jousted with reporters; now he asks beat writers of opposing teams about pitchers he’s never faced. And he has an eye for talent. When Rodriguez was still in high school, Canseco told him he’d one day join him in the 40/40 club. Rodriguez laughed, but did it last year, in his third season.

During spring training last year, Canseco told Jays’ teammate Shawn Green that he could hit 30 homers and steal 30 bases. Green, who went on to record 35 of each, gave credit to Canseco for giving him the confidence to do so.

“Jose takes a different approach to the game now,” says ex-Oakland teammate Dave Stewart, now the Blue Jays asst. general manager. “When you’re young and strong, you tend to take the game for granted. Now that he’s gotten older, he’s seeing a lot of similarities in younger kids and there’s a valuable story to be told so that they appreciate the game sooner and take advantage of all the things baseball can offer.”

Canseco hasn’t lost all of his bravado, not by a moonshot. He says he still could hit 50 home runs, especially in Tropicana Field. (A ball he hit there last year for his 44 th homer might have traveled 600 feet had it not struck a catwalk.) He says he looks forward to the laid-back atmosphere of Tampa Bay and helping the Devil Rays become more competitive, if not playoff contenders.

But can Jose Canseco be Jose Canseco in the land of double-wides, dog tracks and early bird dinners? If Canseco could hit 46 home runs and go unnoticed playing for a wild card contender in Toronto, how far off the radar screen will he be in St. Petersburg? In other words, will Canseco matter anymore?

It makes no difference, Canseco says. “I’m at the point in my life where it’s all about family. You don’t want that kind of notoriety I’ve had in the past anymore. You want to be one of those low-key kind of players. You’d like to end your career with a bang and end up in the Hall of Fame, but you want to do it a quiet way.”

Quiet? Low-key? Unnoticed? Jose Canseco? It sounds preposterous, but Iglesias relates an anecdote that suggests it’s possible. After Canseco signed his contract with the Devil Rays in December, the two boarded a Southwest Airlines flight back to Ft. Lauderdale. They presented their pastel-colored, plastic boarding passes and stepped on to the plane with the rest of the final boarding group.

One passenger immediately recognized the slugger who, because of the airline’s open seating policy, was left to find a spot in the back of the cabin. “Look,” he said, nudging his buddy, “There’s Jose Canseco.”

The other guy took a look back and shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Why would he be flying with us? Jose Canseco owns his own plane.”

Copyright 1999 USA Today Baseball Weekly