On August 11, for the first time, the Los Angeles Dodgers will break a long-standing team rule by retiring the jersey of a living player who’s not in the Hall of Fame. 

However, No. 34 casts such a large shadow – literally and figuratively – that an entire weekend is dedicated to the one and only, Fernando Valenzuela. In celebratory preparation, “El Toro” fanaticos should read “Daybreak at Chavez Ravine: Fernandomania and the Remaking of the Los Angeles Dodgers” by baseball historian Erik Sherman. It puts Valenzuela’s life, baseball career, and profound ties to the Mexican diaspora on dazzling display.  

In just four years, a teenager described by a Dodgers scout as “plump but not all over” rose from the hardscrabble sandlots of Sonora to throwing a 147-pitch complete World Series tide-turning Game 3 victory over the hated rival New York Yankees. Valenzuela’s masterpiece was the culmination of a rookie season where his leftie screwball (“a curveball in reverse,” in Sherman’s telling) dominated the National League. He became the only player to win both the Cy Young and Rookie of the Year in the same season. 

Related: 22 all-star books about California baseball teams including the Dodgers, Angels, Padres and more

In 1981, fans nationwide were spellbound by “Fernandomania.” It serves as the ample foundation of Sherman’s book, but Valenzuela’s rip-roaring tale is a much richer and deeper story about his impact on baseball, Southern California and America itself.   

Q. Early on, did you plan on writing parallel stories about Fernando the man and a wider-lens look at his influence on the Mexican diaspora?

Yes. I was interested in writing a Valenzuela book, because he’s a larger-than-life character and a biography didn’t exist. But I also knew it would start before he was born when eminent domain forced Mexican-Americans out of their vibrant Chavez Ravine neighborhoods, ultimately the site of Dodger Stadium. The last holdouts were physically dragged out of their front doors and watched their homes get bulldozed. It poisoned the relationship between the team and the Mexican community basically until 1981. Fernando’s ten years in a Dodger uniform changed the face of the franchise. Those two intertwined narratives are what makes Valenzuela’s personal story bigger than nearly anyone who ever played, especially given his humble roots. 

Q. How did growing up in tiny rural Etchohuaquila shape his baseball prowess?  

Fernando comes out of abject poverty. He’s the youngest of 12, an eighth-grade dropout trying to find food for the table and clean drinking water, the hardest of circumstances. So baseball was always a game, a fun respite, be it in a Mexican Youth League or in a sold-out Dodger Stadium. Former GM Fred Claire told me shortly before Fernando’s Opening Day rookie season start, he took a nap in the trainer’s room, showed zero nervousness during the National Anthem. He was more comfortable on the mound than anywhere else in the world. 

Related: Remembering a time when the Dodgers’ Ron Cey stood up for the fans at a local department store

Q. Fernando’s always been a private man and doesn’t really do interviews. Did you assume he wouldn’t talk?

No, I thought right up to the very end I was going to get a chance to speak with him because of my Dodger relationships. The team’s Spanish-language broadcasters were confident they could get me at least 15 minutes. Last summer, I bought a plane ticket and was all set to go with questions. I got Covid. The conversation didn’t happen, didn’t get to pick his brain about certain pitching situations. 

Q. Is there one game that fascinates you in particular? 

To me, his greatest pitching effort was the 1981 National League Championship Game 5 clincher over the Montreal Expos, famous for outfielder Rick Monday’s 9th-inning home run. The game was in Canada, temperatures were in the mid-30s, and Fernando, a 20-year-old kid from Mexico, gave up three hits over 8 2/3rds innings. Before the game, Fernando was out trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. He was totally relaxed that night, but I wonder if he was just cool on the outside. His preternatural calmness fascinates me. 

Q. Why did Valenzuela’s roly-poly physical demeanor endear him so?

I mean here’s a pudgy guy with a bad haircut mowing down major league hitters. His Everyman physique, quirky “look to the heavens” delivery and natural shyness resonated. To Mexicans, he looked like their dad, uncle or brother. Prior to Fernandomania, Dodger crowds were typically 90% White, but within a few starts, the stands transformed. I truly believe Fernando brought more new fans to baseball than even Babe Ruth or Jackie Robinson. All of a sudden, there are Mexican flags and sombreros throughout Dodger Stadium. Grandmas with their rosary beads showed up, as did scores of girls who followed Fernando home after games. Nobody said rock stars can’t be chubby. 

What really sticks with me is all the Latino people I spoke with who said some version of how seeing “one of us” reach the pinnacle of the American game made them feel they could as well, in whatever path they chose. It wasn’t a short-lived sensation either. Dodger crowds are always now at least 50% Latino, and, yes, demographics changed, but there’s still as many Valenzeula jerseys in the stands as Clayton Kershaw or Mookie Betts.  

Q. Fernando made six All-Star teams in his first six full seasons but wasn’t quite the same afterward as injuries mounted. In his decade with the Dodgers, he averaged 233 innings per season, did the team do him a disservice?

In those days, starters were expected to go deep. In 1986, Fernando led baseball with 20 complete games. Even by the standards of the day though, Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda had a reputation for riding his starters hard. Prime example: A two-month strike split the ‘81 season down the middle. The Dodgers won the first half of the Western Division, a guaranteed playoff spot when play resumed in August. Lasorda should have rested guys Instead, Fernando is out there hurling nine, getting “Lasorda-ed” as it was known throughout baseball. In part, it’s because angry, post-strike fans stayed away, and El Toro remained guaranteed box office, but wouldn’t common sense dictate more rest? Different era sure, but injuries and ineffectiveness derailed Fernando’s Hall-of-Fame trajectory. Although, I do think he will get into Cooperstown as a recipient of the Buck O’Neil Award, designated for positive contributions beyond the diamond. 

Q. Funny the strike probably kept Fernandomania alive…

Well, Valenzuela did break team rules and pitch in Mexico for extra beer money. Any mound, anytime. But missing ten major league starts gave his arm a much-needed break, doubly important because screwballs can do real elbow damage. The hated strike helped cement the legend of Fernandomania. He stayed healthy enough to pitch that incredible World Series game, forever the ace of a championship squad. 

Q. Lastly, do you have thoughts on the upcoming Fernandomania extravaganza?

It’s well-deserved, a classy move by the organization, and I’m taking credit for it. In the last chapter of “Daybreak at Chavez Ravine,” I argue that it was high time the team ditch the number-retiring protocol and honor one of the greatest, most influential players to ever wear a Dodger uniform. I sent early copies to friends within the organization and then three weeks later… The Dodgers made a big Fernando Valenzuela announcement. It’s probably not the way it happened, but I’m owning it all the same. 

Related Articles