McAdam: First time hardly the charm for Kiké Hernández

For a minute or so, it was the kind of debut of which players dream.

Anointed as his new team's leadoff hitter, Kiké Hernández, making his Red Sox debut came to the plate in the bottom of the first inning Friday afternoon, with fans back in Fenway Park for the first time in 16 months, and promptly did what leadoff hitters are supposed to do. Hernandez lined a single to right field, for his first hit in his first plate appearance.

So far, so good.

"Got my first hit out of the way,'' Hernandez would say later. "Felt good in the moment.''

It was, however, all downhill from there.

One out later, Hernandez stumbled as he scampered back to the bag on a pickoff attempt from Orioles starter John Means, and after rolling his ankle in an effort to get back safely, came off the bag for an instant. Baltimore first baseman Trey Mancini alertly kept the tag on Hernandez for several seconds and while first base umpire Ron Kulpa initially ruled Hernandez safe, the Orioles dugout knew better.

Following a seemingly interminable replay review, Hernandez was called out, and the storybook debut was already soured a bit.

For Hernandez, however, it would get worse. Much worse.



In the sixth inning, with Oriole baserunners at first and second, Anthony Santander hit a rocket toward Hernandez in what looked to be a gift-wrapped double-play ball. But not only was the ball scorched, it also had some ferocious topspin.

"I tried to come get it,'' he recounted after the Red Sox had been shut out 3-0 by Baltimore, "and I didn't get the hop that I wanted. Made an error.''

By the time Hernandez had the ball under control, the bases were loaded. The next hitter, Ryan Mountcastle, took full advantage of the miscue and hit a wall-scraping double off The Wall, scoring two runs -- or one more than the Orioles would need on a frigid afternoon at Fenway.

"I think,'' said a humbled Hernandez, "I would have traded that (earlier) base hit for catching that ball and the outcome of the game would have been different, probably.''

The latter point is arguable, since the way the Sox bats remained in storage in the opener, who knows how long it would have taken for the Sox to push a run across. But his larger point was correct: his error was as costly as could be.

The irony was undeniable. When the Red Sox signed Hernandez to a two-year deal over the winter, what attracted them was his versatility and the ability to provide plus defense at a number of positions. Alex Cora, who has known Hernandez since the latter was a boy, spent most of the spring raving about the upgrade Hernandez would provide at any number of spots in the field.

Second base was a sinkhole for the Red Sox last season, as the team experimented at the position -- first with free-agent bust Jose Peraza and later with Rule 5 pick Jonathan Arauz, getting little production from either. Hernandez was going to change that equation, supplying a dynamic quality to the lineup and airtight defense at either second, or, if need be, shortstop or the outfield.

And yet, here, in his first game in a Red Sox uniform, his misplay cost the Red Sox dearly. And now, Hernandez was dealing with the fallout, replaying the error over and over again in his head. It wasn't just a play he should have made. It was one he should have turned into an inning-ending double play.

"No doubt about it,'' he said glumly. "It was hit right at me. Catch that ball and it's a double play and no runs would have scored that inning.''

Make this error in June or July, and it's easier to shrug off. But on Opening Day, everything is naturally magnified and it's harder to hide. Especially when you're the New Guy, trying to make a strong first impression.

And while there were a number of factors that led to the 3-0 loss -- not the least of which was the anemic offensive attack, held hitless between the first and last innings -- Hernandez knew the fingers of blame would be pointed squarely at him.

All that was left for him was to cover himself in cliche. He wasn't making excuses, or absolving himself of blame. Instead, he was merely acknowledging the obvious.

"One hundred sixty-one games left,'' he said. "Nobody's gonna win 162. Get some rest tonight, come back tomorrow and regroup.''

A day that had begun with such promise had not ended that way.