Part 2 — Is it all in Soriano’s head?

Alfonso Soriano bats at Wrigley Field on July 3, 2009 (Jonathan Daniel/Getty)

At first, I didn’t connect all the dots at Chase Field in Phoenix during the National League Championship Series in 2007, when Frank Robinson crooked his finger and tapped his forehead when we crossed paths in the pressbox.

As Alfonso Soriano’s manager with the Washington Nationals in 2006, Robinson got an up-close-and-personal look at the slugger’s 46-homer, 41-steal season. But the crooked finger, in response to my question, signified that batting leadoff for Soriano was his mental comfort zone.

There’s a lot more, though.

Could it be that all the flaws we’ve witnessed in Soriano’s three Cubs seasons are self-generated, from the recesses of a proud but sensitive, and maybe skittish, mind? Like the silver, James Bond-like Aston Martin convertible in which he tooled up to Wrigley Field, Soriano must be finely-calibrated, that everything must be just right, that he cannot perform at optimum efficiency if anything is awry. He must get a steady diet of fastballs to hit, he can’t play effectively with minor injuries and worry that he’ll re-injure himself, and he must perform that one-of-a-kind hop for forward momentum before he catches a routine fly ball.

Soriano’s mental state is crucial if he embarks on the changes, such as learning to hit more to right field, that were suggested in Part 1 of this report on the troubled $136 million Cubs star. If he’s dug in mentally to a specific way of feeling and doing, then any changes won’t take and he’ll continue on as an eminently flawed player not earning his massive paycheck over the five more seasons on his Cubs contract.

Remembering Robinson’s body English, I will tie together a trend that I’ve observed in Soriano’s Cubs days. He is the first major leaguer I’ve ever encountered who publicly admits to fear. There may indeed be some crying in baseball, as when Ralph Branca served up Bobby Thomson’s “shot heard ’round the world.”  But the macho code of the game precludes admissions of worry for one’s own condition. You may think it, you may feel it, but you never say it.

In 2007, Soriano suffered a hamstring tweak and a partially-torn quadriceps muscle. But even after the injuries physically healed and he was proclaimed fit to play, he repeatedly used the words “worried” and “scared” about his state of mind in pushing his legs too far. “The (bigger) problem is in my mind,” Soriano said at one juncture. “Anytime I want to try to run, I don’t feel nothing, but I worry in my mind. (I want to) be comfortable. Sometimes I make a move, but I feel nothing. When I think I have a problem in my leg, I run like 80 percent, 75 percent.”

The references to fear continued in 2008 and 2009. Dusty Baker once called Sammy Sosa “sensitive and selfish.” His Cubs teammates said worse, one calling Sosa “the biggest asshole in baseball,” another declaring him “the worst teammate in the game.” No way Soriano has the selfish tag. He blends right into the Cubs clubhouse, arrives early, gets into a baseball mode and never calls Wrigley Field “my house.” He takes responsibility for his foibles and doesn’t require a palace guard and manservant a la Sosa. But, yes, you can say Soriano is “sensitive.” The trail of fear proclamations would promote an additional tag: “psyched out.”

If Soriano indeed pulls back on his game because of worry, then he’s coming off as little more than Sosa to those talent evaluators who watch him like preying hawks. He comes off all wrong — and does he realize how he appears to others who don’t see the gentlemanly side of him off the field? One scout suggested the right-field approach in Part 1. Another scout theorizes Soriano is beyond salvation.

“He’s not a good baseball player,” said the second scout, who like all his colleagues trades anonymity for candor.  “He has little or no instinct for he game. All he worries about is making that little hop. He doesn’t play to win, plays for himself. He’s not the only one like that. To me it would be very hard to win with a player like him. I don’t think he’s salvageable.

“Saying he’s scared? There are things you think, but you don’t admit it. You go up to hit against Kerry Wood in his heyday, some hitters are thinking, ‘Oh, (bleep)!’  But they don’t say it. They’re using it as an excuse for failure. You just don’t build teams around guys who don’t seem to care about winning.”

Although he believes Soriano is a “lost cause,” this scout suggest maybe, just maybe, the slugger should start by switching to a lighter bat after wielding the heaviest lumber in the game.

“A lighter bat would be a start,” he said. “With that big bat, all he worries about is hitting the ball hard.”

How ’bout smoothing out those famed hot-and-cold Soriano streaks?

“He’s probably up there guessing,” the scout said. “In a hot streak, he guesses right. You’re talking about a guy who goes totally against the game. With that tremendous ability, what a waste.”

And if knee surgery cleans up one problem, Soriano could shed the piano on his back when he runs, said the evaluator.

“He’s a 4.5 runner, that’s well below average,” he said.

Seems like after the surgeon and trainer get done with Soriano, the work of a sports psychologist will be required. Teammate Carlos Zambrano seems in greater need of such counsel, but that’s grist for another blog. Milton Bradley? Been there, done that.

The Cubs have never been known for cutting-edge management style. But with the majority of the $136 million still due Soriano, the extra fee paid to a sports psychologist would be well worth it to sharpen the slugger’s focus and try to purge him of his skittishness. Baseball is all about enduring, about playing through obstacles and distractions. And adjusting, if one road is closed.

Too bad the counselor could not team with one big leaguer who is familiar with Soriano. He’s the opposite of our candid scout.

“You look at him in person, you don’t see where all that power comes from,” said the player, who also has to remain nameless for propriety’s sake. “He proves the physical ability is there. He’ll be able to figure a way out if he wants to. He’s one of those freakish talents who if he wants to, can steal 40 bases. He can make a huge comeback

“If I had to predict, he’ll have a nice comeback. People will forget this year in couple of years. He’s too good of a player.”

Soriano’s comeback is 110 percent required. Otherwise, he’ll weigh down the Cubs and their new owner for the next half-decade. Such a prospect should cause Soriano — who repeatedly said he came to the Cubs to win it all — more worry than the threat of a twinge in his leg or a curveball in a fastball count.