What Have You Learned? Jeff Francoeur

What Have You Learned is our very special off-season series that will outline what you've learned, what I've learned, and hopefully what the 2009 Mets have learned about themselves, others, and 2010. Today, we investigate whether Jeff Francoeur has really turned the corner, whether this is all part of his evil plan as a spy for the Braves, and my new quest to win a Nobel Peace Prize.

I've often thought about how I'm going to make my mark on this world. Should I write a book? Build a better mouse trap? Develop a seed that makes broccoli taste like cinnamon, thus combining health with great taste? Then, President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize:

"I will accept this award as a call to action -- a call for all nations to confront the common challenges of the 21st century."

The President, with that speech, has inspired me to create a path towards my own Nobel Peace Prize ... and this is how I'm going to do it:

I'm going to bring the sabermetric guys and the scout types together.

If that's not a common challenge of the 21st century, I don't know what is.

And I'm not just talking about locking Theo Epstein and Omar Minaya in a room until they sing Kumbaya together (or until their eyes bleed, one or the other). I'm living on a grander scale. I want to bring everyone together, and make the baseball landscape one big Coca-Cola commercial. It's not going to happen in one post, it's going to take time. But it's going to be my life's mission. Because I want that Nobel Prize, dammit (can you win a Nobel Peace Prize if you say "dammit" all the time?)

It seems like y'all are for one or the other. And I think we can have both. If we had been so resistant to progress back in the fifties, we'd never have created the heaven we know today as Reeses Peanut Butter Cups because combining chocolate and peanut butter would have been akin to raising the dead with pagan rituals. And it's going to take the next genius GM to figure out what the right balance is between the batting eyes and the free swingers. Billy Beane brought us OPS. Then the landscape was changed with UZR. The next stat isn't going to be a stat at all ... it's going to be the one who figures out how to integrate everything including OPS, UZR, flat speed, straight slugging, and yes ... grit and heart (don't worry, I'll never become so blinded in my quest to win a Nobel Prize by ever suggesting this team signs David Eckstein), to build a better baseball team. The balance may not be 50/50 between the stats and the scouts. In fact it'll probably be closer to 78/22 or something. But the right balance will dominate for years.

What does this have to do with Jeff Francoeur? Everything. The three polarizing figures of the stats vs. scouts war are Francoeur, Adam Dunn, and Juan Pierre. Dunn and Pierre are probably the polar opposites in terms of how they're valued, yet the ironic thing is that both players can be of help to the Mets in different capacities. The Mets might need somebody like Pierre to cover the massive amount of ground at Citi Cave, but he doesn't walk. Dunn is a power hitter who walks a ton. But he also strikes out a ton and has as much range as a statue. Too bad you can't call in Dr. Alphonse Mephisto to splice their genes and make one super player that has defensive range and walks a lot ... although with the Mets medical luck, they'd hire a cheaper doctor to create a player who can't move, strikes out 215 times a year and has the batting eye of Mr. Magoo. (Think Dave Kingman ... 1982.)

So what have we learned about Frenchy, the third polarizing player? First off, I can't discount the fact that he's taken to New York quite well, and threw everything he had a smile on his face. On the 2009 Mets, a year where he's hit into a game ending triple play, and a game ending lucky stab by Mike McDougal, that's no small feat. When the trade was made, I thought Francoeur would be miserable going to a big city, going to a rival, and away from his hometown. It was the opposite. No doubt in my mind that put him in the right frame of mind to pick up his game. Amazing what you can accomplish when you're happy. Remember the Robby Alomar years, when he was clearly not happy as a Met? Didn't work out so well, did it?

And I was dead wrong about him in that I thought '09 would be dreadful, and '10 would bring us the new improved Jeff Francoeur. Instead, his '09 as a Met was as good as it could have been. If that was the sugar rush of a new team, much like the last part of '08 was attributed to that new manager smell, is it all downhill from here? If we have indeed seen the best of Frenchy, the saber guys will be all over him ... and rightly so, because that means that barbecue and batting cage time with Howard Johnson will have been a fruitless endeavor where Frenchy learns nothing. And what a waste of BBQ sauce that would be.

Here's where we bring the world together ... ready? Upon further review Francoeur, in the right situation, can be the right fit. Let's say he dips a little bit from the .311/.338/.498 line he put up wtih the Mets last season. If he's batting sixth in a lineup that has some serious juice up top, say, a healthy Reyes, Castillo or an improved version at second, an improved David Wright, a healthy Carlos Beltran, and a shiny new part like Jason Bay or Matt Holliday or Derrek Lee or whoever, Frenchy can be that guy crushing pitches down the middle with the bases loaded, instead of the Mets loading the bases with nobody out and having Anderson Hernandez up, followed by a 4-6-3 D.P. by Fernando Tatis.

Now, if you're going to depend on Francoeur to be your cleanup hitter, you might have problems. Because unless Hojo is part evolutionary psychologist, Frenchy is going to be who he is. It's up to the powers to put a team around him and continue to bring the best out in Francoeur where, walks or not, he can be somebody that everyone can love.

Peace and love. Peace and love.

What Have You Learned? Omar Minaya

What Have You Learned is our very special off-season series that will outline what you've learned, what I've learned, and hopefully what the 2009 Mets have learned about themselves, others, and 2010. Today, we look at everyone's least favorite person with everyone's favorite job: Omar Minaya.

Remember how easy it used to be to get a t-shirt that said "In Omar We Trust"? Now they're about as readily available as those Patriots 19-0 gold coins ... and worth about as much.

It's gotta be tough to be Minaya these days. He's the very definition of lame duck ... between his people getting fired around him, hiring new people who could possibly replace him (and I wonder whether Minaya was "encouraged" to do this), and having reports pop up that the only reason you have your job is because of the extension you signed, I'd say that would make a man feel quite inadequate. Good thing he's in the sports business, where there's no shortage of advice for that kind of thing.

What has Omar Minaya learned? Hopefully, how to choose his battles more wisely.

What must he learn for 2010? Unfortunately, he's going to have to learn how to be somebody he's not. Look, I think Minaya is a good GM ... but not for what this franchise needs. His strengths, being able to sign the big fish being paramount among them, was something the Mets desperately needed after the 2004 season when they badly needed an infusion of star power. The Mets don't need that now. They have enough stars. They need a GM who knows how to construct a roster 1-25. Minaya has proven that's not a strength for him. most egregiously with the Darren O'Day debacle (yeah, that still bothers me). But if he's going to keep his job past this season, he's going to have to make it a strength.

Is that fair? Absolutely not. I'm not a fan of putting people in a position to fail. When you start firing people to "send messages", you get away from the mission statement. Now who the %#$* knows what the Mets mission statement is, but what they seem to be doing is trying to "light a fire" under Minaya. The problem is that you can light a fire to make somebody hustle, or give more effort. But pressure doesn't make you smarter. School makes you smarter. And Minaya graduated Newtown High School way back in 1978. If there's something he didn't pick up before then, it's not coming.

But he's got one chance to fix this. I don't know if that's possible in one season. Problems like the Mets have get fixed from the ground up, and that takes years. Maybe Minaya can do what he does best and go after the best free agents out there, whom to me are Matt Holliday (NLDS Game 2 error not withstanding) and John Lackey. But that's going to be rough. Holliday would have to do what few do, and that's play in St. Louis for a half a season then actually leave ... since players love being there. Lackey? I see him either staying in Anaheim or going home to Texas, so Omar might be chasing his tail on both of them. With the rest of the free agent market lukewarm at best, Omar is going to have to change course and try something else.

Maybe that draft class from 2008 which includes Ike Davis and Reese Havens will be confirm Minaya's skills as a builder. But who knows if and when the Mets can reap those grains? Maybe Chris Carter will be a good first step, but that's assuming he makes the club. Minaya's best chances to fix this might not contribute until after he's gone. Since much of his staff will be starting from scratch, is there really a chance to make meaningful improvements in one season?

You want to fix it this year? Well, that might involve mortgaging some future, and that's what makes a lame duck dangerous, getting rid of future to save his job today. Here's the two edges to this sword: A: People say you have no future in your farm system ... and that's part of what needs fixing with this organization. But B: Omar says that's overblown, that there are some pieces that other teams want. All right, prove it. Make a trade for Derrek Lee if that's the case. Make a trade for Dan Uggla and Jeremy Hermida and give Florida more salary relief if that's the case. Make a trade for Doc Halladay if that's the case.

I don't know what the exact answer is. But if you want to fix this, maybe a good way to start is to watch a replay of the Tigers/Twins playoff, where you'll see two teams with talent up and down the roster, not to mention the balls to trust that talent when it mattered most. (You'll also see a team who won said playoff game where the winning pitcher was a guy you released in '05 ... probably to make room for Julio Franco or Juan Marichal or Juan Marichal's grandmother on the 40 man roster.)

Maybe a good way to start is to not waste roster spots on broken heroes on a last chance power drive. Don't even think about giving Gary Sheffield another season. I don't care what kind of numbers he put up, his signing was a mistake. Nick Evans' lost season was probably due in no small part because of Sheffield's signing pushing him to the minors and starting him on the abyss. Were 10 HR's and 43 RBI's worth that? Hopefully, Evans will be a viable option on the bench next season (heaven knows that Snoop Manuel made him familiar on the bench in September), along with Carter, and maybe Hermida if you trade for him. They can't be any worse than Fernando Tatis and his band of empty bench spots as the Mets played the whole season with anywhere from 23-19 players.

Maybe another way to start would be to take a chance on Miguel Cabrera, as the Tigers might try to trade him after his escapades during the last weekend of the season. Now, notice I didn't say that it would be another "good" way to start. Sure, while you wouldn't get him cheap, you might be able to get him at a slightly reduced rate. But if you want to change the entitlement that the locker room has been accused of having, Cabrera would be the absolute worst option you could choose. I know it's tempting, but now that the Mets are on a streak of sweeping final series, the last thing the Mets need is a lazy problem child who goes on benders and tells kids they're fat after once being as big as an El Dorado.

Other than that, have at it. Go forth and fix the team, somehow someway. Just go against everything you've ever been taught about how to run a team. Easy, right? Figure out what you've learned, Omar. Then forget all of it.

Hardcore Insanity

What some people refer to as "hardcore", others refer to as "insane".

When I broached the idea of seeing four major league baseball games in a span of 48 hours, with about 14 hours of driving inter-dispersed among the 48 hours, I sat on the fence...teetering back and forth about whether this was the act of a couple of hardcore baseball fans, or whether it was the final step towards the looney bin.

So was all the effort worth it? Was it hardcore? Was it insane? (Warning: what you are about to read is an epic...split up into digestible parts, but epic nonetheless. Not epic as in good...just long. Be prepared.)

Game One: Quadruple "A"

My brother warned me that the Great American Ballpark was a really nice minor league ballpark, kind of like those players that dominate AAA ball, but can't quite climb the Mendoza line in the majors. I can't go quite that far in assessing the Reds' home, but there is definitely a minor league feel to the park. It's intimate, it has fireworks, and it's very...very...red. It's easy for a camera to spot a Mets fan in the crowd, as black and orange seem to clash with all the red seats, the red shirts, and the blood spilled by Reds fans as...

All right, maybe not quite that red. But as you can tell from the picture above, there were plenty of Mets fans at GAB on Tuesday night. And the boys at Faith and Fear in Flushing would be happy to know that one of those Met fans was sporting the now classic number shirt seen in many cities around the world, and now in Ohio...though I wasn't fast enough to grab a picture of the guy, you guys will just have to trust me that he was there.

We spent the first three innings in the Riverfront Club, which is basically fancy food, real plates, and free beer. What's better than that? (If you go, try the cream of shallot). How about the kid waiter who watched Paul Lo Duca's first home run with us, not batting an eye when we clapped politely?

"I don't care who you root for, as long as I get paid. I'm actually a Mets fan anyways."

This was quickly followed by the poor kid getting admonished by his boss for not keeping the tables clean.

Then there was the bitter Reds fan sitting at the bar who noticed my Pedro jersey and starts in with the bartender...her rant went something like "blah blah blah blah blah all these Mets fans blah blah blah blah blah blah they're just like Cub fans blah blah blah blah blah blah".

OK then.

Then it was off to our big time seats about 22 rows up from the Reds dugout, and sitting next to a Cincinnati celebrity...namely: Rocco Castellano, a fitness instructor and attitude adjustor who has been on local radio, and is not only good people, but he's actually a Mets fan from New Jersey. Wearing a Pedro Martinez jersey in enemy territory, it was good to have a fitness instructor on my side (because I'm too anemic to defend myself, as you know). As for the attitude adjusting, I wonder if Guillermo Mota has been a recent beneficiary of Rocco's expert teachings. If not, he probably should be.

Definitely make a pilgrimage to the place for no other reason than the fact that you can run to the bathroom and get back to your seat without missing a pitch. You couldn't do that at Shea unless you used an empty cup at your seat. And also, try the deep fried twinkies. Just stay away from that chili/spaghetti mess unless you have had tetanus shots.

We were lucky to be present at the game on the all-important 26th anniversary of Woody Woodward almost being hit by a ten pound sack of flour at Dodger Stadium. And it was another not so great day in Reds history 36 years later...as not only did Lo Duca hit his second dinger of the night, but my brother spent the entire night heckling Adam Dunn. Good times had by all (especially the guy in his fifties who was literally dancing in the street after the game because Orlando Hernandez threw him a baseball and he caught it), as the Mets had their first five game winning streak of the season (you know, I heard that no team ever made the playoffs without a five game winning streak), and my road record ran to 5-0. But as you know, all good things...

Game Two: What's Up Old People?

We knew it was going to be one of those special kinda days when we rode the elevator with Thom Brenneman at Wednesday afternoon's Mets/Reds tilt. Say what you want about Brenneman (and I have), but the guy not only called Boise State's Fiesta Bowl masterpiece, he has now also called Appalachian State's massive upset over Michigan. That's cache, my friends.

We traveled up to the upper deck to find my niece, at the game with her schoolmates...and along the way found a Reds usher clapping wildly for Aaron Harang as he was announced as the Reds' Roberto Clemente award candidate (and seeing how empty the upper deck was that day, we have strong suspicions that the usher was, in reality, Aaron Harang's mom.)

So my brother finds his daughter in the upper deck among her schoolmates (great school system in Cincinnati...as soon as the class saw us two mooks in our Mets jerseys, the teachers spurred their kids to chant "Let's Go Reds" at us. That's some mighty hospitality there...must be that "midwest polite") and gives her a Mets hat to wear. She then asks her daddy with a big smile on her face: "Are you going to watch the game with me?" My brother...still stinging over the fact that his daughter had him in the bathroom at GAB while Pedro Martinez was striking out his 3,000th career batter on Monday...said "nope, I just came to give you your hat".

That's good parenting.

What he probably wanted to say was that we had much better seats than the class. For reference, here's approximately what row Q gets you at Shea Stadium:

Meanwhile, here's row Q in Cincinnati:

Not bad, eh?

But before we got back to our row Q, I took this picture in the concourse of a painting featuring the Big Red Machine:


You'll notice the former Met in the lower right corner...that's correct, George Foster. I took this picture thinking "oh, here's an opportunity to rip on Foster in my next blog entry for never, ever diving for a fly ball in a Mets uniform".

Wouldn't you know that a few feet to the left of the picture that I was going to segue into a George Foster joke, was George Foster himself? Yes...George Foster was signing autographs for the throngs of people waiting in line to buy his signature on an 8X10 for $25.

Well, actually, it was more like the throng of person waiting for his autograph...so you know I couldn't let this opportunity go by without getting a picture with the man, and getting a personalized 8X10. George Foster...who once hit a triple in a Mets uniform, but was now wearing a Reds jersey during this session, was taking a picture with little ol' me. That's when this exchange occurred:

GF: Try not to beat up on us too bad today, OK?

MD: You know when the Mets signed you, it was the first step in the Mets
becoming relevant again.

GF: I thought I was the only one who figured that out.

Still confident after all these years.

(Foster would later do an interview on the Diamondvision, and when asked to give a message to the senior citizens on Senior Citizens Day, the 59 year-old Foster's inspirational message was: "What's up old people!")

The game featured temperatures that reached 105, the Mets being shut down by some guy named Tom Shearn, and Joey Votto getting his first major league hit, a bomb off of John Maine (along with the appearance of maybe the greatest name ever for a baseball player: Buck Coats.) And I gotta say: I've never had so much fun at a 7-0 beating in my life. Consider that for the final three innings, we sat here:

This picture was taken right before my conversation with Jose, which was basically me asking Jose if he was enjoying his day off, and Reyes nodding his head and flexing his muscles...telling me he needed to get stronger (probably more mentally than physically, I'd say).

Mets fans had taken over the rows behind the dugout, having a good time talking to their team...but wondering why Moises Alou wouldn't smile at them. Rest assured that Moises isn't a dour guy. He's just afraid that if he smiles, he'll pull a face muscle and be out for three weeks, so he's just thinking of the team in this instance.

A funny thing happened during the ninth inning down 0-7. Mets fans were getting up a "Let's Go Mets" chant. Certainly a far cry from some of the seemingly constant complainin' about the team back here in New York to hear a group of fans blissfully backing the team with the stench of the Phillies series seeming more and more like a distant memory. It was a glorious thing. But it had to be interrupted by a higher calling, which was my brother heckling Mike Stanton:

"Hey Stanton, Prince Fielder called, he wants his pants back!"

No matter that he was closing out a day game doldrum for the Mets, we had to extract our pound of flesh from a Hall of Hate charter member (my only regret was that I couldn't tie a Krispy Kreme to a fishing pole and dangle it in front of Stanton in hopes that he's chase it. Next year.)

Game Three: Free Parking

Here was the challenge of the day...get from Cincinnati to Chicago in four hours, find parking, and get in our seats by 8:05 for our first ever trip to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs and the Dodgers. Who could blame us for thinking we had a chance...as not only did we hear on the radio that batting practice was delayed by a thunderstorm, but that the Braves had come back to defeat the Phillies 9-8 after being down 0-5 when we left GAB, keeping the Mets lead at five games. This prompted my brother to call a Phillies fan to rub it in, with me doing the tomahawk chop in the background.

Yes, things were coming together.

The festive atmosphere we anticipated at Wrigley caused me to start singing the Amy Winehouse song "They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'" for the better part of three hours (my brother probably needed rehab after acquiring that earworm from me). Unfortunately, we missed most of the festive, rehab-free atmosphere of Wrigley as we didn't get to the park until the bottom of the fourth (while missing some guy from Reno 911 throwing out the first pitch).

Then it took two innings to park the car.

Luckily, we ran into a couple leaving the game who my brother subconsciously willed into giving us their parking sticker so that we wouldn't have to find the missing parking attendant and give up upwards of forty dollars to park and watch three innings of baseball...as we didn't sit down in Wrigley until the bottom of the sixth. (So let this be a lesson to those of you thinking of trying this kind of trip: Cincinnati to Chicago is impossible if you want to see every pitch. Can't be done. Believe me, we tried. Any faster, and we would have had Jackie Gleason and Boss Hog tailing us.)

But three innings in Wrigley was more than enough for one night (and in my mind, it still counts as two games in one day...pretty cool.) Night games in Wrigley, even if consumed in a small dose, are an event. What more could you want from a baseball game than an electric crowd, a beer, and national television?

How about not having a pillar in front of your seat?

No wonder I was able to get these tickets so easily online. No matter, because I scored my Derrek Lee bobblehead doll (which upon entering my apartment, immediately leaped from the box and hit a home run off of my Heath Bell bobblehead doll) thanks to our Chicago mole who was actually there early enough to be one of the first 10,000 fans to enter the park (don't worry, for his efforts I paid for his ticket...I'm a compassionate one).

The Cubs won in a laugher, which meant we were lucky (?) enough to hear the Go Cubs Go song that the team has adopted as a theme song. Here are the lyrics:

They're singing ...Go, Cubs, go
Go, Cubs, go
Hey, Chicago, what do you say
The Cubs are gonna win today.
Go, Cubs, go
Go, Cubs, go
They tried to make me go to rehab, I said: Go Cubs Go

Oh, sorry...I got my earworms mixed up.

After the game featured the only Wrigley reference to my Mets hat (the infamous travel hat, by the way) which came from a vendor who was selling a t-shirt on Waveland which referred to the sexual preference of the St. Louis Cardinals. He spots my Met hat and says:

"You must hate the Cardinals as much as we do."

Which was met by three simple words that came out of my mouth: "Yadier...f***ing...Molina".

In one respect, brothers in arms.

Game Four: One With...

Now Wrigley Field was great. But I did have a couple of complaints. The one Cub souvenir that I really wanted was a Cliff Floyd shirt. I figured that going into a Cubs shop across the street from the Field and seeing t-shirts immortalizing the likes of Matt Murton, Carlos Marmol, and Ronny Cedeno would up my chances of finding a Cubs shirt featuring a Chicago native. But alas, my efforts to find a "Floyd 15" shirt was futile. And as much as I love Cliff, I wasn't dropping a buck-sixty on an official "Floyd 15" jersey.

My other complaint were the bathrooms. Call me crazy, but relieving myself in a community sink isn't my idea of fun. (If you've been there, you know what I mean.)

But no Cliff Floyd tee, hijinks in the bathroom, and the lack of opportunity to boo the resting Jeff Kent for a second straight day were made up for by the hot dogs. Guys and gals, do yourselves a favor. Go to the hot dog stand and order a "one with". Just trust us.

And then, after Andre Ethier broke the Cubs hearts with a three run home run off of Ryan Dempster in the ninth (apparently, the Mets aren't the only team that has Dempster's number), it was time to end our trip, and take the long trip home. So was it worth it? Was driving and riding all these miles to see four ball games in 48 hours worth the effort?

Damn straight.

So I guess my vote is for hardcore.

But you know, we passed by Indianapolis on the way back home from Wrigley on Thursday night. We could have caught a quarter of the NFL opener on our way back to Cincinnati.

Hey, what do you think...we're insane?

The Crest of Emotion

I can't be sure, but I'm guessing that it had to be Marlon Anderson who made the inspirational pregame speech exhorting his teammates to win one for pride. Win one for the home crowd. But most of all, win one for the recently retired Ricky Ledee.

This one had all the twists and turns of a well written movie like Arlington Road...or Fight Club...or American Pie...you couldn't tell what the story was. First it was the sign that the Mets could beat up on top pitchers like Chris Young when healthy. And it was the continuing hot streak of Carlos Beltran.

Then, it was John Maine running out of gas...and the inability, once again, of the Mets bullpen to hold his lead, even though Aaron Heilman wasn't one of the culprits.

(But then the world got normal when Heilman came in and had one of the worst outings ever had by a pitcher who gave up no runs.)

That's when things got weird.

I felt on Sunday that things were turning around for the Mets, and the eighth inning proved it. Because the Mets of June and July would have let their former bullpen mate Heath Bell come in, walk all over them, and when the game was over throw beer cans at them like the one you see here. And then I would have had to put Bell on the hate list for learning a new slider after he leaves the Mets...I kept wondering where that slider was when he was firing fastball after fastball after fastball to Derrek Lee at Wrigley in 2005. But he saves it for Carlos Beltran.

Alas, this isn't June or July for Carlos Beltran either, and Beltran slapped one into left to tie the game in the bottom of the eighth, and turned Heath Bell into just another ex-Met victim.

You knew that there would be some drama left as Billy Wagner blew the tie in the ninth, leaving Met fans muttering to themselves wondering if there is anybody in the bullpen that can just come in and have a 1-2-3 inning. I mean, is that too much to ask?

But yet again, the Mets of June and July would have gone down meekly against a closer on the level of Trevor Hoffman. Not this time. Not this team. Not this team at this time. Not the time, the team, the Mets...oh no. Not winning players like Lastings Milledge, Mike DiFelice, Marlon Anderson, or Jose Reyes. And certainly not Luis Castillo...who's arrival has brought a 12-6 record in an August that will sadly be more known for four horrific losses than for a .667 winning percentage.

(And by the way, the Braves? The wonderful, heroic, world beating, cancer curing Braves according to Steve Phillips, are 10-9 in August...even with Mark Teixeira's bat...after losing tonight to the Reds. And that's the Jeff Conine-less Reds, mind you.)

So that's one big pitcher down, the other one coming on Wednesday in the form of Jake Peavy. With the wave of emotion coming over the Mets squarely at its crest, it really doesn't matter who's pitching, who's hitting, or who's giving the pre-game speech. With Ricky Ledee in their hearts, there's no speech necessary.

(Editor's note: One year minus one day ago, the Mets faced the same kind of problems regarding that killer instinct. Then Carlos Beltran hit a walk-off HR against Jason Isringhausen and a sleeping dog got its swagger back. Fifty-two weeks later, another relatively flat team that had been slowly climbing the ladder of crispness showed its fangs, its killer instinct, and its rock and roll against another top closer. Hopefully, unlike 52 weeks prior, that top closer will not get hurt, paving the way for some no-name starter to join the major league club and throw a wicked curveball past Beltran for strike three in the 2007 NLCS. If I have to send Trevor Hoffman some herbal tea and some aromatherapy to keep him fit, I'll do it. So stay well, Trevor.)