He is the antithesis of baseball idolatry. Gone is the workman’s attitude of Cal Ripken, the clean-shaven appearance of Joe DiMaggio, the silent fury of Bob Gibson. What is left in Los Angeles is a joker, a menace, a man who goes against everything baseball purists believe in and admire in ball players. Manny Ramirez, why must you disgrace the baseball gods?

Baseball fans young and old feel their hearts swell as they watch the movie “Field of Dreams” because it represents everything that is so simple and easy to like about our beloved pastime. To see Manny’s Rastafarian locks and lackadaisical swagger emerge from the cornfields would give the feel-good classic a twist so horrifying not even M. Night Shyamalan could get away with it. Despite how well Manny has made himself into an unconventional superstar, he has not totally evaded the sterile – some of us would call it professional – makeup of a baseball great. There is a time and place where Manny gives baseball lovers exactly what they want.

The sight I speak of, ocurring only four to five times a game, is when Manny plants his spikes into the batter’s box and goes to work. As he prepares for his at-bat, Manny transforms from merry prankster to hall of fame hit man. No more footloose dancing. Each foot moves only once before the pitch. His feet hover low to the earth and come down softly, first the right, then the left, to rest shoulder-width apart. His bat acts as a pendulum to get the blood flowing in his upper body. He gets his bat back in the ready position, giving him just enough time before the pitch to give the pitcher his stare, a look that is truly both so baseball and so Manny.

We can prod Manny about his eccentricities all we want, but when it comes to his stare, nothing exudes the unsaid certainty of a great hitter quite like it. There are no frills to his stare, like the smug, chin-out boosting of Albert Pujols or the extended tongue of David Wright. It lacks the boiling anger shown by Kevin Youkilis, who seems to be looking for any excuse to charge the mound. It is unscripted, a word not associated with anything shown by Alex Rodriguez. It is, quite simply, the look of confidence that comes from a player who is concerned with only one thing – hitting the stitches out of that flying ball of yarn.

Once the pitcher receives the sign and begins his delivery, Manny’s movement is completely tempered and contained in his hands, which must stay busy to ignite the momentum of his swing, while the rest of his body is stationary. He is the conductor of an orchestra. We see the sway of his bat, the only moving part of this slugging edifice, which Manny jabs ever so slightly behind his helmet and toward the first base dugout. The ball is airborne and heading home. Again, we see little movement. Initially, there is only an adjustment. Manny’s body weight, the majority of which has been resting on his back leg, begins to shift forward. Then there is a big change, and if Manny is pleased with the pitch, usually, there is a bigger change in the form of a line drive or souvenir for the fans behind the outfield wall. His front foot shoots off the ground and, upon its descent forward, pulls the rest of his body through the hitting zone where a symphony booms from home plate.

For a man as mysterious and harebrained as L.A.’s joker, Manny is normalized by the simplicity of batting approach. The baseball gods may be aghast by Manny’s behavior, but they cannot argue that he possesses an immortal swing. A hackneyed piece of baseball advice is that hitters should not think too much. If that is the secret, then Manny is the sport’s prototype. When asked by former teammate Russell Branyan how he is such a great slugger, Manny told him he rests 70 percent of his weight on his back leg and 40 percent on his front leg. This lack of science is as essential to baseball as it is to Manny being Manny. The game is not about what you look like or what you say. It is about making pitchers regret facing you and winning while you do it. Simple, but true. Just like Manny. Just like “Field of Dreams”. So, baseball purists, don’t be afraid. Manny isn’t so scary after all.