So Julio Franco has been designated for assignment, which means that if no one claims him off of waivers (and I don’t know what that means) or trades for him, in 10 days he will be a free agent, which, almost certainly, means the end of his Mets career.
I meant to introduce this as a running gag much earlier in the blog, but last year, mainly in the lead up to the post-season as pitcher after pitcher went down with injury and Mets.com remained cheerfully optimistic about the situation and refused to contemplate the team’s impending doom, my Dad and I started to joke about the similarities between the Mets’ website and the Soviet Newspaper, Pravda, and eventually started referring to Comrade-Coach Willie Randolph (whose assurances were treated, by mets.com, as essentially the equivalent of wins). One of my plans for when I am finally shit out of ideas for posts was to cut and paste a mets.com bit into Word and then use the Find-and-Replace feature to change “runs” for “tractors,” “player” for “worker” or “comrade,” and “the Atlanta Braves” for “decadent Western capitalist bourgeoisie pigs.”
Anyhow, during the past year or so, in which I have (embarrassingly) read virtually every piece to appear on Mets-Pravda, none of them have seemed quite so Pravda-ish as the announcement of Franco’s designation for assignment. It perfectly evokes the feeling of being written by a harassed, low-level functionary whose only purpose in life is to flatter half a dozen sprawling, petty, and incompetent bureaucracies, all of which have the power to ship the writer off to Siberia for life, if they feel that his reportage does not do justice to their heroic endeavors on behalf of the people.
According to Mets-Pravda, Comrade Franco had, in fact, formed the resolution to leave the club, even before the members of the Politburo, in their wisdom, decided that they were better off without his services. Franco, apparently, thinks that his goal of playing until he is fifty (a little over thirteen months from now) would be best served by going somewhere where he could play more often. The Mets, apparently, felt that their goal of winning a championship would be best served by having a pinch hitter who could, you know, hit.
Indeed, Franco has, apparently, been feeling that he has been receiving inadequate playing time since last year, and it was only perseverance and optimism that kept him around Flushing for this long.
The Mets were motivated in their decision to release Franco by a desire to keep Sandy Alomar around, who is a spring chicken at a mere 41. Alomar frees up Ramon Castro to pinch hit; with a 3rd catcher they don’t have to worry about Lo Duca having to leave the game (due to injury or ejection—neither unlikely) after Castro has been used and handing the catcher’s mitt over to a guy with a god-damn knee brace. But they were also wanted to have his “leadership” around.
But according to Mets-Pravda, wasn’t Franco coming through with leadership by the tractor-load? And what 48-year old ball player would think that he could get more playing time on a baseball team other than the one unhinged enough to sign him in the first place? Was Franco’s deranged desire for more chances to ground weakly to second turning him into a team cancer? Was he the one tampering with their mojo and leading to a break down in team-chemistry?
An alternative theory, which touches on an issue that various people on the internet had picked up on before Franco was even released, is that there is a slight conflict inherent in having Franco as a player, and Ricky Henderson as a coach. Franco and Henderson are contemporaries and Henderson has been adamant that he can still play—once MLB was done with him he knocked around in semi-pro and independent baseball, and re-stated his desire to play recently, in response to the Yankee signing of Roger Clemens. Franco on the field would have been a constant provocation to Ricky, and probably Franco’s release was necessary, just so that Willie Randolph wouldn’t have to listen to his hitting-coach constantly asking to pinch-hit: “hey Willie, those guy’s can’t hit as good as Ricky. Why don’t you let Ricky hit? Ricky might even steal a base.”
GAME IN PROGRESS NOTE: It’s official: when I grow up I want to be El Duque. After walking the pitcher, with two outs, to load the bases, and giving up two runs as a consequence, what does he do in his at bar in the next inning? Singles, and then steals freaking second, the second or third steal of his entire American career. That guy is the man… either that or Ricky’s tutelage is already paying off.
Showing posts with label Julio Franco. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Julio Franco. Show all posts
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Trade Suggestion
After reading the most recent “Mets Mailbag” and reviewing this blog, I became aware of a grave deficiency. The cockamamie trade suggestion is the bread and butter of the armature sports pundit, and I’ve been doing this since March without proposing one trade. Of course, I took immediate action and after rejecting several trade scenarios for being too reasonable or likely to happen, I think I’ve come up with something that is as weird and unhinged as anything that was ever sent to any sports franchises’ hapless PR guy.
Ready for this?
Ok. Julio Franco for… Steve Trachsel; Met-thusala for the Human Rain Delay.
From Baltimore’s point of view this even makes a little bit of sense. They just got rid of their manager and are looking for a new one. Franco has publicly stated that he wants to manage, and Baltimore would offer him a great opportunity to break in, if not necessarily as the full time manager, at least as a player-coach.
And who wouldn’t want Steve Trachsel? After his so-bad-it-made-Cy-Young’s-ghost-cry post season and subsequent ignominious release by the Mets last year, Trachs got picked up by Baltimore where he is having a completely decent season. In fact, Trachsel is doing so well that it took some guy on the internet three or four pages of ridiculously elaborate statistics to prove that he is actually pitching far worse than his record and ERA indicate—mainly getting by on luck and run support.
In War and Peace, Tolstoy scoffs at the idea that either Napoleon or the Tsar were especially important to the political events described in the novel. It would be more reasonable, he says, to look to all the army’s sergeants: had all the sergeants decided to quit the army, there could have been no war. Tolstoy sees history, not as the result of the actions of great men, but rather as the glacial, inevitable and causeless movements of the masses of people—of which Napoleon or the Tsar are only an articulation.
Thus, don’t look to Pedro Martinez, don’t look to Roger Clemens, or even the all-star offensive talents, A-rod, David Ortiz, or Reyes. A winning baseball team happens when you get better than expected performances from the little people, the utility players, the bottom third of the line-up, the back end of the rotation. That is, if you want to go by what some guy said who was Russian and crazy and not talking about baseball.
Steve Trachsel is the salt of the baseball earth, a back end of the rotation guy who is almost always good for a more or less quality start, six or so innings and not too much more than three runs. A pitcher like Trachsel, not Clemens, was what the Yankees were hurting for at the start of the season—and might still be hurting for, since it seems that they are hurting for something.
For the Mets, Trachsel would allow them to move Sosa into the bullpen where he could be used for long relief—generally, I would imagine, long relief of Steve Trachsel.
Ready for this?
Ok. Julio Franco for… Steve Trachsel; Met-thusala for the Human Rain Delay.
From Baltimore’s point of view this even makes a little bit of sense. They just got rid of their manager and are looking for a new one. Franco has publicly stated that he wants to manage, and Baltimore would offer him a great opportunity to break in, if not necessarily as the full time manager, at least as a player-coach.
And who wouldn’t want Steve Trachsel? After his so-bad-it-made-Cy-Young’s-ghost-cry post season and subsequent ignominious release by the Mets last year, Trachs got picked up by Baltimore where he is having a completely decent season. In fact, Trachsel is doing so well that it took some guy on the internet three or four pages of ridiculously elaborate statistics to prove that he is actually pitching far worse than his record and ERA indicate—mainly getting by on luck and run support.
In War and Peace, Tolstoy scoffs at the idea that either Napoleon or the Tsar were especially important to the political events described in the novel. It would be more reasonable, he says, to look to all the army’s sergeants: had all the sergeants decided to quit the army, there could have been no war. Tolstoy sees history, not as the result of the actions of great men, but rather as the glacial, inevitable and causeless movements of the masses of people—of which Napoleon or the Tsar are only an articulation.
Thus, don’t look to Pedro Martinez, don’t look to Roger Clemens, or even the all-star offensive talents, A-rod, David Ortiz, or Reyes. A winning baseball team happens when you get better than expected performances from the little people, the utility players, the bottom third of the line-up, the back end of the rotation. That is, if you want to go by what some guy said who was Russian and crazy and not talking about baseball.
Steve Trachsel is the salt of the baseball earth, a back end of the rotation guy who is almost always good for a more or less quality start, six or so innings and not too much more than three runs. A pitcher like Trachsel, not Clemens, was what the Yankees were hurting for at the start of the season—and might still be hurting for, since it seems that they are hurting for something.
For the Mets, Trachsel would allow them to move Sosa into the bullpen where he could be used for long relief—generally, I would imagine, long relief of Steve Trachsel.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Thoughts on Leadership, Aging
During last night’s broadcast, Ron Darling had one of those moments, which I assume all ex-pro sports casters are contractually obliged to have, where he blithely jumped from calling into question the current Mets team’s intensity and conduct (there had apparently been laughter coming from the showers while Glavine was giving his post-mortem comments on Sunday’s game), to claiming that today the entire game is played with a lack of toughens and respect—he referred to the modern ball player as “sensitive” and whined about them listening to their i-pods on the team flight, instead of commiserating with pitchers and figuring out how to win. To back this all up he told a story about how upset he was after a tough loss for the Mets in the ‘80s, where he would have won if anyone had gotten a hit; but after the game the position players were apparently more interested in college football than why they screwed over Ron Darling. Of course this actually makes the opposite point, and one would not be surprised to learn that throughout the game’s history there have been things somewhat more compelling to certain players than their immediate failings—and I seem to recall that in the ‘80s the Mets were pretty good, despite the preference of football over Darling.
I’m not generally tempted to listen to people who are being crotchety, but there are actually some points here. It’s hard to tell if the Mets are just on a run of awful luck, or if they are losing because they are taking things for granted and not “doing the little things that it takes to win.” Well, I guess it is actually pretty clearly a combination of the two, but there is no way of knowing which is the principal factor. Darling and Gary Cohen seemed to think that the answer is for one of the veterans to step up and get the clubhouse in order—the only candidate that they discussed at any length was Paul Lo Duca, although Julio Franco’s name was also mentioned.
For my money, I wish it could be Carlos Delgado—although there are a myriad of reasons why it probably can’t. The principal of these is that, perhaps more than any other single factor, the Met’s current problems are a result of just how god awful Delgado has been this year. Lately, Delgado has been hitting approximately nothing with runners in scoring position, and while he has been hitting more home runs, they have generally come without runners on base. Then there is the feeling that things have never been exactly right between Delgado and the team brass: they tried to recruit him as a free agent in 2005, but he found their efforts to woo him patronizing and offensive and signed with the Marlins instead; when they traded for him before 2006, everything was supposed to be resolved, but it is still hard to know how well he gets along, as a proud and clearly intelligent Latino, on a team owned by the Wilpons and in a clubhouse that seems to be dominated by venerable old white guys like Tom Glavine and Billy Wagner.
Beyond these issues, I think that Delgado is the perfect person to lead the team—in previous years he has been the definition of clutch and he clearly commands the respect of most people who know him. There are tons of things that point to the idea that Delgado is a man of uncommon character-- from his charitable efforts to, quite frankly, his refusal to sign with a team that he felt treated him condescendingly. Perhaps most telling was the fact that, during last year’s post season, Lo Duca published a comment about how Delgado was a great man both on and off the field—which I found significant because Delgado’s politics are openly left of center and Lo Duca seems to spend all the time that he can spare from the ponies signing baseball caps for soldiers and policemen. I wish that it were Delgado’s team…but if he just felt like getting a couple of RBIs I’d take that too.
On a kind of an opposite note: Willie Randolph needs to buy a water-board and a cattle-prod, and go to work on Carlos Gomez if he ever even thinks about hitting a home run again. What’s the point of being faster than Jose Reyes if you hit the ball out of the park? There isn’t one.
Oh, and condolences to Jose Reyes: yesterday was his birthday. I’m about two months younger than the star shortstop, and I’m already shaking in fear at the mere idea of being twenty-four… and it’s not like people start questioning your fitness for library work when you turn thirty-five.
I’m not generally tempted to listen to people who are being crotchety, but there are actually some points here. It’s hard to tell if the Mets are just on a run of awful luck, or if they are losing because they are taking things for granted and not “doing the little things that it takes to win.” Well, I guess it is actually pretty clearly a combination of the two, but there is no way of knowing which is the principal factor. Darling and Gary Cohen seemed to think that the answer is for one of the veterans to step up and get the clubhouse in order—the only candidate that they discussed at any length was Paul Lo Duca, although Julio Franco’s name was also mentioned.
For my money, I wish it could be Carlos Delgado—although there are a myriad of reasons why it probably can’t. The principal of these is that, perhaps more than any other single factor, the Met’s current problems are a result of just how god awful Delgado has been this year. Lately, Delgado has been hitting approximately nothing with runners in scoring position, and while he has been hitting more home runs, they have generally come without runners on base. Then there is the feeling that things have never been exactly right between Delgado and the team brass: they tried to recruit him as a free agent in 2005, but he found their efforts to woo him patronizing and offensive and signed with the Marlins instead; when they traded for him before 2006, everything was supposed to be resolved, but it is still hard to know how well he gets along, as a proud and clearly intelligent Latino, on a team owned by the Wilpons and in a clubhouse that seems to be dominated by venerable old white guys like Tom Glavine and Billy Wagner.
Beyond these issues, I think that Delgado is the perfect person to lead the team—in previous years he has been the definition of clutch and he clearly commands the respect of most people who know him. There are tons of things that point to the idea that Delgado is a man of uncommon character-- from his charitable efforts to, quite frankly, his refusal to sign with a team that he felt treated him condescendingly. Perhaps most telling was the fact that, during last year’s post season, Lo Duca published a comment about how Delgado was a great man both on and off the field—which I found significant because Delgado’s politics are openly left of center and Lo Duca seems to spend all the time that he can spare from the ponies signing baseball caps for soldiers and policemen. I wish that it were Delgado’s team…but if he just felt like getting a couple of RBIs I’d take that too.
On a kind of an opposite note: Willie Randolph needs to buy a water-board and a cattle-prod, and go to work on Carlos Gomez if he ever even thinks about hitting a home run again. What’s the point of being faster than Jose Reyes if you hit the ball out of the park? There isn’t one.
Oh, and condolences to Jose Reyes: yesterday was his birthday. I’m about two months younger than the star shortstop, and I’m already shaking in fear at the mere idea of being twenty-four… and it’s not like people start questioning your fitness for library work when you turn thirty-five.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
“You have to trust your [urine soaked] hands.”
Moises Alou attributes his recent success at the plate to trusting his hands. And, Mr. Alou, is there anything unusual that you do, regarding these hands of yours? Funny you should ask… In a 2004 conversation with an ESPN reporter, Moises Alou attributed his success in hitting without batting gloves to “urine therapy” or more bluntly, pissing on his hands, which he claims makes them harder, while preventing calluses.
After some internet research it turns out that, as a skin treatment, urine therapy is not entirely deranged. Urine contains urea, which is found (in synthetic form, they claim) in many skin creams. The thing, though, is that urea is supposed to soften the skin, rather than make it harder.
When Alou signed with the Mets, I was saddened and skeptical. Saddened, because his signing meant the end of Cliff Floyd, and skeptical, because, after the addition of Shawn Green, I felt that the team was set for aging out-fielders who hit a lot of homers in the late ‘90s. But Moises Alou is one hard-ass dude: he has been hitting over .300 and recovering from potentially career ending injuries for almost as long as some of the younger Mets have been alive; when asked if, like Julio Franco (who is 48 and lives on egg-whites), he had a special diet, he said he drank light beer; during the cold weather, when all the other Mets were wearing those cowls and looking like shivering ninjas, Alou was just hanging out in left field in shirt-sleeves.
So, while your urine, or my urine, might make skin softer, Moises Alou’s provides that perfect degree of callous-less hardness- ‘cause that’s just how tough he is.
Last night’s game, the season’s first foray into extra innings, was won on hits by bench players Damion Easley and Endy Chavez. Which begs the question, since none of the starters were hitting, why weren’t they brought in sooner? Also: GOD DAMMIT TO HELL, NEW YORK METS, WON’T YOU STOP STRANDING RUNNERS ON BASE? Although, if the next time Reyes goes 0-5, they still manage to win 2-1 after twelve innings, I’ll take it.
After some internet research it turns out that, as a skin treatment, urine therapy is not entirely deranged. Urine contains urea, which is found (in synthetic form, they claim) in many skin creams. The thing, though, is that urea is supposed to soften the skin, rather than make it harder.
When Alou signed with the Mets, I was saddened and skeptical. Saddened, because his signing meant the end of Cliff Floyd, and skeptical, because, after the addition of Shawn Green, I felt that the team was set for aging out-fielders who hit a lot of homers in the late ‘90s. But Moises Alou is one hard-ass dude: he has been hitting over .300 and recovering from potentially career ending injuries for almost as long as some of the younger Mets have been alive; when asked if, like Julio Franco (who is 48 and lives on egg-whites), he had a special diet, he said he drank light beer; during the cold weather, when all the other Mets were wearing those cowls and looking like shivering ninjas, Alou was just hanging out in left field in shirt-sleeves.
So, while your urine, or my urine, might make skin softer, Moises Alou’s provides that perfect degree of callous-less hardness- ‘cause that’s just how tough he is.
Last night’s game, the season’s first foray into extra innings, was won on hits by bench players Damion Easley and Endy Chavez. Which begs the question, since none of the starters were hitting, why weren’t they brought in sooner? Also: GOD DAMMIT TO HELL, NEW YORK METS, WON’T YOU STOP STRANDING RUNNERS ON BASE? Although, if the next time Reyes goes 0-5, they still manage to win 2-1 after twelve innings, I’ll take it.
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