A handy guide to telling the 2010 New York Yankees apart (I don’t have a good column to hand that I can stick this joke in, so I’m just shipping it on its own).
Lance Berkman: TCB
Robinson Cano: MVP
Alex Rodriguez: GIDP
A.J. Burnett: HBP
CC Sabathia: FAT
Joba Chamberlain: DUI
Kerry Wood: DL
Mariano Rivera: OMG
Andy Pettitte: HGH
Derek Jeter: YHWH
(Special thanks to the Jews for helping with that punch line. A sheynem dank, khaveyrim!)
So I thought I’d just reprint and rearrange the choicest lines. From the dregs of this article, a much more entertaining article could have been written. It goes like this:
One day midway through the baseball season, San Francisco Giants closer Brian Wilson decided to grow a beard. He dyed it black without also dying the rest of his lighter hair, creating a variegated image of a brown mohawk and a midnight brown beard that looks as if he could have been colored with shoe polish. He is a rugged man, especially with the beard. In fact, it is so dark that "ridiculous" is the word Giants general manager Brian Sabean uses to describe it.
"And [Wilson] knows it’s ridiculous too," Sabean added.
"I get angry thinking this guy is trying to ruin my career and get me to lose," Wilson said.
Whenever he finishes a game, he turns away from home plate and makes an exaggerated crossing motion with his arms that he has said is to honor the MMA fighting culture, his rediscovered Christian faith and the memory of his father, who died when he was 17. Those who follow the Giants every day say he is crazy.
"He’s a closer," Sabean said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. "Closers are like placekickers in football."
"He told me to prepare for the last day he ever took a breath," Wilson said. Suddenly, he didn’t seem crazy at all.
No analysis today. Except to point out that I’d give every hair on my body for Brian Wilson’s father to be called Murray.
Oh, also, good ol’ reliable Steve Henson has apparently just discovered that Barry Zito is ridiculously overpaid. So you can always go read that stupid article and imagine the pithy remarks I’d be inserting.
This stamp-like logo comes to you courtesy of the United States Postal Service, which apparently has decided that the S in "USPS" stands for "Superman." Which S, you ask? Probably both of them.
True story: I found that ridiculous thing printed on some scare-mail spam brochure the USPS spent my money printing and distributing. I think it’s about how all those people sending mail are dangerous terrorists, but never fear! The USPS is run by the Justice Friends.
I also made this version, which I expect the Bizarro USPS will be distributing next week:
I paid for it. I’ll do whatever I want with the goddamn thing.
So, Kevin Millar, what do you think about Derek Jeter? Is he the best man ever or what?
He has a great body.
I see. Anything else?
He’s hot.
Looking for something a little less gay, Kevin.
His hair sucks.
Okay, Kevin, you’re missing the point here; maybe something baseball-related? Like, something having to do with baseball, which is a game played by baseball players, such as Derek Jeter?
He’s a winner.
Okay. Thanks for the expert analysis, Kevin.
He has either four or five rings. Does that help?
Cliff Lee threw 120 pitches to beat the Rays last night. He faced 33 batters, so, obviously, he threw 33 first pitches. Can you follow me? I’m going through the pitch-by-pitch data on baseball-reference to determine how many times the Rays swung at the first pitch, and what happened, and all so I can continue to make fun of this same dummy.
I think I need a hobby.
By my reading of the data — and it’s fucking hard to read, let me tell you — the Rays swung at Lee’s first pitch 12 times, which is just about bang-on 36%. The results of those twelve swings are as follows:
• Five swinging strikes
• Four foul balls
• Three outs
That’s it. Nobody ever got a hit swinging at Cliff Lee’s first pitch. Ever. Good fucking plan, Eric!
Wait, it gets better. You know how many first-pitch balls Cliff Lee threw, not counting would-have-been balls that the Rays swung at? Ten. That’s 30% of the time even if you assume that all twelve of the pitches the Rays swung at were strikes; BR doesn’t break the data out quite that far (and hell if I’m going searching, since, quite frankly, my point is made and right now I’m just piling on), but I’m inclined to think that maybe one or two of those twelve swung-on pitches missed the zone. How about you?
So, in conclusion: good work, Eric Adelson! You promoted a strategy that, based on the actual outcome of the actual game, appears as though it minimised the team’s chances to win the game. You sir are a credit to your race.
Edit: I’m not going through the whole thing again, but I checked the data for the first game, and all those first-pitch swings the Rays tried that game resulted in exactly one hit. It was a single. It did not score their only run, neither did it put on base a man who would score that run.
That run was a solo homer. This is not included in Eric Adelson’s weird "SLG when the ball is put in play" cherry-pick stat.
I’m just not sure who it is yet. Rangers-Rays, fourth inning, two out, Ian Kinsler batting. Nelson Cruz is on second, and then he suddenly breaks for third like there’s any reason for it. Whose idea was that? Cruz’s? Manager-of-the-Year-to-be Ron Washington’s? Whoever thought that one up, you’re bad at your job.
Consider this. Any player fast enough to steal third is fast enough to score from second on, like, any hit at all. So here’s the whole list of reasons to steal third:
• To make it easier to score on a sac fly.
• To set up a squeeze play.
And did I mention there were two outs? Yeah. Two outs. So nobody’s sacrificing a damn thing. Were you really thinking squeeze with two out? With Ian Kinsler, not the world’s very fastest man, doing the squeeze? There is a word for this, and that word is: yikes.
Postscript: Kelly Shoppach chunked the ball out into left field somewhere, and Cruz scored. So, hey, good. Good throw. It was still a stupid idea in the first place, though.
But I really can’t resist this low-hanging fruit, this tantalising meatball, this perfectly ripe little nugget of hilariously bad baseball analysis tarted up in the guise of intelligence.
By which I mean, hey, it’s not that bad. It’s by this Eric Adelson dude, and he’s talking about how the Rays can beat Cliff Lee tomorrow, and he’s not suggesting they need more swagger or voodoo or maybe they need to annoy the kitchen staff where they’re having breakfast. He has a not-indefensible piece of advice, which is: swing at the first pitch more often. But then he proceeds to indefend it. Let’s watch!
Over the course of human endeavor, man has struggled with many unanswerable questions.
Oh, shit, my bad. I have the wrong article. I was supposed to be making fun of some dude’s baseball analysis, and it seems like I got some new-agey bullshit about how we all need to take herbal supplements and balance our chi and listen to Yanni and enhance our calm. Hang on, let me get the right article.
…
Oh. Oh, shit. This is the right article. This is not going to end well.
They include: What is the meaning of life? Can there be peace in the Middle East? We can Skype and text message, and we can’t improve the umbrella? Seriously?
Oh, what the fuck. Seriously? This is really the way you want to start your article? And what exactly the fuck is wrong with the umbrella, of all things? You had to pick one thing for the punchline of this awful hacky joke, and you picked the umbrella?
I’m going to find this psycho Adelson and enhance his calm.
Now another dilemma has surfaced: How can the Rays beat Cliff Lee in the postseason?
I’m really trying to type something other than "by scoring more runs than the Rangers," but, really, that’s it. That’s how you win at baseball, Eric. With the runs.
Clifton Phifer Lee is 6-0 in the playoffs with two complete games, 43 strikeouts, 32 hits allowed and six walks in 47 1/3 innings. His ERA is 1.52 and his WHIP is 0.80.
Hey, now, that’s my joke. That thing where you write out an athlete’s full name so people can laugh at how stupid it is? My joke. Back the eff off, Adelson.
Oh, and, yeah, Lee’s been pretty good. But it’s only 47.1 innings over six games, which is about as small a sample size as you’re like to find.
Currently he pitches for the Texas Rangers.
We know that, dummy. If you don’t have enough to say to fill up a whole article, don’t just pad it out with bullshit.
And Tuesday night, in order to save their season, the Tampa Bay Rays must find a way to, as Carl Crawford says, "get Cliff Lee out the game."
Maybe once Carl Crawford hits free agency and signs a huge contract, he’ll be able to afford enough prepositions to make his sentences read correctly. But I’m being too picky. I should just be happy he didn’t talk about the need to get Cliff Lee off.
"It’s going to be tough," said Crawford. "It’s going to be a battle. Cliff’s tough against us, and we’ve just got to find a way."
This quote doesn’t add anything to this article. You should cut it. Or Yahoo should hire an editor to cut it for you. Or maybe a manager to cut you.
There is a way. And with the help of Dave Allen at FanGraphs and Kenny Kendrena of Inside Edge, we’ve discovered it.
Well, not really. But we have a suggestion:
Swing at the first pitch.
Okay, great. We’re like three hundred words into this article, and finally you’ve written something about your topic. Good start. Now, why should the Rays do a thing like that?
The typical strategy against a superstar pitcher is to take pitches, get deep in the count, wear him down and make him earn every out. That’s also how the Rays have traditionally succeeded: small-ball and smart-ball.
Yes, plate discipline works very well. Not only does it run down opposing pitchers, it also earns you many "walks," which help you get "on base" so you can score "runs," a thing which is somewhat important in the game of "baseball." This is not, however, what the term "smallball" means — that particular piece of dumbness is generally about having a team full of lousy slap hitters who never ever walk, bunt a lot, have OBPs around .320, try to steal all the goddamn time and get thrown out so often it negates any value they could be generating, and get dirt like all over their uniforms so dummy sportswriters fall in love with them and write fawning articles in which they declare it "inexplicable" that the team is like 66-96.
And "smartball" is a term invented by Ozzie Guillen in 2005 which no human mouth has uttered since then. It is mainly about scoring very very few runs and getting bailed out by a pitching staff playing way over its collective head.
The Rays have succeeded "traditionally" in no way whatsoever, since they were uniformly awful until two years ago. This year, they’ve succeeded through pretty good offense (above league average in OBP, SLG, HR, BB, you name it) and pretty good pitching (again, above league average in WHIP, ERA, K/9, BB/9, what-have-you). It’s not "smallball" or "smartball" or "Maddonball" or anything else; it’s regular old normal baseball. The Rays are just above-average in all facets of the game, so they did well. Do you see?
"We scored a lot of runs," said Rocco Baldelli of this year’s regular season, "and we didn’t do it mashing the ball around the park every day. We did it drawing out at-bats and walks and stealing bases, kind of like how we did in 2008."
Oh. You don’t see. You did score a lot of runs — 802, in fact, which is more than anybody else except Boston and New York. And, yes, you walked a lot — 672 times, most in baseball. But you also hit 160 home runs, which is actually very nearly one per game, and sure did help bring those 672 free baserunners home.
In 2008, you scored 774 runs, which was good for 13th place. Your pitching was otherworldly in 2008, and that’s why you won games. So, no, the two years really aren’t that similar.
But "drawing out at-bats" doesn’t work against Lee. His career walks-per-nine-innings is 2.2, but in the playoffs it’s 1.1. Waiting for a mistake is like waiting for the Rays to build a new stadium. Not gonna happen.
His postseason career is 47.1 innings long. If Cliff Lee has anything in common with every other baseball player in all of recorded history, his postseason stats will move toward his regular-season stats as the sample size increases. Is this really difficult to grasp?
Also, the Rays will get a new ballpark. I guess you haven’t noticed, but there’s no shortage of politicians willing to redistribute money to billionaires for the good of society.
Hitters who swing at the first pitch and put the ball in play have a .500 slugging percentage against Lee, compared to .456 for those who hit the ball between the foul lines on the second offering or later. That’s not an enormous difference, but come on – it’s Cliff Lee.
Unless you’re using a nontraditional definition of "putting the ball in play," you’ve excluded home runs from your slugging percentages. Which is: a very weird thing to do.
Actually, the more I think about this, the weirder it gets. You’re hanging your hat on a difference of .044 SLG, but only when the swing makes contact, and only when it doesn’t result in an out, or a foul, or a home run? What a weird, ridiculous cherry-pick. One that totally ignores the fact that, with two strikes (which obviously never occurs on the first pitch), your results may be skewed by "defensive" swings designed to foul off a pitch and stay alive, but which fail and put the ball weakly in play. But even if they aren’t: seriously? Your whole argument hinges on that weird cherry-pick?
The Rays swing at the first pitch 28 percent of the time, compared to the league average of 26 percent.
Very close to the same.
But when the Rays beat Lee in August, they swung at his first pitch a whopping 50 percent of the time.
Cliff Lee faced 34 batters in that game. Which means he threw 34 first pitches. Which means the Rays swung 17 times. As opposed to ten times if they’d swung at their average 28% rate.
Seven whole swings. You’re convinced that’s the difference? Oh, and, the Rangers led until the eighth, when Lee gave up four earnies. Here’s what I see for that inning:
Kelly Shoppach swings at the first pitch, flies out to right.
B.J. Upton swings 1-0, doubles to right.
Jason Bartlett swings 1-1, singles weakly to short.
Carl Crawford swings 1-2 after fouling off three pitches, hits FC to second, Upton scores.
Evan Longoria swings 0-1, singles to centre, Bartlett scores.
Carlos Peña swings at the first pitch, singles to centre, Crawford scores.
Sean Rodriguez strikes out on three pitches.
Ben Zobrist swings 2-2, singles to left, Longoria scores.
That’s it for Lee. Two batters hit the first pitch, one of them made a routine out, and one of them singled. That’s it? That’s your airtight Cliff Lee-killin’ plan? I’m not so sure about this, Charles.
Then, in Game 1 of this series, only 11 of 27 Rays batters (roughly 40 percent) swung at Lee’s first pitch.
Two. Two, asshole. The difference is two batters. 13 would be "roughly 50%," and this whole article would be obsolete. The Rays lost that game 5-1. Those two batters would have made the difference? Four runs? I’m beginning to think you haven’t thought this out very well.
In the postseason, every team has tried to wait Lee out. Of the five teams that faced him coming into this series – Rockies twice, Dodgers and Yankees twice – no team has swung at the first pitch more than 26.7 percent of the time. That strategy has clearly failed.
It’s 47.1 innings! That’s not enough to declare any strategy a surefire loser. Plate discipline is a good thing. You win more baseball games that way. And Cliff Lee’s excellent 47.1 innings hasn’t proven that he’s magical and unique and that the way to beat him is with less disciplined hitting, you crazypants.
Lee is healthy and throwing on five days of rest Tuesday. It’s time for the Rays to try a new tack. Doubters can ask Rays pitcher David Price of all people, who never got a rhythm in Game 1, in part because the Rangers swung right away. Texas took a rip at 14 of 30 first pitches from Price, and they made a Cy Young contender look beatable.
14/30 = 47%
11/27 = 41%
You = fuck right off
Man may never understand the great mysteries of life, but when it comes to the Cliff Conundrum, one thing is pretty clear:
He who hesitates has lost.
God damn, dude. You’re going to reinvoke the same tired old trope you started the article with, and then you’re going to misquote your final pithy comment? Perhaps you should have hesitated a bit more before you published this mess. Perhaps you’d have been crushed under a falling grand piano and then you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself.
Yahoo! Sports national baseball writer Jeff Passan contributed to this column.
I’m going to guess that Jeff provided this dingbat with the tidbit about how Cliff Lee plays for the Rangers these days. And maybe the catchy "Cliff Notes" title. If Jeff provided the actual misleading analysis, then he should be ashamed of himself.
Hey, haven’t been around much lately, have I? Sorry about that. It’s been a hell of a week, what with the work and all. Haven’t had as much time to write as I’d have liked.
As regards the epic story, updates are going to be sporadic probably until the World Series is over (since I’m spending a lot of my free time on baseball right now), after which I’ll settle back in to two updates per week, though the days may change. Or they may not. It’s a scary mystery adventure!
As regards the promised baseball awards articles, I’ll get to ’em in a few days, once things have settled down a bit. But if I can make a quick observation here: it’s funny to me that my predicted World Series teams were both swept in the LDS.
Remember all those years ago when Lou Piniella spontaneously quit as Cubs manager, and I was like "holy shits Mike Quade TEH ROOL?" And then everybody else in the universe said I was a retard?
Well, other people are finally beginning to come around, seeing as how Quade went on to lead the dilapidated Cubs to a 24-12 record during his tenure, even though they were playing mostly contending teams. Quade’s Cubs also singlehandedly chunked the Fatinals right out of contention, which endears a man to Cubs fans like you wouldn’t believe.
So, hey, I’m with Dolan here. Hire Mike Quade already, Jim Hendry.
Tim Brown has decided that the estimable Omar Infante is the reason the Braves are in the playoffs.
Now, Omar’s having a good year. A career year, in fact. So good for him. And, sure, the Braves slipped in by a tiny enough margin that I guess you could say that anybody playing above replacement level is "the reason" they made it. But here’s Omar Infante’s career year for you:
.321 / .359 / .416 / .775, 111 OPS+, 8 HR, 29 BB, 2.9 WAR
Woo. Also worth 2.9 WAR in 2010: obvious first-ballot Hall-of-Famers Colby Rasmus and David DeJesus. And also Choke-Rod! That’s true. Wow, he’s having a really shitty year. A really shitty year that’s just as valuable as all-time Braves MVP Omar Infante’s best year ever. So let’s take a look at why it is that Omar Infante is suddenly the best player of all time, shall we?
The thing about October, and baseball in October, it’s not all about the broad shoulders and sizeable reputations.
That’s true. Mainly it’s about the hitting and catching and throwing. So get on with telling me about why Infante’s shoulders and reputation are so awesome.
Sometimes, when most everybody else goes home, the games are not about those who play ball, but the ballplayers.
Ballplayer, n.: a player in any of several games in which a ball is used, esp. baseball.
I got that from here. Any guesses what the hell Tim is talking about?
There’s a difference, and it’s subtle, and it’s found in the dark corners where games are won. Or not. Ballplayers go there.
Care to tell us what it is? No? Just going to be florid about it? Great, thanks.
He is the utilityman who became an All-Star, the All-Star who became an everyday player, the everyday player who is first a ballplayer, and quite possibly a pivotal one in a division series that will be decided by excessive pitching or wispy offenses, depending on where one stands.
He became an everyday player because the Braves have been absolutely housed by injuries. That’s the reason they limped into the playoffs instead of cruising, yeah? And he became an All-Star because All-Star selections are goofy shit voted on by fans in April. I’m quoting the sponsor on Omar’s BR player card here:
"NL All-Star 2010. As of 7/6/10: 181 PAs; .700 OPS; 90 OPS+; 0.7 WAR; shaky glove; owned in 1.1% of ESPN Fantasy leagues—Not your fault, Omar. MLB finds a new way to sully the best all-star game."
Now, I’m not going down crazy street with this guy and claiming that MLB "sullied" the All-Star Game, which is pretty goofy to begin with; Omar Infante was chosen by old baseball man / crazy person Charlie Manuel, not like dictated from above by Bud. The manager gets to make a few picks, and Manuel, like a maniac, chose a scrappy, no-hit, no-glove utility infielder over, like, Carlos Gonzalez. But still: All-Star Game selections are stupid.
He has narrow shoulders and virtually no reputation beyond the teams he plays against and the one he plays for.
Ah, the magic "shoulders and reuptation" combo — widely believed to be the key ingredient to a World Series win.
He’s the guy in right field. Or left. Or at shortstop, second base or third base.
He’s had 506 PA this year. 3/5 of them have been at 2B because Prado was hurt, and then he switched to 3B when Chipper went down. But, yeah, he did play six games in right, so good job leading off with that!
He’s the guy who took over for Martin Prado, the Braves’ best player at the time.
Prado’s having a nice little season, but the Braves’ best player? Yikes. That’s hard to claim even if you’re just talking about his ridiculous .403 BABIP-fueled April.
Years ago, he was run off positions and out of at-bats in Detroit by Ramon Santiago, Carlos Guillen, Placido Polanco and Fernando Vina, so he earned back a few swings by playing six different positions, figuring it out, surviving.
Yeah, that’s what utility players do, man. Because they’re not very good. Did you realise that Omar Infante’s WAR this year is only 2.9? And it’s by far his best year ever? That’s what we in the "knowing what we’re talking about" business refer to as "bad."
Now 28, hardened by his positional vagabonding and inspired by the public ridicule that accompanied his surprise All-Star selection in July, Infante no longer plays from the bench.
If Larry hadn’t exploded his legs, do you really believe this would be the case, Tim Brown? He’s subbing for an injured starter, man. Get a grip.
From the Braves’ opening day eight, only two started game 162, a win that clinched the organization’s first playoff appearance in five years.
That’s exactly what I just said.
For that, in part, they can thank Infante, who walked into the season a utility player and walked out with 506 plate appearances
They can thank Infante for Chipper getting hurt? Thanks a lot, Omar, you fuck!
a .321 batting average (third in the National League, behind Carlos Gonzalez and Joey Votto)
Also a .359 OBP, good for 22nd in the league, behind (again!) the legendary Colby Rasmus. And a .416 SLG, good for 54th, behind the decaying corpse of Carlos Lee and just ahead of the decaying corpse of Garrett Jones. And, if I haven’t mentioned this, a 2.9 WAR, which places him 44th in the NL — six spots behind Chipper Jones, who he replaced, and who had 130 fewer PA.
and a .345 average with runners in scoring position (fourth, behind Adrian Gonzalez, Votto and Gonzalez).
Nobody cares, Tim. Nobody cares. No one.
But you want to talk clutch stats, even though they’re pretty much bullshit? Okay. Omar Infante’s WPA: 0.3. 94th in the league. You know who’s 93rd? That’s right: Colby Rasmus. So your airtight case for Omar Infante’s best-player-ever trophy appears to be based on the claim that he’s like Colby Rasmus, but 5% less good.
Chipper Jones, incidentally, has 8.2 WPA, which ranks 17th in the league. And has 130 fewer PA.
He played five positions, all of them adeptly.
I checked both TZ and UZR for this, and it turns out that if "adeptly" means "acceptably," that’s pretty much true. His performance at all five positions, by either scale, is within two runs of being average.
So, the new Omar Infante for MVP case: he’s 5% less good than Colby Rasmus offensively, and he can play several different positions with average skill!
"I always had it on my mind to be a good player," he said Wednesday evening.
Oh, did you? It was on your mind this whole time, but you just never got around to it, huh? What a weird quote.
In a series that might find itself searching hard for offensive heroes – both teams fought to score runs in the regular season, and both were particularly soft offensively in September – Infante could be its man.
Well, I mean, I guess he could be. Scott Podsednik homered in like his first PA in the 2005 World Series, after hitting zero HR all year long. David Eckstein has a World Series MVP. All kinds of crazy shit can happen in a small sample. However, seriously, which of these men, by OPS, seems most likely to be the "offensive hero" of NLDS 2?
• .849
• .849
• .828
• .862
• .891
• .872
• .775
One of these things is not like the others, huh? Here are the names to go with those numbers:
• Jason Heyward (.849)
• Derrek Lee (.849)
• Brian McCann (.828)
• Buster Posey (.862)
• Aubrey Huff (.891)
• Pat Burrell (.872)
• Omar Infante (.775)
Rank those 1-7. In any conceivable universe, does Omar Infante not rank 7th? And this will blow your mind: that list contains both teams’ catchers.
One hot bat, one critical hit with a couple runners on base (the Braves batted just above the league average with runners in scoring position, while the Giants were the worst in the league), and the series very well could have its Mark Lemke, its Billy Hatcher, its Marty Barrett.
That is awesome. 2010 Most Valuable Backhanded Compliment: that.
Only, Infante has been doing this all year, and for a club whose leading RBI man (Brian McCann) had only 77.
Injuries. Injuries injuries injuries. McCann only had 566 PA all year long. Chipper? 381. Derrek Lee? 151, since he was a trade-deadline pickup. Glaus? 483. Also, RBIs are a stupid stat at the individual level.
Notwithstanding the fact, of course, that Infante has thirty RBIs fewer than McCann in 506 PA. So if you think they matter… how is this not a strike against Infante?
Eight months ago, when they were preparing for spring training, the Braves believed their strengths lay in their starting rotation, their bullpen and their bench.
And you know what? They were right. Their pitching has been pretty good, and their bench was deep enough that they survived losing the entire team to injuries.
Then, as the season wore on and more players were left by the side of the road, the Braves’ bench became their regulars, and games became harder to win, and still the season wouldn’t end.
Yes. Because their pitching was good and their bench was deep. Didn’t we just talk about this?
In the heart of summer, when Prado first missed time (he’d later be lost for the season) and then Jones blew out a knee, Infante batted .429 in July and .344 in August.
Yes, Infante was good those two months. You’ve picked one of the dumbest possible ways to demonstrate that, though. BA over 63 ABs? Yikes, Tim.
Also, his BABIP in July was .520, which is insane. Remember when Manny Ramirez got suspended for doping last year and Juan Pierre (Juan Pierre!) stepped up and filled the gap? Here are Juan D’Vaughn’s BABIPS for those months:
March/April: .421
May: .410
You tell me: was Pierre’s performance during that time a giant crazy fluke, or did it represent his true level of talent? Okay, then. Again, Omar Infante in July: .520. Omar Infante’s line drive rate is 18%, which gives him an expected BABIP of .300, which he overperformed by .220. He was very, very lucky, and did very, very well. And then he came back down to earth because he is nothing resembling a .429 / .455 / .492 / .947 player.
"Guys get labeled as utilitymen for a reason," [Chipper] Jones said. "He was never given an opportunity to start. Unfortunately for me – because I got hurt – he got that opportunity."
Omar Infante played 142 games for Detroit in 2004, and then 121 in 2005. Then he went right back to the bench because he’s not very good. Which is where he’s headed when you get healthy again, Chips.
In fact, a couple weeks ago, when the Braves were in Philadelphia, Jones made a point to find Charlie Manuel, who’d chosen Infante for the All-Star team.
"I thanked him for it," Jones said. "A lot of managers wouldn’t have the courage to make that call."
Hey, one man’s courage is another man’s crazy-ass fucking lunacy. Seriously. That was one of the worst All-Star selections of all time. And Charlie Manuel doesn’t even have the excuse of picking one of his own players!
That said, if Chipper really did that, it’s pretty classy. You’re the goods, Larry.
Jones, of the broad shoulders and sizeable reputation, won’t play Thursday night, of course. Instead, Infante will be at third base. Sometimes, these things happen. Sometimes, this time of year just finds a guy.
And sometimes you’re like the only dude left on the bench who isn’t Brandon Hicks.
"I kept working at it," Infante said, "and now I’m proud of the year I had. And I’m thankful."
You should be proud of the year you had, Omar — it was pretty good. Good enough that crazy people are writing articles about how you’re the saviour of the free world, even. The kind of articles that have, in recent years, been written about Eckstein, Podsednik, Darin Erstad, Reggie Willits, Omar Vizqel, Steve Finley, and especially Mark DeRosa.
And I think that speaks for itself.
