Is Boston's Triston Casas the quirkiest player in all of baseball?

On Father’s Day, ESPN’s Sunday Night Baseball broadcast interviewed Triston Casas in the Boston Red Sox dugout.

The interview saw Casas spouting off extraordinarily granular statistics on teammate Jarren Duran from memory, trying to encourage fan All-Star voting, and eventually telling a slightly embellished story about his father getting arrested for a misunderstanding during one of Casas’ Little League games. At one point, pitcher Brayan Bello approached Casas during the interview and Casas seamlessly transitioned into a conversation in Spanish.

ESPN’s broadcast team of Karl Ravech and Eduardo Perez couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

It was chaotic and hilarious and to anyone who has spent time with the Red Sox, it was quintessential Casas. But on a national stage, the hulking first baseman drew a flurry of attention on social media from baseball fans across the country not as familiar with The Triston Casas Experience.

“That’s him,” said pitcher Kutter Crawford, who was drafted one year before Casas in 2017 and rose through the minors with him. “He’s quick, he’s sharp. He’s able to think of things on the spot and if not, he’s always prepared.”

In two years since his debut in September 2022, Casas has presented himself as a modern-day Bill Lee with a twinge of Manny Ramirez. He’s an open book, yet still a total mystery. He’s a power hitter, but with a passive approach. He’s thoughtful, but confusing. He’s sarcastic, but serious. There’s a reason why he’ll be featured heavily in the Netflix documentary on the 2024 team.

He doesn’t seem to care about the typical perception of a pro athlete — wearing painted nails just because — and constantly uses his platform to show it’s OK to be yourself. He isn’t ruffled when people gawk at his shirtless yoga or meditation routines on the field hours before each game, because it all serves a purpose.

“I think people, if not anything else, at least appreciate my unapologetic authenticity,” Casas said.

But underneath all of the layers of Casas’ admittedly idiosyncratic outward persona is a deep-seated desire for greatness that fuels everything he does.

Over the course of the summer, The Athletic interviewed nearly 20 teammates, coaches, front office members and those close to Casas to try to understand one question: What makes Triston Casas… Triston Casas?

In Pete Fatse’s first year with the Red Sox as an assistant hitting coach under Tim Hyers, he arrived in spring training to find a minor leaguer on the big league practice fields executing his own drills with a frisbee and tennis balls.

“I’m like, ‘What’s this kid doing?’” Fatse recalled. “And Timmy’s like, ‘Oh that’s Triston, he’s kind of a hitting savant.’”

Casas was in A-ball at the time.

The drills didn’t stop once Casas got to the big-league level. One day this summer, Fatse walked into the batting cage area to find Casas wearing an eye patch and holding a water bottle upside down, engaged in an unconventional pitch recognition drill.

“I thought he was messing with me at first because I looked in and he just, like, winked at me with his other eye,” Fatse said.

Casas is the same whether in public or in private. In a game last year against the Tampa Bay Rays, Casas let out a primal scream after drawing a walk following a 14-pitch plate appearance. He simply does what he does.

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“It’s not an easy thing to be that comfortable in your skin at 24 years old,” Fatse said.

Casas is motivated by greatness. He watches Hall of Fame speeches on YouTube in his spare time, and the end of Jim Thome’s has stuck with him. Thome encouraged young players to be the first to arrive at the field and the last to leave every day.

“I didn’t know why he said that,” Casas said, “but I realize more and more now why. Because even if I don’t have something to do, this is a good space, it’s a good place to be.”

Casas has taken Thome’s advice — perhaps a bit too literally. There’s a running joke among the Red Sox clubhouse staff that if Casas could live at Fenway Park, he probably would.

“We have to give him a one-hour window,” clubhouse manager Tommy McLaughlin said. “Like, hey, listen, we’re going to be out of here at 1:45 in the morning,’ and he’s good. Otherwise, he would stay.”

Casas eats, sleeps and breathes baseball, and without a young family at home like many of his teammates, spending so much time at the park gives him comfort.

“I feel safe here. I feel wanted and loved and cared for here,” he said.

By Casas’ own admission, he moves at a “sloth’s pace.” Shirtless yoga on the field, meditation wherever he can find solitude, heavy workouts pregame, five-minute planks postgame, and a cold plunge twice a day. Every bit of Casas’s routine is methodical and essential. Sunlight (or Vitamin D absorption, as he calls it) for his holistic lifestyle, forearm workouts strategically scheduled post-game to avoid messing up his swing.

“This guy, he beats to his own drum,” Crawford said. “That’s how it was when I first met him. I will commend him, he’s had his routine from Low-A ball to High A to Double A.”

Reactions to Casas run the gamut from befuddlement and amusement, to respect and appreciation, and certainly included some eye rolls and irritation early on when he arrived in the big leagues and made no attempt to suppress his quirks amongst his more traditional teammates.

“He’s one of my favorite teammates I’ve ever had,” said reliever Josh Winckowski. “He keeps you on your toes.”

Casas added to and adapted his routines over the years, but a big part of his day revolves around food. Even at 6-foot-5, 266 pounds, his caloric intake amazes his teammates and coaches.

“Have you heard how much he eats upstairs?” outfielder Rob Refsnyder said. “They make him like a 24-ounce ribeye steak multiple times a week and he just eats it with a plastic fork and knife.”

At Fenway, team chefs and nutritionists label containers with Casas’ name on it in the kitchen above the clubhouse. They make meals for him throughout the day so he can grab and go.

“In spring training we went to a steakhouse and he ordered two full ribeyes for himself, plus the seafood tower for himself, each ribeye came with two sides, so four sides total, and he had no problem with it,” said infielder Nick Sogard.

“I’d rather take Triston to the mall and buy him clothes than take him out to a restaurant; it’s amazing,” manager Alex Cora said.

Casas knows his reputation as a foodie, but to him, food is essential and he’s very particular about how he fuels his body. It’s something he learned at a young age from his father, Jose.

“When I was growing up, my dad, for dinner when I was eight, nine, 10 years old, would just go to Fresh Market or Whole Foods and pick out the biggest porterhouse or the biggest ribeye and I’ve been used to eating 40-50 ounce steaks every night,” he said. “When I eat that for dinner in front of other people, they get surprised but it’s just what I’ve been used to eating my whole life.”

He wasn’t always this way.

Early on, Casas didn’t embrace the spotlight. He was a timid kid growing up, albeit one who often towered over his peers. But baseball has always been at the forefront.

“This life was chosen for me before I could walk,” he said. And while he endured extreme hardship at a young age, losing his mother to cancer when he was nine, another life-changing moment at 14 served as the primary inspiration for all of his intense routines on the field a decade later.

Casas had made a name for himself on the national baseball circuit by the time he’d reached eighth grade. He was good and he knew it, so when he didn’t make USA Baseball’s national team developmental program in 2014, it shattered him. Scouts told Jose Casas that his son was plenty talented, but the way he warmed up and cheered on his teammates and presented himself in the dugout was subpar — not USA Baseball-caliber. It shook a young Triston Casas to the core.

“After that day, I was really upset about it. And I made it a point to never feel that same feeling again,” he said. “I started putting a pretty high level of attention to detail to everything I did on the field, off the field.”

By the end of that year, he’d put in so much work with trainer Adam Boily (who he still works with to this day), that he made a tryout for USA Baseball U-15 team and a verbal commitment to University of Miami, all before he knew which high school he’d be attending. Four years later, he’d become one of the most decorated players for USA Baseball’s 15-U and 18-U teams, winning gold medals for both and a slew of awards. A life-sized poster of Casas with all of his accolades greeted him on the field at one of his final USA Baseball games, just months before the Red Sox drafted him in the first round in 2018.

The shame of missing the cut on that development team years earlier had set him on a mission to prove his potential.

“I remember looking at (that poster) and thinking, three years ago, I hated USA Baseball, I wanted nothing to do with it,” he said. “ And now looking back, it made me the player that I was in the moment, and still am today. I still apply those same thought processes. Every single time I take the field, I always run hard. I take pride in my warm-up and that’s thanks to that particular instance, that I didn’t make that team.”

When Casas made his first Opening Day roster for the Red Sox in 2023, the lessons he’d learned at age 14 lingered. Rather than rent an apartment, he opted to stay at a hotel near Fenway Park, recognizing he still needed to earn his spot. Even after he solidified his standing, finishing third in AL Rookie of the Year last season, he re-upped his hotel accommodations in 2024. The convenience of it became a comfort. It’s an unorthodox setup, but it fits Casas.

Casas is very close with brother Gavin and his father, with whom he’s writing a book. Casas talks to his dad every day, including right after that ESPN interview earlier this season. (Jose clarified he did not, in fact, get arrested or go to jail, but according to Jose, child services visited their home after a parent called the police when he pushed Casas onto the field during a Little League game.)

“I was like, ‘Bro, did you have to? Maybe you could have skipped the jail part,’” Jose said. “We laughed about it and moved on.”

Casas’ quirky personality stands out to fans but his dad sees it as an outlet he taps into for distraction. He’s so serious and dedicated to baseball, leaning into a goofy personality offers balance in his life.

“Perhaps there’s a level of overcompensation, you have to tell yourself you’re so good because you fail (in baseball) so much,” Jose said.

When Casas came home from the nail salon for the first time after a trip with his stepmom, he was planning for it to be a one-time, funny thing. But his father encouraged him to paint his nails in-season.

“I’ve always given them the freedom not to be contained in a box of what they can and cannot say, that I would be offended,” Jose said.

Even at his most outspoken, Casas can be a puzzle.

He created confusion in late June, telling reporters he’d been taking dry swings for 10 weeks, only to reveal his own interpretation of what that meant. As it turned out, the swings were mental. Casas had been sidelined with a rib injury since late April.

“Just in my mind,” Casas explained. “Like, without a bat. Just in my head. I’ve taken thousands of at-bats in this time, so I feel great, I feel ready.”

He was being sincere. About something that happened only in his mind.

When he finally began a two-week rehab assignment in Triple A Worcester in late July, he brought all of his routines with him. Most days he stayed so late, he pulled the door shut behind him at a nearly-empty Polar Park. Three of Boston’s top prospects — shortstop Marcelo Mayer, catcher Kyle Teel and outfielder Roman Anthony — were promoted to Worcester near the end of Casas’ stay. One day, Casas, familiar with the pressures for Red Sox prospects, sat with Mayer for an hour and a half. The two bilingual, left-handed hitters drafted in the first round four years apart, discussed minute details of their approach and preparation.

Casas embraced what it meant to be a rehabbing big leaguer in Triple A, giving his cleats away to a few lucky fans as he walked barefoot back to the clubhouse and at one point inviting a young fan onto the field to play catch during batting practice.

He took care of the WooSox, too, buying dinner for 55 from Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse the day after his assignment ended. Rehabbing big leaguers often buy a big spread for the team, but Casas went above and beyond, making sure to include not just players and coaches, but several staff members as well. People with the organization said it was one of the most generous gestures they’d seen. The bill made a relatively small dent in Casas’ $760,000 near major-league minimum salary, but it was not lost on anyone that perhaps the best meal they’d had all season came from a player with less than two years of service time.

After a few strong games when he returned from the 60-day injured list, Casas struggled to find consistency at the plate. But he knew sticking to the routines that produced success in the past would help.

“As hitters, we’re always transitioning and almost molting like butterflies,” he said recently. “I’m in my next phase right now. Hopefully better at bats coming soon.”

On Sunday, in the first game of a doubleheader, it all came together for Casas, who hit three home runs in his first three at-bats — something he said he’d never done before, “even in a video game.” It showed his immense potential and what was missing from the Red Sox lineup this season.

Asked if he’d learned anything about himself during four months of rehabbing, Casas didn’t hold back.

“That I’m one tough son of a b—- for sure,” he said. “Pain or not. I want to get back on the field, and I’m hungry.”

That hunger (literal and figurative) continues to drive Casas. He spent his rehab assignment staying true to his unique self, while also clearly embracing the idea that he’s an important figure within the organization. He wants to be a leader of young players; he educates himself with Hall of Fame speeches; and he is on a never-ending pursuit of greatness, one bare-chested yoga session at a time.

(Top photo: Maddie Malhotra / Boston Red Sox / Getty Images)



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