Jake Peavy has rejected the proposed trade with the Chicago White Sox, and will make his next start tomorrow when the Padres take on the Cubs. I learned this news while sitting in a sports bar, surrounded by 32" HD televisions and, needless to say, I was quite distraught. Highlight reels of Peavy played on short, repeating loops, strikeout after strikeout, 93 mph two-seamers on the black followed by tightly rotating benders, knee-bucklers and fist-pumps. Breaking-news bulletins popped up every few minutes, analyst-lead roundtable discussions ensued and statements from both Peavy and his agent scrolled across the SportsCenter crawl. It was like asking a smoking hot girl out on a date, being told that she'd think about it, and then going out to eat with a bud. Right after you had placed your order, aforementioned girl simultaneously bursts onto 15 television screens until she completely surrounds you--every way you look, there she is. Topless. And dancing, all while holding up a sign that says she's getting back together with her old boyfriend, a balding 26 year-old who, though popular in high school, has spent the past six years drinking malt liquor and working at the DMV. And then, just to top it off, a guy from the bar, against whom you are competing for a promotion and a pay raise, comes over and starts beating the p*ss out of you, continuing to bludgeon you even as you roll around the floor, screaming in agony. (I apologize in advance, but there's one more piece of bad new: your boss, who was seated two tables over, was impressed by your assailant's conviction, and is leaning towards giving him the spot. Heard it through the grapevine...sorry.)
Yesterday I stated that I was teetering on the precipice of a great abyss of apathy. Well friends, today I would like to phlegmatically announce that I have taken that plunge. The 2009 Chicago White Sox will show up to "The Cell" tomorrow D.O.A. It's over, even in a muddled division. In a matter of weeks, PECOTA's 72 W projection is going to look optimistic. Again, I was blinded by my own fervor, only to have the metagrobolizing bitch of 'logic' put me right back in my place.
Anyone who knows me will guess (correctly) that this newfound indifference is a facade. No matter. Twins fans, I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of seeing me squirm for yet another year. Now that Joe Mauer has completed his transmogrification into Ted Williams, throngs of hoodwinked optimists will stream into and out of the Metrodome each night, giggling and laughing as their team sacrifice bunts and situationally hits its way to a Central Division crown (and a hasty ALDS exit). I will be left wandering the streets of Minneapolis, reciting my monody to the bums and nomads, crooning hushed epitaphs to the creatures of the night; and I will do it with the blatant overindulgence and brazen stentorianism that only 1980's power balladry can convey:
"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now, the child is grown, the dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb." (Gilmore)
Or maybe I'll just start rooting for the (now-Rickie Weeks-less) Milwaukee Brewers, although as I type, they're in the process of getting trounced by Mike Cuddyer and the Twins...go figure.
Returning to the defunct Peavy trade talks, at least the White Sox get to keep LH fireballer Aaron Poreda. After the debacles that were the Sox careers of Kip Wells, Josh Fogg, Jon Rauch, Dan Wright and Charlie Haegar, Lance Broadway (currently unfolding) and the trading-away of promising youngsters Brandon McCarthy, Fautino De Los Santos and Gio Gonzalez (twice) at some point or another over the past several seasons, it would be nice to see a top pitching prospect have some semblance of success in the Sox rotation. And, so long as Sox mgmt isn't sold on D.J. Carasco (they're not), an empty spot will likely open up in the rotation at some point. Just promise me there will be no more Jose Contreras. Please, I've been through enough.
The Peavy deal remains on the table, and would be finalized within minutes were Peavy to waive his no-trade clause. But this doesn't seem likely; even Ken Williams, architect of the deal from Chicago's side, told reporters "we're not exactly going to wait around for him." Translation: time to start looking elsewhere for starting pitching, perhaps Cinncinati or Oakland, should their seasons' respective bottoms fall out. During the offseason, Cinncinati discussed sending Homer Bailey to Chicago in exchange for the Sox's best hitter, Jermaine Dye. Homer Bailey, once a can't miss wunderkid in the Josh Beckett mold, has begun to suffer from some serious prospect fatigue; there's only so much time a guy can remain in an organization's pipeline before fans and front office types alike begin to tire of potential, demanding instead, results. Chicago, at this point, should not be looking to move Dye for anything other than a bevy of good prospects; dealing an offensively-challenged team's most formidable threat for a "win-now" type pitcher (read: Aaron Harang, Bronson Arroyo) doesn't make much sense. Oakland is harder to figure, but pitchers such as the surprising Dallas Braden (ugh) and Dana Eveland may be made available for the right combination of prospects. Not exactly Jake Peavy...damn no trade clauses!
The first player in baseball to demand a no-trade clause was Andy Messersmith, in his 1975 contract re-negotiation with the Los Angeles Dodgers. (It was after owner Peter O'Malley's refusal, and Messersmith's masterful, Cy Young-winning performance in '75 without a contract, that the historic "Seitz decision" was passed down, dictating that player's were to become free agents after playing a season without a contract in place, thus nullifying the old "reserve clause.") Andy Messersmith: you sir, are a douchebag. No-trade clauses are bullshit. If you wish to earn in excess of ten million dollars annually, and the organization that is facilitating this ridiculousness deems that it is in its own best interest to move you to another team (where your salary will still be paid in full), then that's their right. Also, let's get rid of opt-out clauses; there's absolutely no reason that A-Rod needed to opt-out of a contract that would have paid him $252 million over ten seasons in order to negotiate a contract that will now pay him $275 million over a renewed ten-year period. $23 million dollars is exactly 8.3% of his current contract, or approximately what Rodriguez earned during the year 2003; this is a formidable amount of money, and a substantial raise that he certainly should have been entitled to...after the expiration of his first nauseatingly fatuous, asinine contract. And, as long as we're (vaguely) on the subject, the next time a Nick Saban or Bobby Petrino-type wishes to simply walk out on his contractual obligation (that is, coaching a goddamn sports team for tens of millions of dollars), let's give them an ultimatum(*). You have great lives, and jobs that most blue-collar workers would disembowel a kitten to land. These jobs also happen to compensate you in the top percentile of all citizens of the United States. So how about this; we'll call it the Larry Brown Law: *Honor your contract, or we will put you in jail until the time that it expires. You want to leave for the NFL, Saban. Go for it; we'll see how running LSU's football program stacks up against giving handjobs for cigarettes (my guess is 'quite unfavorably').
And so to Andy Messersmith, arbitrator Peter Seitz, Judge John Oliver, MLBPA chair Donald Fehr and uber-agent Scott Boras (and colleagues), I would like to wish upon you the contraction of non-lethal cases of dysentery H1N1: may you spend the next month on the toilet or in government quarantine, chotchbags. Also, I'd like to offer my congratulations to the White Sox on their run yesterday. Because a 20-0 loss would have been really embarrassing.
