How fucked are my Padres this season?
Let me put it to you this way: Hillary Clinton has a better shot at winning the Democratic nomination than the San Diego Padres have a shot at mustering some decent offense.
For all the quality pitching (Jake Peavy, Chris Young, Greg Maddux, Randy Wolf), and the defense we have, the issue that has finally come back and bitten the team, John Moores, Sandy Alderson, and Kevin Towers in the ass is the policy of Moneyball.
What is Moneyball, you ask? It's simple: Kevin, Sandy, and John's philosophy of acquiring talent dirt cheap and competing well enough to win the National League West. Since San Diego moved into Petco Park, the Padres and Moneyball have worked out damn well; from 2004 to last season's heartbreaking loss to the soon-to-be N.L. Champion Colorado Rockies, the Padres have won a total of 80+ games, and became back-to-back Western Division Champions, thanks in part to the mediocre division competitiveness at the time.
Unfortunately, last year's failure to make it to the postseason and offseason moves made this year within the West should have been an indication that pitching and defense won't cut it anymore in this division.
Andrew Jones, Aaron Rowand, Tori Hunter, and the Fukodome sweepstakes - all excellent opportunities to add some power to a lackluster batting core (save for Padres first baseman Adrian Gonzalez) but we missed out, courtesy of -- you guessed it -- Moneyball. Just to rub some salt in the wound, we ditched left fielder Milton Bradely, the man who single-handily supercharged our bats and made Gonzalez look good at the plate, and center firlder Mike Cameron, to give their jobs to Scott Hariston (who's more of a backup than a starter, IMO) and Jim Edmonds, the power hitter who's days as a home-run hitter and impact player have died down due to injuries the last few years.
Now the Padres are 13-22, the worst record in the N.L., and have lost 16 of our last 20 games, and the management upstairs doesn't seem to give a damn. A pity, becasue had the Padres made a few moves, spent a little more money on some players, and kept Bradley, this team could be matching stride for stride with the red-hot Arizona Diamondbacks in the West.
To end this obituary, here's the poem, Oh Captain, My Captainby Walt Whitman.
O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
At least there's the upcoming Chargers football season to look forward to.
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