The Trade That Never Happened: Pedro Martínez
no. 30
The year was 1993, carved into the soft wood of my memory like a boy's initials who didn’t know how much the small things mattered. Not just for baseball, though baseball was the melody under it all, but for the crooked, patchwork quilt of a young fan’s life—stitched tight with holograms that shimmered like bits of diamond light on the backs of Upper Deck baseball cards. You’d tilt them just so, and the magic would catch, flicker, hold.
I make my living now as a professor, historian, and all-around book-chaser, but back then, reading comprehension was a stubborn mule I couldn’t get to budge. After-school tutoring was my second home, and The Chronicles of Narnia stood before me like a locked door with no key. That is where baseball comes in.
I owe a lot to baseball, but not in the way you’d think. Baseball was why I became such an avid reader. It's not that Narnia was all that bad. It’s just that Baseball Weekly (folded in the USA Today, at least that is how I remember) and the Los Angeles Times told better stories—and left proof of your reading, I could still feel that ink on my fingers in my imagination.
The stories in Baseball Weekly and Los Angeles Times had pulse and grit. Box scores were decipherable facts I could read, and each name—a sacred chant: Orel Hershiser, Mike Piazza, Pedro Martinez—etched sharp and clear against the fog of everything else.
Baseball wasn’t a pastime for some of us. It was the very oxygen we pulled into our lungs, woven into the smog-thick air of Los Angeles in the '90s. The Dodgers were everywhere, like billboards along the highway of my childhood—Tommy Lasorda hawking SlimFast with the fervor of a man selling salvation, Eric Davis and Darryl Strawberry slipping into new uniforms but never shedding their swagger, and Mike Piazza—rookie thunder—cracking the sky wide open over Chavez Ravine—a World Series on the horizon.
That Christmas, my parents gave my brothers and me a Sega Genesis, neatly wrapped in the brittle promise of academic improvement—a reward for strides made in the classroom, or at least the hope of them. But as with many gifts, its true purpose shifted over time. By the time 1994 rolled around, it was no longer just a symbol of scholastic progress. It had become something else entirely: redemption.
With the game World Series Baseball in our hands, the Sega transformed from mere entertainment into a tool. We discovered a glitch in the game and a minor flaw in its digital architecture: the third baseman couldn’t field and throw out a runner at first with any consistency. Armed with this secret, my brothers and I became neighborhood hustlers, wagering on games not for money but for something far more valuable—baseball cards.
Victory after victory piled up, and in one of those triumphs, I won a prize I still hold today: a Mike Piazza minor league rookie card, a relic of youthful cunning and the unshakable belief that in the world of baseball—whether on the diamond or in 16-bit pixels—redemption was always just a game away.
World Series Baseball was valuable for its pixelated fields and what we could do with the roster. With the flick of a controller, we could right every Dodgers trade that had ever bruised our young hearts, undoing the betrayals. It was like heartache could be reversed, pixel by pixel, with a button. Most importantly, we beat the Yankees in the World Series in '98. It happened, oh yes! (Continue reading...)
The Mike Piazza trade would burn me inside, and as you can tell from my article, "The Mike Piazza Trade," that pain lingers on. However, the trade that still angers me the most is the Dodgers trading a young Pedro Martinez.
The Dodgers' Dilemma
The year 1993 marked a pivotal moment for the Los Angeles Dodgers, a team caught between potential and performance. They finished the season with an even 81-81 record, placing fourth in the National League West, 23 games behind the dominant Atlanta Braves and 22 games behind the rival San Francisco Giants.
Despite their middling record, the roster brimmed with promise. Wearing #55, Orel Hershiser remained a maestro on the mound, his pitches as precise as ever—never again the All-Star he was, but still with solid years ahead. Fresh-faced and fierce, Mike Piazza was carving his name into baseball lore, destined for greatness; at first, he donned #25 but switched to #31 (see his reply on my old Twitter handle). First baseman Eric Karros exuded calm confidence, Brett Butler patrolled the outfield with surgical precision, and the newly acquired Eric Davis brought a blend of speed and power.
Among these stars was Darryl Strawberry, #44, immortalized in a childhood memory through a newspaper caricature—his head depicted as an actual strawberry, with straws poking from his jersey, under the bold title “Strawman.” Whether this image was real or a product of youthful imagination, I don't know, but it still lives vividly in memory, emblematic of the era.
Amid the star power was the quiet brilliance of Ramon Martinez, steady and reliable on the mound. Yet, his younger brother, Pedro Martinez, truly captured the imagination. To a ten-year-old fan, Pedro seemed destined for greatness. In 65 games, primarily as a setup man, he posted a 10-5 record, a 2.61 ERA, and tallied 119 strikeouts over 107 innings, leading all National League relievers in innings pitched. It appeared obvious—Pedro was on a trajectory to surpass his older brother.
A Trade That Echoed
Despite Pedro's burgeoning talent, the Dodgers made a decision that would reverberate through baseball history—they traded Pedro Martinez to the Montreal Expos. In return, they acquired Delino DeShields, a promising second baseman known for his speed and batting prowess. DeShields, who was 24 and earning $1,537,500, had posted a .295 batting average with 43 stolen bases the previous season. Pedro, just 22, earned a modest $114,000—his potential was undeniable.
The Expos quickly recognized Pedro's brilliance and added him to the starting rotation. With the ill-fated Expos, he flourished into one of the most dominant pitchers in baseball history. An MLB Hall of Famer, Pedro became the only pitcher in the 20th century to strike out 300 batters in a season without standing six feet tall—the Dodgers traded Pedro because of his size.
Reflections from the Trade's Fallout
Years later, Dodgers General Manager Fred Claire, who constructed the 1988 World Series Dodgers, reflected on Pedro's trade with poignant clarity:
“When the media reacted that strong,” Claire later reflected with a laugh, “I should have known I was in trouble.”
While DeShields had a respectable career with the Dodgers, Pedro's achievements were transcendent. Claire stated in 2015:
“He was out to prove the trade was a mistake,’’ Claire told USA Today Sports. “I made a mistake. It was a big mistake. But I don’t want this to reflect badly or do anything to diminish the player Delino was. Delino was criticized, but he had nothing to do with the trade."
A mistake, it was. Pedro wasn't just good—he was historic. Pedro also reflected upon those doubts about his size and durability, once quipping,
"I wanted to make everybody my height—really, really small."
His dominance on the mound overshadowed any concerns about stature. Moreover, he proudly declared, “I did it clean,” a subtle rebuke in an era tainted by performance-enhancing drug scandals.
A Legacy Defined by What Was Lost
The trade was more than a simple transaction; it became a symbol within Dodgers lore—a cautionary tale of what could have been. For a young fan, it was an early lesson in baseball's harsh realities: heroes could be traded, talent could be overlooked, and decisions made in boardrooms could shatter childhood illusions.
Pedro's words capture the trade's enduring sting:
"All those people who put all those labels on me must be out there [in L.A.] now banging their heads against the wall."
Perhaps they were. Yet, for the fans—especially one ten-year-old—it was another chapter in baseball's bittersweet narrative.
We know how this story ends: Pedro Martinez's career soared! Over 18 seasons, Pedro amassed 219 wins, 3,154 strikeouts, and a 2.47 ERA during his peak years. He became an eight-time All-Star (1996–2000, 2002, 2005, 2006), a World Series champion with the Boston Red Sox in 2004, and secured three Cy Young Awards (1997, 1999, 2000). His accolades include a Triple Crown in 1999, being the MLB wins leader the same year, leading the league in ERA five times, and topping the American League in strikeouts three times. The Red Sox honored his legacy by retiring his #45 jersey, and he was inducted into the Boston Red Sox Hall of Fame.
In contrast, Delino DeShields delivered mixed results over three seasons with the Dodgers. His performance peaked modestly in 1995, but by 1996, his contributions waned significantly, culminating in a negative WAR (-1.4). This disparity between DeShields' output and Pedro's Hall of Fame career underscores the enduring regret surrounding the trade.
As fans, we aren't even mad at DeShields. We are more upset at that same type of thinking that led to another brother and second baseman. Can you believe the Dodgers had two chances to put Vladimir Guerrero in blue? We chose Wilton Guerrero instead, him and that corked bat. Read @MikeDiGiovanna's article in the link.
Here is some of what you will read: Vlad Guerrero would later reflect: “I was at the Dodgers academy for eight months, and they decided not to sign me
Now imagine the year is 1998, and the Dodgers are playing the Yankees in the World Series. They don't get swept like the Padres.
My Alternate Universe
45: Pedro Martinez.
It’s Game 7 at Dodger Stadium, the air thick with tension and history. The game is tied. Pedro Martínez is on the mound, his jersey, that #45, clinging to him with sweat, eyes burning with that fierce, unblinking focus. He’s throwing lasers—fastballs that sizzle like live wires, cutters that dart like they’ve got minds of their own.
Behind the plate, Mike Piazza is calling the best game of his career, his fingers painting signals like Michelangelo. He’s already belted two home runs in this series, but tonight, his masterpiece is in the way he frames every pitch, squeezes the corners, and wills strikes out of thin air.
In the bullpen, #55, Oral Hershiser (he never left to the Cleveland Indians and never plays for the rival San Francisco Giants). His shadow still stretches from ‘88, but now he’s physically there, warming up just in case, his form crisp, like time hasn’t touched him—at least not tonight.
Pedro gets out of the top of the ninth with a strikeout that sends the crowd into a frenzy, his fist pumping the air as he walks off the mound, chest heaving but chin high. The Dodgers’ dugout explodes with energy, players spilling out, fists clenched with the hope that this is it—this is the moment.
Now it’s the Dodgers' turn.
Lasorda is pacing in the dugout as Vladimir Guerrero steps up to the plate, his stance loose, almost casual, but everyone knows better. His bat is more than wood—it becomes an extension of his will, capable of reaching pitches no one else would dare swing at. The crowd is a living thing, surging and pulsing with every breath.
The first pitch comes in hot—a blistering fastball high and tight. Vlad doesn’t flinch. He stares back at the legendary Yankee Mariano Rivera—ball one.
Second pitch—Mariano drops a wicked changeup, diving out of the strike zone at the last second. Vlad’s bat launches through the zone, missing by a whisper. Strike one.
The duel is on.
Mariano works the corners, a chess master with a flamethrower. Vlad fouls off pitch after pitch, balls screaming into the night, denting helmets in the stands, shattering nerves. The count climbs—2-2. The tension isn’t just thick; it’s suffocating.
Mariano rears back, all torque and fire from #42, and unleashes a fastball meant to end it.
But it drifts. Just a hair. Just enough.
Vlad’s swing is violent and beautiful, a blur of raw power and perfect timing. The crack is thunder, sharp—undeniable. The ball rockets off his bat, arcing toward left field, gaining height and distance—a towering shot with destiny stitched into the seams.
Dodger Stadium holds its breath as the ball climbs, climbs… and then it’s gone. Over the wall. Into legend.
The crowd detonates, a sound so loud it feels like it could knock you off your feet. Vlad rounds the bases, his face stoic, almost disbelieving, as his teammates rush the field. The celebration is chaos, pure and unfiltered—gloves tossed, caps flying, bodies colliding at home plate in a joyous dogpile. Karros rolled his ankle but laughed it off. Somewhere in the bullpen, Hershiser smiles, knowing he won’t be needed after all.
History Made
Future Hall of Famers Vlad Guerrero, Mike Piazza, and nineteen-year-old Adrian Beltré get their World Series ring.
Hideo Nomo becomes the first Japanese-born player to win a World Series. Chan Ho Park becomes the first Korean-born player to win one.
Future Dodgers World Series coach Álex Cora gets his first ring.
Lasorda earns his third championship and teams up with the Bulldog, Hershiser, who has won his second ring; together, they retire and ride off into the sunset.
They would return to the World Series in 2000 and 2004, winning the latter and extending their appearance in at least one World Series in every decade (except the 1930s)—13 of 14 decades since 1890. They remain ahead of the Yankees, who have appeared in at least one World Series in 10 decades.
I watch the joint jersey retirement of Mike Piazza and Pedro Martinez in my college dorm room...
But then it's time to go to bed. It's 1999. I turned off the Nintendo 64 after a long game of Ken Griffey Jr. Baseball, as the Sega Genesis sat dusty, resting beside it. I shower and rest my head, dreaming of what could have been, or better yet, should have been.
SOURCES | BIBLIOGRAPHY
"Pedro Martinez Is Traded by Dodgers for DeShields." Los Angeles Times, November 20, 1993. Accessed January 31, 2025.
Nadel, John. "For Dodgers, DeShields is Worth an Arm." Hanford Sentinel, November 20, 1993, Volume 1993, Number 323.
Kawakami, Tim. "Dodgers’ Deal for DeShields Costs Them Pedro Martinez." Los Angeles Times, November 20, 1993.
Newhan, Ross. "A Long-Term Trade Deficit." Los Angeles Times, April 22, 2008.
Dilbeck, Steve. "Pedro Martinez Towers Over Them All as Ex-Dodger Joins the Hall." Los Angeles Times, January 6, 2015.