180 Degrees Of Separation

The funny thing is, LaMar doesn't include him, not until he's specifically asked, and not without a painful grimace. It is an understandably touchy subject for the man and the organization. That's probably why finding anyone affiliated with the Devil Rays—players, coaches, front office personnel—who will comment on the details of Hamilton's decline is nearly impossible. Officially or unofficially, a gag order is in effect.

Although many cite the accident as the beginning of Hamilton's downfall, no one is certain. (None of the Hamiltons would talk to SI last month for this story.) It is a mystery, chock-full of clues and theories but lacking hard evidence. There are those who recall him arriving at spring training in 2001 with six tattoos adorning his body, strange for such a clean-cut kid. "I didn't understand it," Jennings says, "but maybe that's because I'm not a tattoo guy." (Since then Hamilton has added 20 more, turning his body into a multicolored maze of tribal seals and funkadelic designs.) Others in the organization quietly expressed concern that Tony and Linda seemed unwilling to let their son sprout into manhood on his own. When Hamilton signed with the Devil Rays, he paid off his parents' debts, allowing them to retire. From that point the couple followed their son everywhere, even trailing the team bus from town to town. Linda cooked all of Josh's meals and did his laundry.

"His parents played a big role in everything he did," Pigott says. "He could never say he wanted to go have a beer with the guys or go hang out at a club. I wouldn't say [parental involvement] caused what has happened, but it could have made him want to change his life."

Were the tattoos a form of rebellion? Tony Hamilton has long disputed this claim, telling SI in 2002, "We're raising him the best way we know how. Josh knows it's the best way."

In 2002 Hamilton spent the season with Class A Bakersfield, where he hit .303 with nine homers in 56 games. But for the third time in four years his season was cut short by injuries, this time to his left shoulder, lower back and rib cage.

When he reported to spring training in 2003—his parents were in St. Petersburg as usual but not living with him—his decline accelerated. Though new manager Lou Piniella was wowed by Hamilton's quick bat and was considering him for the club's every-day rightfield job, the skipper became enraged after the 21-year-old Hamilton was late for practice a second time. His first excuse was car trouble, his second oversleeping. He missed at least two more workouts for unspecified reasons and was reassigned to the minor league camp. Several Devil Rays told the local beat writers that Hamilton had developed an affinity for the nightlife.

"Josh hadn't had the freedom he needed," says Cedrick Bowers, a former Tampa Bay prospect, of the constant presence of Hamilton's parents. "So when he finally got it, he didn't know what to do with it."

Then came the announcement, late that March, that Hamilton was leaving the team for "personal reasons." For more than a month after that, no one—including the Devil Rays' staff—could find him. Hamilton then reappeared from time to time but sat out the entire season. The speculation was that he was suffering from depression, perhaps caused by his multiple injuries or an illness in the family. Last January he spoke for a half hour with St. Petersburg Times sportswriter Marc Topkin, who had arrived at Hamilton's house outside Raleigh unannounced. During the discussion, Hamilton was vague about his absence from the game, saying his problems related to "things I've worked past and I'm still working on to keep in the past." He also revealed that one month earlier he had planned to marry a North Carolina woman who said she was pregnant with his child. When the woman refused to sign a prenuptial agreement, Hamilton said, he called off the wedding and hadn't heard from her since. It was his second broken engagement in a year.

While Beckett has spent much of his two full major league seasons plagued by injuries—a recurring blister on his right middle finger in 2002 and a sprained right elbow last year—everything came together last October when the kid with a 17-17 career record almost single-handedly pitched the Marlins past the Cubs in the NLCS, then dominated the New York Yankees in Florida's shocking World Series triumph. In his five-hitter that beat New York 2-0 in the Game 6 clincher at Yankee Stadium, Beckett became the first pitcher since Minnesota's Jack Morris, in 1991, to clinch the World Series with a complete-game shutout. That he was throwing on three days' rest made the feat even more remarkable. "He's unbelievable," says catcher Pudge Rodriguez, who starred for Florida last season before moving on to Detroit as a free agent this winter. "If he stays healthy and keeps doing what he's doing, he's going to be one of the best pitchers in the game."

After the World Series, Beckett embraced his newfound celebrity. He began dating Frederick's of Hollywood model Leeann Tweeden and agreed to appear in advertisements for the National Rife Association, of which he is a card-carrying member. He flew to New York to shoot a commercial with Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez. "Fame is good, and fame is bad," he says. "It'd be nice to eat a meal without being interrupted sometimes, but on the other hand, you never have to wait to get seated. And the discounts! I was in the Hugo Boss store, just looking around. This guy comes up and says, 'Josh, you know we have discounts for Marlins players.' I said, 'Who shops here?' He was like, 'No one yet. But we'll give discounts.'