There are few things more enduring in baseball than the cult hero. For the Los Angeles Dodgers, few players have embodied that role with as much style, charm, and unexpected effectiveness as Enrique “Kiké” Hernández. Known for his sharp glove, clutch postseason heroics, and colorful personality, Hernández has done just about everything in Dodger Blue. But in recent seasons, a new label has emerged among fans, beat writers, and even some of his own teammates — the Dodgers’ best pitcher.
No, Hernández doesn’t have a Cy Young to his name. He doesn’t have a 100-mph fastball or a Bugs Bunny changeup. He’s never been formally listed in the starting rotation or summoned from the bullpen in high-leverage situations. But when the game is out of hand, the bullpen is taxed, and all that’s left to do is get six outs without injury, who gets the call? Kiké. And when he does, something magical — or at least memorable — happens.
This idea that Kiké Hernández is the Dodgers’ best pitcher is more folklore than fact, of course, but it’s grounded in a very real appreciation for what he brings to the team beyond his stat line. It’s the way he keeps fans engaged in a 12-2 game in the eighth inning. It’s the way he lightens the mood in a dugout that’s often expected to play under the weight of World Series expectations. It’s also the way he plays baseball: joyfully, creatively, and with a total willingness to do whatever it takes to help the team win — or at least get through nine innings.
In a sport increasingly driven by analytics, load management, and hyper-specialization, Hernández is a throwback. Not because he plays the game like it’s 1965, but because he plays it like it’s still fun. He’s listed as an infielder-outfielder but has proven, in his own way, to be a part-time emergency reliever. That role may seem insignificant until you see him walk off the mound to a standing ovation — usually after a 60 mph curveball drops in for a strike and the opposing hitter can’t help but smirk.
The Dodgers are a team full of All-Stars, former MVPs, and future Hall of Famers. Mookie Betts and Shohei Ohtani headline the lineup. Walker Buehler and Tyler Glasnow dominate on the mound. But only one player can be asked to pitch in garbage time, start a playoff game at second base, take selfies with fans mid-game, and wear a banana costume all in the same week. That player is Kiké Hernández.
His cult status in L.A. was first cemented during the Dodgers’ 2020 World Series run, when his clutch bat and infectious energy helped the team finally break its 32-year title drought. But it’s his post-2020 transformation into a folk hero pitcher that has added another layer to his legacy. He’s pitched in several games over the years — usually in blowouts, both wins and losses — and while his ERA may not land him in Cooperstown, his curveball might at least get a mention in Dodger Stadium lore.
One of the more memorable “Kiké pitches” came against the San Diego Padres when the Dodgers were down big. Hernández, donning a wide grin and shaking off imaginary signs from the catcher, lobbed in slow-pitch softballs and even managed to induce a pop-up. The crowd roared. Social media exploded. The moment had no bearing on the outcome of the game, but it perfectly captured why fans love him. He’s a master of the moment — even when the moment is absurd.
That’s part of what makes the notion of Kiké being the team’s “best pitcher” so endearing. It’s an inside joke that somehow feels real. When the Dodgers are down by eight, you don’t look to your ace; you look to Kiké. And in a clubhouse full of professionals trained to take every pitch seriously, there’s value in someone who can remind everyone that it’s still a game.
It’s also worth noting that Hernández takes his faux-pitching duties just seriously enough to be effective. He warms up in the bullpen. He has a small bag of tricks: a slow curve, an even slower fastball, and an occasional change-of-pace knuckleball. He’s not just lobbing meatballs up there. He’s giving hitters something different to look at — and more than a few have walked away shaking their heads after grounding out or striking out against him. That blend of humor and effectiveness is what sets him apart. There’s an art to being a position-player pitcher, and Hernández seems to have mastered it.
There’s also a sense that his occasional pitching appearances serve as a sort of unofficial team barometer. If Kiké’s pitching, things probably didn’t go according to plan. But rather than let that turn into frustration, the Dodgers — and their fans — embrace the chaos. In a league where blowout losses are usually cause for hand-wringing, Kiké helps everyone laugh through the pain. He is, in many ways, the team’s emotional closer.
But make no mistake, Hernández is more than a novelty act. His value as a utility player is immense. He can play every position on the field except catcher — and honestly, if given the chance, he’d probably give that a shot too. His right-handed bat provides depth in a lefty-heavy lineup. And in October, he seems to level up in ways that defy statistical explanation. The same guy who lobs 62-mph curveballs in June is also the guy who hits go-ahead homers in Game 5 of the NLCS.
That duality is part of what makes him so beloved in L.A. He’s the class clown and the clutch performer. The court jester and the covert assassin. He’s got the look of a guy who might prank you with shaving cream one day and beat you with a three-run bomb the next. He keeps things loose, and for a team with the weight of expectations as heavy as the Dodgers carry every year, that’s a crucial role.
Hernández’s popularity also extends beyond the field. He’s become one of the most recognizable personalities in baseball, thanks in part to his social media antics, his sense of humor, and his genuine affection for the fans. He doesn’t take himself too seriously — and in turn, people take him very seriously. He wears wigs. He mimics dances. He photobombs interviews. He does all the little things that make the 162-game grind feel lighter.
His return to the Dodgers in 2023 after a stint with the Boston Red Sox was met with unfiltered joy from the fanbase. It felt like a family reunion. And it didn’t take long for him to resume his do-everything role. The familiar chants of “KIKÉ! KIKÉ!” filled Chavez Ravine once again — and sure enough, when the bullpen was thin and the scoreboard ugly, there he was on the mound, grinning and delivering junk with pride.
The truth is, the Dodgers don’t need Kiké Hernández to be their best pitcher. They have an arsenal of legitimate arms. But there’s something poetic in the idea. It captures everything about who he is and what he represents. He’s the glue guy. The spark plug. The insurance policy. The comic relief. And every now and then, the only man standing between a blowout loss and a 25-minute eighth inning.
That’s what makes him irreplaceable. You can find players who hit better or field sharper or throw harder. But good luck finding one who can do all of that while also tossing 60 mph moonballs with a straight face and a wink to the dugout. Kiké Hernández plays baseball like it’s recess, and that’s a gift — not just for his teammates, but for anyone lucky enough to watch him.
In a game that increasingly leans into seriousness and strategy, it’s players like Kiké who keep the soul of baseball alive. He’s a reminder that joy has value. That humor can be strategic. That the ability to laugh — even when losing — is a skill worth cultivating. And yes, that sometimes your best pitcher is the one who throws the slowest.
So, is Kiké Hernández really the Dodgers’ best pitcher? Of course not. But also, maybe yes. Not because of his stats, but because of what happens when he’s on the mound. The smiles. The laughter. The unity. The absurdity. The baseball. It all matters. And in that sense, no one pitches quite like Kiké.
Because in the end, being the “best” isn’t always about the numbers on the scoreboard. Sometimes, it’s about the story you tell, the moment you create, and the heart you bring to the game. And on all three counts, Kiké Hernández is throwing a perfect game.
