The Ballad of Mike Hessman, Minor League Home Run King

We have a tendency to define success by how much money someone has, or by how much attention they command, or, more recently, by how many Twitter followers and Facebook likes they can pile up. Mike Hessman found success—not to mention some glory and honor—by showing up to the ballpark every day for nearly two decades: 2,080 minor league games, 7,484 at-bats, 3,489 total bases. He found it in 2,353 strikeouts.

The Toledo Mud Hens slugger found it last week, too, when he hit his 433rd ball out of the park, breaking a record that stood for 80 years to become the new minor league home-run king.

Hessman has had a small taste of life in the majors: 223 at-bats and 14 home runs over five short stints with the Atlanta Braves, the New York Mets, and the Detroit Tigers. But he's 37 years old and has spent 19 of them in the minors.

"I've enjoyed the game; I've loved it," he recently told VICE Sports, standing near his locker after the Mud Hens beat Scranton Wilkes-Barre. Two small children, presumably belonging to a teammate, were running around the locker room playing football. "You play as long as you can.

"I'm grateful for the opportunity I had. I gave the game everything I could. I came to the field ready to play and whatever happens, happens."

Hessman hasn't had a major league at-bat in five years. In the minors, he has hit 20 homers with an average of .250 or lower ten times. They still call him King. There can be an uncomfortable feeling about his record. It's hard to decide if counts as success (look at all those bombs!) or failure (look at all those games outside of the bigs!). Toledo manager Larry Parrish said that hitting 433 homers in the minors is harder than doing the same in the majors, because you do it without any creature comforts.

"It's the tenacity of going through that grind, the bus rides and staying in shape for that long," Parrish said. "It's dealing with injuries and being ready anyway."

True, but on the other hand Hessman did it against lower-level pitchers. His goal was never to get to Toledo.

Hessman doesn't speak in grand statements and cool phrases. He doesn't even speak with much inflection. It's doubtful that he has given much thought to the big picture of who he is, what he has accomplished or how outrageously long he has been doing it. Frankly, he has spent more time thinking about getting his body ready for tomorrow's game.

Still, you can pull a little out of him. You mention that any time you get together with your friends, you tell tall tales about your college days. What kind of stories will Hessman tell about baseball?

"Oh, getting thrown out (of the game) after I hit a home run," he said. "Championship games. My first Major League hit was a home run. The Olympics."

OK, so those aren't full stories; they're a list. But Parrish elaborated on the first one: Hessman once hit a home run down the left-field line and rounded the bases. The opposing manager came out of the dugout to argue that the ball was foul; the first-base umpire agreed and ruled that it was not a homer. Parrish got thrown out of the game for arguing, and then Hessman had to come back up to the plate to hit again. What did he do?

You already know. Home run. When he reached first, he muttered something to the first-base umpire, who jogged to home plate and threw Hessman out of the game when he finished rounding the bases. Hessman didn't offer up any specifics, but said the umpire had misinterpreted things.

Once, when Hessman was playing for another team, he came to Toledo. The Mud Hens have a promotion in which they pick a player and if that player strikes out, fans get ice cream. Hessman was selected as the Good Humor giveaway man. So he came to bat … and homered. Next time up: another homer.

Toledo then announced that it had changed players in the promotion. After the game, they sent Hessman an apology for picking him—and a batting helmet filled with roughly a million scoops of ice cream.

Was he able to eat much of it?

"Oh yeah, I crushed it," Hessman said. "It was good."

The walls in the hallway at Fifth Third Field are filled with pictures of Toledo Mud Hens legends. You see Jim Thorpe, eyes squinting, grinning. He hit .358 in 1921. Step into Parrish's office, and there's an image of manager Casey Stengel, who inserted himself as a player in the 11th inning of Mud Hens game in 1927 and hit a two-run homer. So says the plaque.

Keep going. Here's Bevo LeBourveau, Hi West, Roger Philip "The Duke of Tralee" Bresnahan—a Hall of Famer who played in the 1905 World Series and later owned the Mud Hens—and Dutch Beck, who played in the late 1890s.

Before Hessman broke the 80-year-old minor league home run record, Buzz Arlett was the king. Arlett played in the minors in Oakland, retiring in 1937. He could hit, but couldn't field. He got a chance to play in the majors one year, for Philadelphia. He continued to hit. He also continued not to field. His big league career lasted a single season. The game can be cruel.

"I haven't looked, but I heard his numbers were real good," Hessman said. "I'll have to go back after the season and check."

Hessman isn't completely oblivious to what he's done. Sitting on the floor next to his locker is a giant frame holding a picture of him hitting No. 433, a ticket stub from the game, and a shot of his teammates celebrating with him.

Two lockers over, teammate Trayvon Robinson, who joined the Mud Hens in July, has maybe the best feel for what Hessman's career has been like. Robinson played for the Seattle Mariners in 2011 and 2012, and has spent the last three seasons trying to get back to the majors.

He's 27 now. When he arrived in Toledo, someone told him about Hessman. Robinson had to know more. He checked out the numbers. "Unbelievable," Robinson said. "Unbelievable. Same thing year in and year out. It's the fire in him. He just wants to play the game."

But do those numbers represent success or failure?

"Look, sure, that isn't what we all want to do," Robinson said. "It's not the goal. Everybody's chasing the dream. But the one way to get back is to just keep grinding. You get your good at-bats, play the game hard every day, and just wait."

What if you're standing here, in Toledo, at age 37, still in the minors. Will that be OK?

"Yes," Robinson said. "Absolutely. Absolutely. The majors is the same game, just bigger stadiums and better lights. Absolutely. Hessman is an inspiration, not just for baseball but for anything in life. He's been grinding for 20 years. It's awesome. It's awesome. It's awesome."

Hessman won't say how much longer he'll keep playing, and this is just a hunch, but in talking with him, his wife, and with one of his ex-teammates, you get the feeling that this year is it.

As a player, that is. Not as a baseball grinder. Parrish, who is retiring after this season, said the Tigers see Hessman as a future manager. It makes sense. Guys like Hessman tend to make the best managers, and the best teachers—after all, they're the fringe players who had to learn every last aspect of the game and make the absolute most of themselves just to stay in it.

Truth is, the Tigers aren't dying for Hessman's bat. He's in Toledo for his brains, his experience, and to learn from Parrish about how to be a manager. The two men talk about making pitching changes, the when and the why. When to bunt. Stuff like that.

Most likely, someone else in a lower rung of Detroit's minor system will move up to manage Toledo, and that will create an opening for Hessman. He'll have to start at the bottom. Again. That's OK. He knows. Sometimes, superstar players are put right into major-league managing jobs, even when they aren't ready, because they aren't willing to go to some small town and work their way up.

Hessman is willing. Always has been. Last week, the Mud Hens celebrated the tenth anniversary of their 2005 International League championship. They brought back former players, but there was no need to bring back Hessman. He was still in the lineup.