Fernando Valenzuela vanished without saying a word, which, in retrospect, was the most Fernando Valenzuela thing he could have done.
Not until he was falsely rumored on social media to have passed away did the Dodgers issue an official statement acknowledging that he stepped away from their Spanish-language radio broadcast. His health problems were never specified.
Valenzuela didn’t demand attention. He didn’t want sympathy.
He didn’t suddenly become like this at the end of his life. This is how he was for the entirety of the 17 years I knew him, carrying himself with quiet pride and understated dignity.
Valenzuela died on Tuesday, the Dodgers announced. He was 63.
As a Cy Young Award-winning rookie pitcher in 1981, Valenzuela forever changed the makeup of the Dodgers’ fan base, but he never behaved as if he was a big shot in the media dining room.
Many retired athletes, especially ones who have reached the peaks of their respective fields, miss the adoration they once received. They enjoy holding court. They like reliving their glorious pasts.
Valenzuela wasn’t like that.
He was typically joined for dinner by two or three people and rarely more. Sometimes, he was alone, headphones in his ears, looking down at his phone.
He wasn’t desperate for the validation of others. He knew who he was and what he was about.
Read more: Plaschke: Fernando Valenzuela was the man who connected L.A. to the Dodgers
That made sense. How else would Fernandomania have been possible? How else could a 20-year-old from a small town in Mexico who didn’t speak English or understand anything about this strange city have worked up the nerve to stare down the New York Yankees in the World Series?
His reticent demeanor, coupled with his enormous stature in the game, gave many people the impression that he was unapproachable. The opposite was true.
When I’d ask him what he was watching, he’d show me his phone screen, which was usually streaming a baseball game from Mexico. He’d tell me about the team he owned. He’d tell me about his son who was still playing. He’d tell a related story, crack a joke and complain about his golf game. He was always warm.
He had a quirky sense of humor, and he didn’t have any problems making fun of…