The convenient Alan Zinter narrative focuses simply on his status as another first-round draft bust for the Mets.
This story is built around his 84 career plate appearances and .167 batting average, and the fact that none of this meager production was even logged in orange and blue.
There’s a wistful chapter or two reserved for what might have been, looking no further than the pick who came after him in the 25th slot that year: 1991 Rookie of the Year Chuck Knoblauch. This is followed by a more sanguine passage covering the even-up 1994 swap with the Tigers that brought Rico Brogna to New York, a straight-up steal for the Mets.
But the somewhat more obscure Alan Zinter narrative is centered around perseverance, determination, and a passion for the game.
Zinter debuted with Pittsfield in 1989 at the age of 21. He did well enough there to warrant a move up to St. Lucie after just a dozen games.
And thus began an odyssey that saw him work through various corners of the minor-league systems of the Mets, Tigers, Red Sox, Mariners, Cubs, and Diamondbacks, before finally making it to the majors with the Astros in 2002, at the age of 34.
Zinter didn’t hit much in sporadic duty with Houston, and found himself back in the minors for the 2003 campaign. He returned to the Diamondbacks organization in 2004, and earned another 40 big-league plate appearances over the course of that season. It was back to AAA in 2005 and 2006, and then one final year in the Atlantic League before retiring at the age of 39.
He is now the minor-league hitting instructor for the Cleveland Indians, and is coming up on 25 years in organized ball.
Google his name, and you’ll be met by a picture of Zinter in an Indians hat, wearing a weathered and warm smile. It’s the face of a man who spent many years playing a boy’s game, out of the limelight and in unceasing love with summer…
For some strange reason, it pleases me to know that Zinter is still involved in pro baseball. Next up you’ll tell me Aaron Ledesma and Joe Kmak are doing likewise.
Down every road, there’s always one more city…a baseball lifer, the highway is my home…
Apologies to the great Merle Haggard =;)