Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #46 : Kevin Baez: Mets Shortstop, Ducks Manager, Long Island Baseball Icon

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we dust off the bubble-gum cards and game-used jerseys of the guys who made you squint and go, “Wait… didn’t he play for us?”

Last week, we looked back at Brent Gaff — the Indiana right-hander who quietly became a dependable arm in the early ’80s Mets bullpen and now builds some of the finest fishing rods this side of the Midwest.

This week, we stay closer to home — and for me, this one’s personal.

Because I’ve known Kevin Baez for more than 25 years. He ran clinics for my son’s 9U team back in the day , teaching a bunch of kids whose hats were bigger than their heads and then, 21 years later, I got to watch my son, now 30 years old, actually play against Baez in the Fantasy Camp “pro game.” He’s also run practices for my travel teams, including the last two years for our Maccabi gold-winning squads, and I can tell you this without hesitation: the same fundamentals, energy, and passion that defined him as a player still come through every single time he steps on a field. And trust me — even at Mets Fantasy Camp, he runs it like it’s Game 7 of the World Series.

Kevin Richard Baez was born in Brooklyn on January 10, 1967 the kind of kid who could field grounders on cracked pavement and make it look smooth. He starred at Dominican College, where he caught the eye of Mets scouts who liked his glove, his arm, and his instincts — a combination that got him drafted by his hometown team in the 7th round of the 1988 draft.

He wasn’t the loudest or flashiest player, but Baez always did the little things right smart baserunning, crisp double-play turns, and the kind of hustle you couldn’t teach. The Mets, still living in the afterglow of ’86 but beginning their slow drift into chaos, could use a guy like that.

Baez made his Major League debut on September 3rd, 1990 the same year Strawberry and Darling were on their way out and Doc was just trying to stay on the mound. The Mets were searching for answers at shortstop, cycling through a revolving door that included Kevin Elster, Tim Bogar, and Dick Schofield.

In stepped Baez, a Brooklyn kid living the dream — wearing the same uniform he once watched from Shea’s upper deck.

He wasn’t there to hit cleanup or grab headlines; he was there to pick it clean and make smart plays. Between 1990 and 1993, Baez appeared in 63 games for the Mets, collecting 27 hits and showing flashes of the smooth defense that kept him in the organization for nearly a decade.

And while the stat line won’t jump off the page (.179/.244/.245), Baez’s teammates and coaches all said the same thing: he was a pro. Always prepared. Always working. Always making the young guys better.

Baez didn’t just pass through the Mets’ system — he practically had a bedroom at every affiliate from Little Falls to Norfolk. A second-round grinder with a shortstop’s glove and a Brooklyn kid’s swagger, he climbed each rung the hard way. He got his first cup of coffee in Queens in 1990, another quick look in ’92, and his longest run came in 1993, when he logged 52 games with the big club. The bat never fully translated — .179 in 63 Major League games — but the glove, the instincts, and the professionalism kept him in pro ball for parts of 18 seasons, including long, steady stretches at Triple-A with Tidewater, Norfolk, Rochester, Toledo, Salt Lake, Indianapolis, and even a late-career run on Long Island. If there was a bus league between here and Saskatchewan, chances are Kevin Baez took grounders there.

After hanging up his spikes, Baez joined the Long Island Ducks organization — first as a coach, then as a manager. And if you want to understand just how much Kevin Baez means to Long Island baseball, look no further than the Ducks’ 25th Anniversary Team announcement on April 23, 2025. Central Islip rolled out one name per week all offseason… and saved Baez for last. Number 26 on the list, but clearly number one in their hearts.

Baez’s Ducks résumé reads like the franchise’s greatest-hits album. After four seasons as a player (2002–05) and five as a coach, he took over as manager in 2011 and immediately turned the franchise into a perennial contender. Over eight seasons at the helm (2011–18), he piled up 571 regular-season wins — still the most in Ducks history and sixth-most in Atlantic League history — while posting a .525 winning percentage. He added 29 postseason victories, good for third-most in league history, and reached the playoffs in seven of his eight seasons. That’s not a run — that’s a dynasty with a Quacker Jack logo.

Under Baez, the Ducks won six Liberty Division championships and pulled off back-to-back Atlantic League titles in 2012 and 2013, making him one of just five managers in league history with multiple championships. He even managed three Atlantic League All-Star Games (2012, 2013, 2018), because of course he did — you don’t build a mini-empire in Central Islip without getting a few ceremonial nods.

If you ever watched him manage, you saw the same steady approach he showed as a player: no panic, no ego, just the belief that hard work and good baseball still win out.

He treated his players like family, and that’s exactly how he’s treated the countless kids he’s coached over the years — including mine.

For the past few seasons, Kevin’s been running clinics and practices for my travel team, teaching our Maccabi squads the same fundamentals that carried him from Brooklyn sandlots to Shea Stadium. The results? Let’s just say two straight gold medals speak for themselves.

Today, Baez continues to shape young players on Long Island, running his own KB Baseball programs and working with local travel and high school teams. He’s still got that easy smile, that sharp infield eye, and that ability to make a kid feel like the most important player on the field.

He’s proof that you don’t have to be a superstar to leave a legacy — sometimes it’s the steady, loyal, humble guys who end up making the biggest difference.

Kevin Baez may not have a plaque in Cooperstown, but he’s got something better — the respect of everyone who’s ever shared a field with him.

If you bump into him today, he’ll still shake your hand, talk baseball like it’s oxygen, and remind you why you fell in love with the game in the first place.

And if you ever get the chance to take infield with him? Trust me — do it. Just don’t blink, or you’ll miss the smoothest pair of hands this side of Queens.