Let’s play everybody’s favorite game, Analyze That Trade!

This spring, the Braves traded 3B Wilson Betemit to the Dodgers for utility man Willie Aybar. A week ago, Aybar vanished and his agent has since admitted that Aybar is coping with drug addiction.

So that means the Dodgers got the best of the trade, right? Not exactly. So far this season Betemit has hit .133 with no home runs and six RBI. In other words, the Dodgers wish he would dissapear.

I’d say the trade has been a wash. Betemit has been so bad that the Dodgers are thinking about benching him. The problem is, they don’t have anybody who can play third.

From the L.A. Times:

Betemit’s struggles have the Dodgers considering options at third base — and there aren’t many.

They don’t think prospect Andy LaRoche is ready for the major leagues. LaRoche had a poor spring training offensively and defensively, and is batting .243 at triple A.

They are reluctant to move Nomar Garciaparra from first to third and plug prospect James Loney in at first because of the injury risk to Garciaparra, who has a history of leg and oblique problems. Third base requires more flexibility than first because of the increased throwing demands, and the stakes are high because Garciaparra is so valuable offensively.

An option the Dodgers have discussed is using backup catcher Mike Lieberthal at third base on occasion. Lieberthal, in his 14th season, is a .274 hitter with 150 home runs over his career, yet has only nine at-bats this season.

Playing Lieberthal at third base would be the most desperate move a team has made since Kevin Kennedy let Jose Canseco pitch the eighth inning. Lieberthal hasn’t played third since…well…not recently. He was a shortstop in high school, but that was a long, loooooooong time ago.

And the Dodgers can’t play Nomar at third because he might hurt himself. Moreover, if the Dodgers send Betemit to the minors for more seasoning, they would have to first place him on waivers and risk losing him to another team. Which, frankly, might not be the end of the world. But then they still wouldn’t have a third baseman.

Bob Wickman blew a save chance today. He came in to pitch the bottom of the ninth and got two outs, while giving up one hit, three walks, one hit batsman and two runs. Not pretty. The Rockies tied the game against Wickman and went on to win it in extra innings.

On Friday, Wickman entered the game in the ninth with a five run lead, only to surrender three runs on two hits and two walks. It took a miraculous over-the-shoulder basket catch by Braves RF Jeff Francoeur to salvage a win for the Braves.

During Friday’s game, Wickman motioned to the dugout, drawing an imaginary line across his throat as if to signal, “Cut!” It’s no secret why he wanted to halt production - he couldn’t find the strike zone with a map. But when was the last time you saw a pitcher beg his way out of a game?

So far, there’s no indication that Wickman is hurt. But fantasy owners might want to go out and pick up dynamite set-up man Rafael Soriano, just in case he gets promoted this week.

Meanwhile, the Braves need to decide if Wickman’s struggles were merely a result of pitching in the thin Denver air, or if there’s something more serious going on. Because right now he looks awful.

This week’s Metro column, in which I explain how it feels to endure Sox/Yankees two weekends in a row. In April.

The Washington Post is reporting today that a “former Mets employee” has admitted to handing out steroids and HGH to “dozens” of baseball players, starting in 1995. However, it appears he did not distribute them when on the Mets payroll (at least, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it). Kirk J. Radomski started with the Mets as a batboy, but left in ‘95 to begin a carreer as a personal trainer. Or, more accurately, a personal drug dealer. For the next ten years, Radomski peddled drugs to players across Major League Baseball. His confession comes as part of a federal plea tied up with the Balco investigation, which has become harder to follow than the Whitewater scandal.

As part of the plea deal, Radomski agreed to testify at any grand jury proceeding requested by the government and participate in undercover activities under the supervision of law enforcement officials. He pleaded guilty to one felony count of distributing anabolic steroids and one count of felony money laundering and faces up to 25 years in prison and $500,000 in fines.

Human growth hormone, anabolic steroids, clomiphene, insulin growth factor and clenbuterol were seized from Radomski’s New York home on Dec. 14, 2005.

[…]

The source said Radomski provided drugs to at least one MLB player publicly associated with the Balco investigation. Bonds, Jason Giambi and Gary Sheffield have all been implicated in connection with the probe. Giambi and Sheffield told a federal grand jury they used performance-enhancing substances from Balco, the San Francisco Chronicle has reported.

According to Buster Olney at ESPN.com, “A source said Friday evening that the federal case involved “dozens” of players, and someone who has seen an investigation affidavit indicated that Radomski told investigators — to paraphrase — that if they thought the allegations in Jose Canseco’s book were explosive, they would be blown away by what Radomski could report.” And according to SI.com, the affadavit claimed both “current and former” players were involved.

Radomski is also in trouble for money laundering, since of course he had to hide the source of his ill-gotten gains. What does this teach us, children? That steroids are just a gateway drug. A gateway to douchiness.

This post started as merely a comment to Sarah’s article (below). If you haven’t read it, go do it right now. It’s quite good.

Go on. I’ll wait.

For those of you who have already read it, good for you, and while we wait for the others, allow me to remind you that Mother’s Day is right around the corner, and that no one can tell your mom how much you appreciate her quite like Mr. T  can.

All of you back? Good. Cause I’m throwin’ it down.

Sarah asks a question (possibly rhetorical, but as a blogger, I have no patience for rhetoric) that was too good to not respond: “why do so many folks want to believe… that Curt wasn’t really bleeding on the mound?” It’s a juicy one.

First off, the guy is easy to hate. I am not saying I personally hate him because I’ve never met the guy. I have no reason to have any strong feelings about him, really. But Curt reminds people of those who tormented them in high school, college, and at other points in life. Currently standing at nearly six and a half feet, he was probably bigger than everyone else growing up, and with his demeanor, it’s easy to imagine him pushing around smaller children. Like, seven year olds. When he was nineteen. I can’t even be certain that Curt Schilling didn’t invent the atomic wedgie. If Gary “The Forehead” Thorne told me he did, I may believe it. Even if that’s an unfair position to put him in, he does have that air about him that rub some people the wrong way. The guy’s a total meathead. Some people love meatheads, others not so much. And what are the odds that Gary Thorne wasn’t on the receiving end of a few gotch pulls in his life?

Moreover, the general dislike of Red Sox fans held by many outside New England becomes manifested towards Curt Schilling. That, I can personally attest to. In 2004, I found myself actually enjoying the Red Sox run in the playoffs. When the final out made its way into Mienkiewicz’s glove, I was happy for them.

Then Jimmy Fallon ran onto the field to make out with Drew Barrymore. That moment, in retrospect, epitomizes the ridiculousness of it all. The organization allowed the Farrelly brothers to film that scene for “Fever Pitch” at the exact moment that the purity of baseball was supposed to return, if only for that one fleeting moment. It was an inopportune reminder that this is a business. Red Sox Nation is a corporate brand – and worse, it’s a brand that doesn’t include me. The “members” of Red Sox Nation (and good lord, I know I’m going to hear it from people for writing this) appear to have a large contingency of those who know very little about baseball outside the Northeast Corridor of Amtrak (I can feel the hate already). The world revolves around David Ortiz, Daisuke Matsuzaka, Manny Ramirez, Curt Schilling, and Theo Epstein. They’ve already put Jonathan Papelbon in the Hall of Fame. Bill Simmons is their Hemingway (Ernest, not Mariel).

Now admittedly, this is me speaking as a New Yorker, and this certainly does apply to Yankees and Mets fans as well (although us Mets fans have less to boast about). And of course, there are many Red Sox fans out there who do have some sense of perspective, are very knowledgeable and rooted in reality. However, as it goes with most things in this world, the most rational ones are not the most visible ones. Look again at Curt Schilling. David Ortiz is probably a far more likable person than Curt – but he’s not the one with the blog. It’s the backlash from the months and months that those of us who carried foreign passports into Red Sox Nation following October 27th, 2004, have had to endure. Their “woe is me” disposition turned into a “sucks to be you” attitude in mere minutes. Those who had never heard of Tom Brunansky immediately headed off to the local mall to purchase Red Sox paraphernalia and boasted their level of fandom. I recall seeing a segment on the news the night they put the Cardinals away that had a college student in Boston actually utter the words “I never thought it would happen in my lifetime”. We weren’t ready for that.

So I think this resentment fueled the flames. There is no doubt that Gary Thorne is a total wiener. Even if it was true that Doug Mirabelli had told him this, it was extremely unprofessional and irresponsible to state it on the air during an Orioles broadcast. The story never should have gotten so much attention to begin with because it was a moronic assertion from the start. If Curt Schilling were more likable, it would have been far easier for people to dismiss. But Curt is the loudmouth of an already far too vocal and proud Red Sox Nation. People want to bring him down and knock him off the pedestal. It’s human jealousy. And if he doesn’t want people to hate him, then he shouldn’t be so goddamn good at it.

P.S. Treat you mother right.

If there’s one image that’s come to symbolize Boston’s delirious, improbable 2004 playoff run, it’s Curt Schilling’s blood-stained sock. Yes, there’s Dave Roberts and The Steal and there’s Foulke flipping to Mientkiewicz for the out and there’s Kevin Millar and the Jack Daniels and Johnny Damon’s beard and “Idiots” rallying cry. But with JD gone to the Yankees and Mientkiewicz hoarding the winning ball and Dave Roberts having sprinted off into the sunset and Millar toiling away in obscurity (aka Baltimore) and Foulke having yakked (and sucked) his way out of a job, the blooms have come off those respective roses. But the lustre never wavered on Curt Schilling’s bloody sock.

It seems like only yesterday….[fade out]

After pitching with an injured ankle and getting rocked in Game 1 of the ALCS, Schilling has an experimental surgery done on the ankle before his next appearance in Game 6. An injured tendon will be sutured in place, theoretically allowing Curt to pitch. The Red Sox have already managed to prolong the series after snatching two come-from-behind, extra-innings games from the Yankees in Fenway Park. But the night of Game 6, the Sox are back in enemy territory. Schilling takes the mound. Red Sox Nation takes a collective inhale, and waits. But as we wait and watch, Schilling dominates the Yankee lineup one deliberate pitch at after another. Cameras zoom in on his injured ankle, and we see blood soaking through the white cotton. Blood. The man was beating the New York Yankees in Yankee Stadium with nothing left in the tank but sheer force of will. It’s the first time the series that the Red Sox haven’t had to battle back in the late innings against long odds (and Mariano Rivera). It breaks New York’s spirit. By the next night, the Red Sox are cruising to victory and the World Series, where they sweep the Cardinals with ease. Schilling’s sock from Game 2 in that series, also bloodstained, is later enshrined in the Hall of Fame.

[Fade in]….and then this happens.

From the AP: On Wednesday, Baltimore announcer Gary Thorne said during his broadcast of the Red Sox-Orioles game that Boston backup catcher Doug Mirabelli admitted it was a hoax. “It was painted,” Thorne said. “Doug Mirabelli confessed up to it after. It was all for PR.”

We in Boston reacted with scorn. Who is this jackass and what is he saying about Our Sock? Doug Mirabelli indignantly denied saying any such thing. The Sox brass took to the airwaves in rage, as Curt’s former teammates also rushed to his defense:

Red Sox president Larry Lucchino said the team “would not dignify (Thorne’s) insinuations with extensive comment … other than to remind everyone that we remain steadfastly proud of the courageous efforts by a seriously injured Curt Schilling — efforts that helped lead the Red Sox to the 2004 World Series championship.”

Baltimore’s Kevin Millar, who played for the 2004 Red Sox, said, “It was 100 percent blood, no doubt about it. Why are we even talking about this?”

Los Angeles Angels shortstop Orlando Cabrera, who played on Boston’s World Series team, also came to Schilling’s defense.

“I was actually in the training room when he was getting the sutures, so I don’t see no reason why he would have to paint blood on his sock,” Cabrera said Thursday. “I don’t know why people want to believe that it wasn’t blood.”

The AP even contacted some learned experts. Sox doc Bill Morgan and HOF spokesman Jeff Idelson both went on the record defending His Sockness:

“Obviously, we put sutures in Curt Schilling’s ankle right before he went out to pitch in a professional-level baseball game,” Morgan said in a statement e-mailed to The Associated Press. “Sutures will pull with movement, and we completely expected a certain amount of blood to ooze from the wound. Socks are like sponges, and even a small amount of blood can soak a sock.”

[…]

“We have no reason to doubt Curt, who has a profound respect for the history of the game and is cognizant of his role as a history maker,” Hall spokesman Jeff Idelson said. “The stain on the sock is now brown, which is what happens to blood over time.”

Forced to eat his words, evil Orioles announcer Gary Thorne apologized and admitted he must’ve misunderstood Mirabelli. Dougie, for his part, still seems baffled at how Thorne could have gotten the wrong end of the stick in the first place. Thorne claims that the backup catcher was, perhaps, being sarcastic. Mirabelli claims there wasn’t anything to be sarcastic about; all he said, when asked about the sock, was, “Yeah, we got a lot of publicity out of that.” Somehow in Thorne’s twisted mind, this became, “Yeah, it was paint. It was just for PR.” (When informed of Thorne’s comments, Dougie responded: “”What? Are you kidding me? He’s [expletive] lying. A straight lie. I never said that. I know it was blood. Everybody knows it was blood.”)

But the question remains: why do so many folks want to believe, as Cabrera so aptly put it, that Curt wasn’t really bleeding on the mound? Why do people want to think it was ink or ketchup or anything but blood? Is it because faking a bit of grandeur seems like the kind of thing the loquacious righthander would do? He doesn’t exactly shy away from the spotlight, nor does he hesitate to self-promote (Curt the vintner, Curt the gamer, Curt the philanthropist, Curt Curt Curt!). But even in that case, Curt, like Holly Golightly, may be a phony, but he’s a real phony. That is to say, if Curt Schilling were going to fake a bloody sock, he would probably just stab himself in the leg.

Nevertheless, Baltimore Sun columnist Laura Vecsey has suggested that the red splotch was fake (what is it with the Baltimore press and the Red Sox? I thought ragging on the team was our job). A GQ article once claimed the same thing, using an unnamed clubhouse source. But Jon Heyman, who has made no secret of his disdain for the pompous stopper (”The man never met a camera he didn’t love”), wrote that “There’s no real reason to doubt the blood.” Even if you concede the veracity of the blood, some still suggest that Curt Schilling kept re-trying his shoelaces during the game to draw attention to the sock and the mysterious red substance seeping through it, while still others have accused Schilling of “waving the bloody sock.” To be fair, for all that we like to poke fun at Curt for chasing the cameras, there’s a certain amount of press that seems to follow Schilling wherever he goes. And if we mock players for talking too much to the press and rag on the players who avoid the press and and never have anything to write about the players who talk but just say boring stuff, well, that makes us nattering nabobs more than a little hypocritical.

And if you still doubt that the pain—and the bleeding—were real, take a gander at this:

Somebody had to say it. So SI’s Albert Chen said it. And what he said was, “it’s time to bench Craig Biggio”  — or something to that effect.

From SI’s “Fungoes” blog:

Biggio is Houston’s leadoff hitter and everyday second baseman, and he is hitting .237 with a .284 on-base percentage. This is not simply the case of a slow start; last year, the 41-year-old hit .264/.325/.468, and only .178/.253/.388 on the road. His speed is fading, and his defense is now subpar. The time has come: On the cusp of the 3,000 hits, Craig Biggio must sit. Biggio should no longer be an everyday player. The punchless Astros rank 22nd in the majors in runs scored and have scored two runs or fewer in five of their first 19 games, and Biggio isn’t helping.

What do you think? Is it time for Biggio to pass the torch? Chen says Astros prospect Hunter Pence is more than ready to take Biggio’s spot in the Astros’ lineup. And if Pence’s stats are to be believed, Chen is right.

But Pence is not the next Biggio. Pence plays center field (he would bump Chris Burke to second). The next Biggio is already here. But he doesn’t play for the Astros. He plays for the Phillies. And his name is Chase Utley.

Consider this: Both Utley and Biggio play second base (though Biggio started his career at catcher and briefly attempted to play the outfield). Going into last night’s games, Utley led the NL in being hit by pitches. Biggio has the all-time record. Going into last night’s game, Utley led the NL in doubles (he hit two more last night). Biggio was only the second player to hit 50 doubles and steal 50 bases in a season. Both are speedy guys who bring an unprecedented level of focus and hustle. Both like to get dirty. Both lead by example.

I mean, I’m sure they’ve got their differences (one’s a little more country, one’s a little more rock and roll), but the similarities are remarkable. And considering how hard it’s going to be to say goodbye to Biggio, it’s nice to know that there’s somebody else already in the league who’s bringing it Biggio-style every night.

We’ve all watched a game in which a player with a peculiar sounding name will hear the boo birds upon coming to the plate. Red Sox 1B Kevin Youkilis? “yooooooouuuuuuu”; White Sox 2B Tadahito “Gooch” Iguchi? “Goooooo”; Aaron Boone? “Booooo” – wait a minute… – at any rate, you get my point.

This phenomenon is not exclusive to baseball, it happens in stadiums across the American landscape. And even though you’d imagine Indian’s Outfielder Shin-Soo Choo getting the boo-as-cheer treatment because of his name; sadly that wasn’t the case last week.

Before being called up on Tuesday, Choo did hear the boos. But what’s disturbing is that he wasn’t rained on with jeers for his performance, or because of a heated rivalry between AAA Buffalo (the Indians’ affiliate) and the Toledo Mud Hens. He heard them for a different, but very wrong reason:

Outfielder Shin-Soo Choo, promoted to the big leagues Monday by the Indians, has heard boos before.

Last week, the boos took on a disturbing tone. When Class AAA Buffalo, the Indians’ top farm club, played in Toledo, fans apparently associated him with […], the Virginia Tech senior who killed 32 of his schoolmates before killing himself April 16.

“Some fans said bad things,” said Choo before Monday’s game. “It’s pretty close to my name. My name is spelled Choo, and his name is […].”

How unfortunate that this kind of situation presents itself; but I’d say it takes something like this to expose where society is most vulnerable. It’s a matter of asking oneself: “why would a minor leaguer have anything to do with the individual that perpetrated the Virginia Tech campus last week?”

Nothing. So why boo him? Why harass him?

For the Indians, though, it wasn’t the only connection to the shootings.

Steven Bumbry, son of former Indians coach Al Bumbry, is a freshman outfielder at Virginia Tech.

“About a half hour after the news about the shootings was televised, I called Steven to see how he was doing,” said Johnny Goryl, advisor to the Indians player development department. “He was in the dorm right next to the one where the first two students were killed. I told him to stay in his room until he heard from school officials.”

At this point, I think, any discussions about the VT shootings should be grounded on what can be done to move on. Booing and harassing a player because he has a Korean sounding name, is not one of them.

I’m not even talking about his descent from a man who once hit 49 homers. Have you seen him lately? He looks like the love child of Ryne Sandberg and Larry Walker who was then eaten by David Wells.

He used to look like this…

You can get another look at the man and his chin-fro at his team page here.

While the Phillies started the season terribly, their shortstop has been on fire. Jimmy Rollins is hitting .298 with seven HR and 14 RBI.

Most impressively, Rollins spent the first few games doing something he has rarely done in the past — he took pitches.

From the Philadelphia Inquirer:

Rollins was asked for the reason for his fast start.

“Maturity,” he said.

In what way?

“In a lot of ways,” he said with a laugh.

How about patience at the plate? Entering yesterday’s games, Rollins was tied for second in the league in pitches per plate appearance at 4.50. He was tied for sixth in the league with eight walks. If Rollins continues to get on base like he has, he and the hitters behind him could put up some big numbers.

Seven games into the season, Rollins’ newfound patience seemed like a miracle. Now, just a week and a half later, it seems like a fluke. As ESPN.com’s Jerry Crasnick points out, Rollins has returned to his free-swinging ways.

From ESPN.com:

Here’s Rollins in a nutshell: He walked eight times in the Phillies’ first seven games this season, and didn’t draw another walk in the next 12 games. Maybe he’s just bored taking those four pitches outside the zone and jogging down to first.

It seems Phillies coaches are learning the hard way what almost any woman could have told them: you can’t change a man. Rollins is a hacker. Always has been, always will be. So I guess we all better accept it.