Youkilis always reached for the stars

Kevin Youkilis has his eye on the ball during yesterday's workout at Anaheim, Calif. (Jim Davis/Globe Staff)

For the first two years, Enza Sambataro waited upstairs and let her boyfriend stew alone. She knew that would be best. Kevin Youkilis took his work seriously, and he was hard on himself. Too hard, she often worried. "He used to constantly come home in a bad mood," Sambataro said.

Youkilis, at that point still trying to entrench himself with the Boston Red Sox, always expected more of himself than anyone else. Even on nights he drilled a hit or two, he went home and dwelled on the outs he made. "You're only as good as your last at-bat," Sambataro heard him say often.

Everyone knows now what Youkilis always believed, why his intensity disallowed satisfaction. He was going to be one of the best baseball players in the world.

While family helped him harness his intensity, Youkilis, in his third full season with the Red Sox, has morphed from a curiosity to a borderline major leaguer to a bench player to a reliable starter to, finally, an undoubted superstar, the potential American League MVP. He led the Red Sox in home runs (29), RBIs (115), and slugging percentage (.569). "He can do everything now," Red Sox manager Terry Francona said.

Youkilis surprised everyone but himself with his rise. Only Cincinnati, his hometown university, offered him a baseball scholarship. His college coach told scouts Youkilis might be a major leaguer, maybe not. One of his best friends from college, Anthony Snowell, thought Youkilis had the determination to reach the majors. The Red Sox waited until the eighth round to draft him in 2001.

Youkilis created his own standard, ignoring perceptions of him. At Cincinnati, he would pop to second base in his fifth at-bat of a game, ahead by 10 runs. He slammed his bat in the rack or threw his helmet. His teammates wondered what kind of vicious slump he was in. Then they realized he had pounded four hits earlier in the game.

"I've known I can play as this level for quite a long time," Youkilis said. "Now it's just about actually doing it, trying to excel. For me, the point I'm at in my career, I've proved a lot of people wrong. Getting to the major leagues, I've proved a lot of people wrong. Starting in the big leagues, I've proved people wrong.

"I've always believed in my baseball abilities. I had a good year this year. I still think I could have had a better year. That's how I've always been. So I think, those people that doubted me, it's a good thing. It pushes me - 'I should be doing better. I should be doing this.' "

Even growing up, playing in Cincinnati summer leagues, "he was never a big name," said Matt Singer, who played against Youkilis and then with him in college. He didn't smash eye-popping home runs, and he didn't possess special athleticism. But baseball made sense to Youkilis in imperceptible ways. He spotted pitches before they left the pitcher's hand. He ran the bases well. His glove was a vacuum.

He went to Cincinnati intent on making everyone see what he already knew. On a bus ride to Houston, a nationally ranked team at the time, Youkilis flipped through an issue of Baseball America. He read about Houston's two stars, both regarded as five-tool, major league prospects. Cincinnati coach Brian Cleary heard Youkilis blurt, "They're not that good. I'll take care of this."

Youkilis remembered the schools that didn't recruit him. He anticipated those games most, even as a senior, after he'd been named a second-team All-American as a junior.

"He talked to himself before the game about, 'These guys are going to pay for this,' " Cleary said. "I'd say, 'Youk, you've been kicking their butts for three years. They know you're a good player.' "

"It fueled his desire to be better, to prove to people that doubted him," Singer said. "He really worked hard to show he was good enough. He would never outwardly complain. You could just tell by his actions. He wasn't going to let other people overlooking him affect him."

Youkilis's belief manifested as intensity. Teammates grew weary of helmets flying in dugouts after Youkilis made outs. ("He got me in the leg once," Snowell said, chuckling.) His freshman season, playing at Houston, the opposing starter threw seven straight curveballs during Youkilis's first two at-bats. Youkilis grounded the seventh to second base. Running to first, Youkilis screamed toward the mound, "Why don't you throw me a fastball, you [chicken]?"

"I did for a whole season think, 'This guy's going to explode,' " Cleary said. "He knew how to handle himself. It was his way of letting frustration out. It never carried over into the next at-bat. I never had a problem with him throwing a helmet or slamming a bat in the rack. Some of the guys would be intimidated. But everyone wanted him at the plate with the game on the line."

Youkilis set the school's career home run record and twice earned All-America honors at Cincinnati, but pro scouts still focused more on what he wasn't (a five-tool player) than what he was (an on-base machine). Cleary told scouts he wouldn't flame out, but that making the majors may be a stretch. In 2001, 242 picks passed by until the Red Sox chose him.

"I've never seen anyone more confident in what they're doing than what Kevin is in what he's doing," Singer said. "He never stopped believing he was going to be a superstar in the big leagues since the day I've known him."

He rose through the minor leagues rapidly, surprising everyone but himself. Author Michael Lewis, in his book "Moneyball," famously dubbed Youkilis, "The Greek God of Walks," a nickname Youkilis felt uneasy about.

Youkilis feared the label would cast doubt on his hitting ability. But, in his first few seasons with the Red Sox, "he walked because he couldn't swing," catcher Jason Varitek said. Youkilis's swing was too long, a split-second too slow. He negated the problem by recognizing pitches quicker, but he lost power. He overhauled his swing and tweaked it each year, adding new abilities without sacrificing old ones. "He's made a lot of changes," Varitek said.

Even as Youkilis ascended each season, his intensity never wavered. Youkilis met Sambataro in 2004, in New York City, through a mutual friend. They became fast friends. She endured a brief marriage and gave birth to a son, Michael. They kept in touch.

She thought he was an honest friend. She admired his Midwestern morals and his family values. "He's like a big teddy bear," she said. Youkilis liked her energy and sense of humor.

They began dating in May 2006, and Youkilis immediately took an active role in raising Michael. "I'm his dad," he said.

Youkilis and Michael build Legos and play Wii together. (Michael mostly likes to watch.) Michael storms around the clubhouse with Youkilis, his golden curls flopping around. He loves when Youkilis takes him to the Cheesecake Factory and the bookstore.

"It's a great feeling," Youkilis said. "I come home, insta-dad."

Priorities have changed. Youkilis arrives at the park every day at 3 p.m., not 2 like he once did, so he can steal an extra hour with his fiancee and son. He worries about what his actions on the field will mean to his family.

"I think during games, he has learned to tone it down a little bit," Francona said. "Because he wore every at-bat on his sleeve - a lot. He still does, but I also think that's part of what he does. We could sit on him enough and try to change it, and I think we would lose part of what makes him good. But at the same time, I think he's learned enough that it doesn't just drain him so much that he has nothing left for the next day. There's a little bit of give and take there."

After the Red Sox clinched a playoff spot last week, Youkilis went home. Sambataro asked him why he didn't go celebrate with his teammates. "I've done that before," Youkilis said. "I want to celebrate with my family."

One bad at-bat, even sandwiched by several great ones, once stuck with Youkilis for days. Now, Michael greets him after each game by sprinting toward him, leaping, and yelling, "Daddy!" Baseball leaves his mind.

"He'll be in a good mood, no matter what," Sambataro said. "You wouldn't have known if he went 0 for 4 or if the team lost. I can finally say he doesn't bring baseball home with him. It's nice. It's different."

Said Youkilis: "The greatest thing is, when you lose a game or you have a bad game, you come home and your child doesn't care. They don't care. You can be Dad and play and have fun. Kids are honest, and kids are true.

"I understand myself a lot more. When you're happy off the field, it's a little easier."

Youkilis "seems more at peace" since he got engaged, Singer said. His intensity, though, forged his career, and it still drives him. "I don't think he'll ever be comfortable," Cleary said. Youkilis still throws a helmet or slams a bat occasionally - nothing different than anyone else, he believes. He understands he may be too critical of himself.

"But that's the way he is," Sambataro said. "I can't change him. That's one of the things I love most about him. At times it can be very annoying. But it's how he became the human being he is."

Adam Kilgore can be reached at akilgore@globe.com