Luis Gonzalez
I’ve asked Luis Gonzalez the same question a dozen different ways over the years, hoping he’ll finally say, “You know what, Robby? I am tired of talking about 2001.” But he never does. Because for Gonzo, that game, that moment, that ballpark—it wasn’t just history. It was connection. To his teammates. To fans. To Arizona. To something bigger than baseball. And somehow, even with all that, the guy still finds time to joke with the kid in the front row about pitch selection. That’s why I keep asking. And that’s why, 24 years later, people still care.
Gonzo, for people who’ve never been to Chase Field, how would you describe the experience?
It’s different. We’ve got the retractable roof, which gives you those perfect Arizona nights early in the season. And of course, the swimming pool in right-center—there’s just something unique about seeing fans out there in bathing suits while you’re trying to play a game. It adds this whole other vibe to the ballpark.
What was it like for players to have that pool out there?
Different, but fun. We had the “runway” strip from the mound to home plate back then. Everything felt new. There was no history yet, so fans were coming in from all over—transplants from the Midwest, New York, Chicago. Arizona didn’t really have “lifelong” fans. We were building something from scratch, which made every moment feel bigger.
Most people say you changed the culture with one swing in Game Seven, but it feels deeper than that. How do you reflect on that?
I was blessed. I played 19 years, but I always remembered being the kid on the other side of the fence, dreaming about being here. That moment? It could’ve been anyone. But God had a plan. I still get goosebumps thinking about it. And I always wanted people to remember me as a good person first, before a good player. The hit was one thing—but how you treat people, that sticks longer.
You’ve always been so gracious when people ask about that hit. Why?
Because I lived a dream most people only imagine. If I can talk about it and help someone feel even a sliver of what I felt, I’ll do that every day. People say, “You must get tired of this,” but I never do. That moment brought Arizona its first championship. That hit belongs to all of us.
Can you walk me through your mindset going to the plate?
Oh man, a bazillion things. The noise, the energy, Joe Torre going out to talk to Mariano, the infield coming in. I thought about my family watching, my coaches, my childhood. You dream about that moment your whole life. And then you realize—you’re in it. And you’re praying: “Don’t screw this up.”
Did you know it was going to drop?
Yeah. Off the bat, I saw Jeter was playing in, and I knew. It was just over his head. And the second it dropped—chaos. Joy. Everything. I’d dreamed of a home run, sure. But all I wanted in reality was to win. And I did.
And you’re still humble about it all.
Because it took everyone. The clubhouse guys, the parking attendants, my teammates. Those are my people. They’re the fabric of the team. I spent more time with some of them than my teammates. I always say: I don’t care if you’re the richest or the poorest—if you’re a good person, I’m with you.
Why do you connect so deeply with fans?
Because I was them. And I hated seeing big-league guys ignore kids. Just wave. Say hi. Make a kid’s day. Even in the on-deck circle, I’d turn around to the first row and ask, “You think he’s throwing me a fastball?” They’d light up. That’s what this game is about—people.
Your number was the first retired by the Diamondbacks. What did that mean?
A dream. I didn’t play the game to be famous. I played to be respected. I wanted to be the same guy—rookie year to retirement. Never big-timed anyone. That clubhouse staff? Some of my best friends to this day. They made it all worth it.
You visited Ground Zero during the World Series. What was that like?
Emotional. Heavy. A lot of security. But we wanted to go—pay our respects. Curt Schilling gave a speech in the command center. Not a dry eye in the room. And then Bush throws that strike from the mound in Yankee Stadium. That whole Series was bigger than baseball.
What do you hope people remember when they talk about Luis Gonzalez?
That I was a good guy. That I cared. That I treated everyone with respect—teammates, fans, staff. Baseball ends. But how you make people feel? That stays with them. And that, to me, is what makes the game sacred.
~~~
More from Luis Gonzalez
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.