His nine seasons with the Pirates are finished. Now the Giants outfielder is embracing change — on the field, in the clubhouse and at home
SCOTTSDALE, Ariz.
A cup of coffee is waiting in Andrew McCutchen’s locker when he walks into the clubhouse. “I think you’ll like it,” says Austin Jackson, the other 31-year-old offseason addition to the San Francisco Giants outfield, from five seats away. “Surprisingly smooth.” He spied McCutchen drinking the clubhouse stuff a few days earlier and figured the new dad could use some higher-grade fuel, so he stopped by a coffee shop on his drive to the ballpark.
The clock in the corner of the room blinks 8:04 a.m., five hours before the Giants’ spring training opener here at Scottsdale Stadium. It feels a little like the first day of the rest of McCutchen’s baseball life. The orange is the only part he’ll have to get used to, McCutchen reasons, since he already wore black in Pittsburgh. But the adjustments go far beyond jersey colors.
McCutchen thanks Jackson and sits, taking his place at the end of a row of lockers representing the 2018 Giants’ version of a murderers’ row. The next stall over belongs to Evan Longoria, followed by Buster Posey, Madison Bumgarner, Hunter Pence and the club’s lost-and-found cubby, which apparently is not meant metaphorically following the Giants’ 98-loss season last year.
Now McCutchen is part of what is, on paper, the most star-studded roster he’s been on in the majors, a team constructed in a way the Pirates never would, never could with him. In this clubhouse, McCutchen isn’t the center of attention. Some days that’s Posey or Bumgarner or Mark Melancon or Johnny Cueto, and other days it’s the greatest legend the Giants ever had.
There’s a small table about 5 feet from McCutchen’s seat. When he walked in after workouts the previous day, he found an old man in a puffy Giants jacket holding court. The man was Willie Mays. The Hall of Famer recognized McCutchen in a heartbeat. Mays, 86, asked McCutchen where the Giants plan to play him. Right field, McCutchen said. Mays preferred him in center, his own former position. McCutchen beamed. It was powerful, he says, to meet a man like that.
“Willie Mays was — and is — the guy,” McCutchen marvels the next morning. “He’s the man. He’s been through it all. I can’t wait to be able to actually sit down for a little longer and pick his brain, ask him all types of questions, questions I’ve always wanted to ask an all-time great like him.”
Meeting Mays is one of the snippets McCutchen says he’s storing away to tell his son one day. For now, 3-month-old Steel, whose name McCutchen swears has nothing to do with Pittsburgh, doesn’t retain many memories. He won’t remember this debut, this chilly Friday in February when his father first played in a Giants uniform. He won’t remember this chapter of his father’s career, a contract year in San Francisco wedged in front of free agency.
He won’t remember his father’s nine seasons with the Pirates. They ended before Steel arrived.
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