As the dollars, duration and destinations continue to disappear for Manny Ramirez — the slugger on whom even the Dodgers have seemed to cool — it becomes even more difficult to identify just why teams desperate for some meat in the middle of their order don't make a play for his services.

Is it the money? His age? The fear he'll again act as a malcontent? Ultimately, it's most likely some combination of the three, with the proportion varying depending on the particular club, since no general manager could in clear conscience be completely comfortable with any of those individual issues. Each abounds with risk.

But still those risks aren't nearly enough to offset the potential reward. Even if it takes a two- or three-year contract to bring him on board.

Because Manny barked his way out of Boston last summer with a contrived and coordinated exit strategy, many in the months that followed have come to rightfully question the quality of his personality and his priorities. But, in doing so, many have also seemed to forget about the other aspects of his personality and priorities. Particularly those which were far more prevalent over the length of his eight years on Yawkey Way.

We seem to have forgotten that Manny is a man who lives to swing a bat, and loves (as much as anything) proving to people that he's among the best ever to do so. As much of a spacy savant as he may seem, there was never a doubt during the prolific Boston portion of his career that the numbers mattered to him. Nor was he aloof or unaware when it came to where those numbers slotted his place in the pantheon of the game's greatest hitters.

There were countless examples of such during his Fenway days, but we needn't go back any further than this latest May for the perfect example. Manny spent most of that month in hot pursuit of his 500th career home run, which he admitted meant a lot to him, and weighed heavily on his mind. He said he thought about it often, and his numbers suggest he was pressing. Sitting on 496 at the start of the month, it took a power hitter who averages a long ball every 14.4 plate appearances for his career all the way until May 31 to reach the mark, and in the meantime he hit only .228 with an adjusted OPS of just 94.

Throughout the 2008 season, his next-worst month was .286 and 147 in each of those respective categories — and it's clear to see why his stats suffered. Only 23 players in the history of the game had before him hit 500 homers, and not only did he understand the significance of that achievement, it clearly had special signifcance to him.

And so will the next set of milestones, especially considering where that series of accomplishments could leave him historically. Even with three average-by-his-standard seasons (conservatively call it 33 homers, 100 RBI and a .300 batting average), by the end of 2011 Ramirez and his 626 taters will be in the top eight of all-time; he'll be there with a higher lifetime average (.314) than anyone in the top 20 other than fellow former Red Sox Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx and Ted Williams; and he'll be third in RBI, behind only Hank Aaron and Ruth, who are currently two of the three ever to knock home 2,000 in a career.

That'll provide Manny plenty of motivation through his 40th birthday — even if you doubt he'd know this himself, you can bet agent Scott Boras has made Ramirez well aware of all those possibilities — and it's no secret that a motivated Manny is a monster. Just look at what he did while playing for a contract in Los Angeles, including a postseason when he was on base in 24 of 36 plate appearances, and that's plain as day.

But contrary to popular belief, an unmotivated Manny can be rather monstrous, too. Even when he's quote-unquote "quit" on his teammates, he's never stopped hitting. Remember July of 2005? When Manny sat two games while waiting to be traded? He had nine HRs and 25 RBI that month, and raised his batting average 18 points in the two months that followed.

Remember the late summer of 2006? When Manny and his questionable case of patellar tendinitis played just eight games after Aug. 23? He finished that season at .321/35/102 with an OPS+ of 165, making it statistically his second-best in Boston.

And remember this past July? When Manny refused to get on the plane to Seattle, took three straight strikes against Mariano Rivera, and demanded once more that he be moved? He hit .347 that month, a team-best, got on base better than 47 percent of the time he stepped into the batter's box, and — by the way — didn't seem to be all that bad a dude even as recently as two months beforehand, if you read the quotes in this June 1 story.

So, I ask, where exactly is the risk? If I'm a GM with any need or desire for an upgrade in my outfield, or even at designated hitter, I'm calling Boras this morning to get working on a multi-year deal to bring Manny to my team. With that, I hope I'm buying some loyalty because I'm giving him the contract no one else was apparently willing to give, and I'm hopeful that translates to his being both a good citizen and a great hitter during its duration.

But even if it doesn't, I still do the deal knowing that I'd be getting one the game's more expensive players. I'd be getting an aging outfielder on the downside of his Everest-high summit. And I'd be getting a guy who's an occasional headcase. That's okay, though.

Because I'd also be getting a player who — even at $20 million per — will be worth every penny over the next three years.