I feel that life is divided into the horrible and the miserable. That’s the two categories. The horrible are like, I don’t know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don’t know how they get through life. It’s amazing to me. And the miserable is everyone else. So you should be thankful that you’re miserable, because that’s very lucky, to be miserable.

Brian Gunn’s Cardinals preview is up at the Hardball Times. It’s great, but since most of you got your Cardsblog start reading Redbird Nation this is no surprise to you.

Most Cardinals previews, I’ve noticed, have taken a sudden turn for the neurotic. I shouldn’t say sudden like it was a particular shock that it happened, because it always does, but sudden as in one day everything seemed bright and sunny and Captain-and-Tennille-y and the next Junior Spivey was striking out too much and Scott Rolen still isn’t hitting for power and Jim Edmonds has nerve problems and the din of worrying was so maddening it resembled, well, a Captain and Tennille song, over and over, in the dead of winter.

In his preview, Brian sets up a number of possible scenarios; this is probably the best way to do a preview, because really anything can happen this early in a baseball season. One of them involves the Cardinals regressing, winning 85-ish games and taking a weak NL Central but all in all not resembling the dominant clubs of the last two seasons. Nobody particularly wants this; the idea of a team that’s merely adequate after those first two MV3/2.5 clubs, well–it’s just not very palatable.

And on the other hand, La Russa may have found a new masking agent for the pixie dust he employs year after year to get extraordinary performances out of ordinary extras such as Tony Womack. Maybe they take advantage of an inexperienced Brewers team, and an injured Cubs team, and a Rocket-less Astro club, and win 100 again.

Of course, then as always the playoffs are a crapshoot, and although there are some ways to load the dice they’re still going to fall on the number you weren’t hoping for most of the time. Winning 100 games, or 104, or 92 isn’t really a huge deal this year; there’re no seeding issues, since the rest of the NL is as weakened as the Cardinals are.

So, really, there’s no happy, calming way for this to work out–they’ll win 100 and we’ll be worried that it doesn’t matter, or they’ll win 85 and we’ll be worried that it doesn’t matter, because they’ll probably lose anyway. It may be horrible to be a fan of the Marlins about now, but worrying about how we don’t even need to be worrying? Man, that’s kinda miserable.

“That movie makes me feel guilty.”

“Yeah, because it’s supposed to.”

On one hand, the Cardinals got younger. Juan Encarnacion isn’t going to require eight cortisone shots and a philosopher’s stone to play 120 games in the outfield. Sydney Ponson’s older than Young Reyes, but he’s got fewer miles on him than the perpetually overworked Matty Mo. Left field’s still anybody’s guess, but for the first time in a while there’s a chance for a genuine, homegrown player like Chris Duncan or John Gall to step in and contribute, which is exciting.

On the other hand, the moves make the Cardinals younger, but not that much younger; Juancarnacion is 30, and the opening day second baseman will probably be 31. And all the shorter-toothed supporting players in the world won’t roll Jedmonds’s odometer back, or keep Scott Rolen out of a full-body cast. There’s no predicting pitchers’ injuries, either, unless they’re pitching for Dusty Baker.

It’s all in how it’s framed, and we don’t even know what size the picture is. If I had to guess? Well, I’d say somewhere in the neighborhood of 88, 90 wins. Is that good? You tell me.

I think it’s like a shark, you know? It has to constantly move forward or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark.

Worst case scenario, for me, is that the Cardinals put everything together, everybody plays up to their potential, and they still don’t do it. Injuries? Inexplicable slumps? Sure. But the most depressing thing is when there’s no excuse, just inability.

No dynasty lasts forever; if Michael Jordan hadn’t retired–the middle retirement, I mean–he would’ve slowed down, Dennis Rodman would’ve grown inconsolable after realizing he hadn’t made himself sign a prenup, and the Bulls would’ve gone down in the semifinals one of those years. Likewise, the Pujols/Rolen/Edmonds core can’t last forever; at the moment, it’s still able to carry a team if all three of them stay healthy, but when’s the year that stops being true? Should the Cardinals’ve pulled out all the stops to take advantage of them while they’re still here? If, as Brian said, Barry Bonds goes on the market do the Cardinals trade from the minors to make the middle of their order certifiably ridiculous for one half of a season? I don’t think the shark is dead just yet–not moving forward as fast, sure, but not dead–but I think the waiting of it is a big part of what keeps us on edge. Or maybe I’m just crazy.

Well … oh, well … la-de-da, la-de-da, la-la.

So why didn’t I do a normal preview this year? Well, first of all, I didn’t do one last year, either, and second of all, Brian Gunn and all the other bloggers have done fine jobs already. But most of all–well, I’m going to be wrong, no matter what I do. There’s going to be an injury–on the Cardinals or on another team–I couldn’t have anticipated, or Hector Luna or Neifi Perez is going to hit 30 homers, or somebody just isn’t going to play like PECOTA and anybody else predicted. (Note: I will go out on this thick, thick limb and say that Neifi Perez will not hit 30 home runs in the next four years. Combined.) By the time the season starts, and I have small sample sizes to overanalyze and hanging curveballs on TV to fret over, I will undoubtedly make my usual asinine predictions. But before the season starts?

All I can know is that they’re pretty good, and that the best thing possible is to just repeat The Mantra and wait for the season start.

Hello? I forgot my mantra.

“Everything we’re saying right now is going to be wrong.*”

* Mantra does not include any predictions made about the potency of Neifi Perez’s bat.

On the short-lived animated version of Kevin Smith’s Clerks, there was a running joke. One of the aforementioned Clerks–Randal–would often have dream sequences, characterized by girls being all over him while the other, more intelligent clerk–Dante–acted like someone whose mental capacities were, shall we say, somewhat compromised, often wearing a diaper and shouting “I’m Dante, and I’m the biggest idiot ever!” Whenever he wanted to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, he would simply ask: “Are you the biggest idiot ever?” And Dante would reply “No, you are!”

With that in mind… go on, ask me if I am.

Asked?

No, Jim Bowden is! So Nationals fans, sadly, aren’t dreaming. The former Reds boy wonder’s latest inexplicable roster move is sending Ryan Church down to AAA, opting instead to platoon former Phillies prospect Marlon Byrd and rookie Brandon Watson in center field. When asked about his reasoning–a foolish question, because there’s no reasoning understandable by humans involved in this move–Bowden noted that Brandon Watson had had a better spring. Apparently, Bowden has never heard of Gabe Gross, or Emil Brown, or Mike Coolbaugh.

Meanwhile, in reality, Ryan Church can play all three outfield positions, and he hit .287/.353/.466 last year, after hitting .346/.430/.622 in AAA the year before. He’s 27; he’s dirt cheap; he put up a 120 OPS+ in his first major league season. Basically, he’s everything you could ask for in a center fielder. And now he’s playing AAA ball, while Daryle Ward takes up (a considerable amount of) space on the 25 man roster. It’s hard to even have two above average center fielders on the roster, but Bowden and the Nationals had lucked out. But over this winter and into spring Bowden hasn’t only had two, he’s dumped them both (and another good center fielder, Terrmel Sledge, who’d outhit both of the guys he’s left on the roster.) Net gain? An unhappy second baseman. Hopefully, in the Jocketty compound, a conversation is going on that resembles this one: “Hey, Aaron Miles is a second baseman! I bet he could sulk and dog it in the outfield, too, and for you? Oh, just send us that AAA outfielder.”

Dusty Baker no doubt has Eric Davis on the phone, because he’s out one middle-aged outfielder; Marquis Grissom has retired. His 78 stolen bases in 1992 were the single-season high among active players; now that falls to Kenny Lofton, who stole 75 in 1996. (Second among active players? Tony Womack, in 1999.) He was never a superstar, but he was pretty close as a member of the last good Expos teams in the early 90s. For a guy whose main asset early in his career was his blinding speed, he had a nice rennaissance as a lefty-mashing power source with the Giants.

From the acrimony and sanctimony on this VEB comment thread you’d think lboros had made fun of Chris Duncan’s mother, rather than noting the occupation of his father, or at the very least declared it open season on Don King rhymed couplets.

It also would appear that one prime faux pas is to mention, at all, Young Dunc’s resemblance to longtime token prospect John Gall (who, incidentally, Ray Mileur of the Birdhouse believes will make the roster.) Gall, apparently, is persona non grata in Cardinalsland now, while Duncan can “mash.” Now, Gall got his first AAA exposure at 25, a year later than Duncan, but here’s how Gall’s age 24 year in AA and both of their first AAA seasons translated to major league numbers, according to Baseball Prospectus:

          BA   OBP  SLG
Gall24  .273  .315 .455
Gall25  .297  .352 .452
Dunc24  .250  .332 .422

I don’t know about you, but if I was asked to name which of these three lines most resembled mashing, I would pick Gall’s first exposure to AAA. Now, he’s regressed since then, but I’m not advocating him for the position now; I’m just saying that those who have annointed Duncan as a masher-in-waiting, thanks to stature and long-home-runnitude, are making the assumption that, over the offseason, Duncan has made collossal strides with the bat. And before you knock Gall, remember that, aside from five inches of height and–perhaps–a last name, he’s the ghost of Chris Duncans Past.

As for what I’d do about the left field spot, I think the guy most likely to show an unexpected improvement is Gall, seeing as he’s the one who apparently has lost a lot of weight in preparation. I don’t know what to make of his recent scuffling in AAA, but he’s shown the ability to hit the ball pretty well in the past and he’s just hitting what should be his peak. I think a Gall/Rodriguez platoon, while hideous on defense, could put up an .800-ish OPS until reinforcements arrived.

First, a little meta business:

Hits two days ago: 437
Hits yesterday: 1,810
Hits today: 437-ish, I’m assuming. Thanks to Deadspin for the exposure, and Tuffy Rhodes for being awesome. If, by some chance, you’re a Deadspinner who added me to their RSS reader or something, sorry–I don’t often go off on random Japanese tangents like that, so I hope you’re a big fan of Cardinals nitpickery.

So, anybody remember when Alfonso Soriano got brought up–with dead serious looks all around–in discussions about “The Best Player in Baseball” on ESPN? It was… well, five years have passed for Alfie, but to most everybody else it’s been three. Few stars have taken such a hit, but he hit the trifecta: he moved to a team that wasn’t the Yankees, he was traded for a player markedly better than he is, and–this is the most difficult one to pull off, but he managed–he went from a Young Player on the Rise to a Youngish Player Who’s Peaking in the span of twenty minutes, when the Yankees revealed that he was 28, instead of 26. When you’re A) a middle infielder who B) relies on his speed and general athleticism and C) last walked right after you figured it out, during the Carter Ford administration, those two years are huge.

Meanwhile, in Texas, people suddenly took a look at–through–the two big, huge holes that have been in his game since he came to the US from Japan in the first place: his career high OBP is .338, and his defense was, at its high point, average. As if the point wasn’t fine enough, he lost 40 or so points from his OPS, despite moving to Coors South, and by all accounts his defense has degenerated into something of a mess.

But let’s say that, despite the fear of God having apparently been put into him by Frank Robinson yesterday, he once again complains about playing left field, and the Cardinals have the opportunity to grab him up. Should they?

Well, step one: how’s his defense? The general consensus on current whipping boy Junior Spivey falls somewhere in the good-to-great range, but if Soriano ends up anywhere near average, he’ll probably be able to make up for the difference with his bat. So, without any further introduction, Soriano and Spivey, as per the two defensive metrics I could dig up on short notice:

          RATE2     PMR
Soriano   83/93  -32/-1
Spivey   104/97     7/7

It’s okay that I could only come up with two–including one (RATE2) I don’t particularly like–because they illustrate what I’m getting at: Soriano was absolutely, stunningly, Neifi-at-the-Plately awful on defense last year. It wasn’t always this way; UZR, back from 2000-2003 when MGL published it on a regular basis, had him as slightly above average. And even as recently as 2004, obviously, he was just subpar. But in 2005 he took, if you believe PMR, a hit equivalent to the one Steve Finley suffered on offense last year. John Dewan, whose The Fielding Bible has garnered rave reviews and, thanks to the total lack of a decent new-bookstore around here, still remains out of my grasp, notes a particular decline in going to his left. Was it a fluke? Was it something Jose Oquendo could fix? The guy’s lightning fast, he seems to have all the tools to be a good defensive 2B–but he’s just not.

And there’s the million dollar question: do you take that bet? That Soriano won’t cost three runs with his glove, that he won’t decline further with the bat, that the Cardinals’ atmosphere will rub off on him? For a starting pitcher or a prospect, I would. For both? Hey, I’m the one that likes Spivey.

A little more meta: I’ve been working on Coming Attractions–I admit it, even I thought I had forgotten about it. Anyway, I think I’m going to follow through with trying to keep track of the minor leaguers’ stats on my own, provided I fake my way through Excel fast enough, so: would you guys want splits? I know I can do month-by-month, and if there’s enough interest I can do lefty/righty for the high minors. Comment in the… well, comments.

No Cardinals stuff today–a big baseball story has just broken. On March 20, a hitter more accomplished than Ichiro, as terrifying as Hideki Matsui, as popular as Daisuke Matsuzaka after his WBC hero turn, retired at the age of 37. He had become an unlikely celebrity, a superstar after an undistinguished start to his pro career, but after an ignominious ending it was all over–all 373 home runs of it.

Would it help if I said he hit 360 of those in Japan?

Yes, the Tuffy Rhodes experiment is over in Cincinnati, and in his own words: “I’m going to go home and be a father. That’s it.”

The Karl “Tuffy” Rhodes story begins in the third round of the 1986 draft, with his selection out of Western Hills High by the Houston Astros. He signed quick enough to play the same year, hitting .293/.385/.324 in the Gulf Coast League. At 18, he stole 14 bases in 62 games, and exhibited good plate discipline, exhibited by a 33:32 K:BB ratio, but he showed no power at all; the main draw was his speed on defense and on the basepaths.

At 19 he was sent up to Asheville of the low-A Sally League for his first taste of full-season ball. He boosted his power, but it was, to this, point deck chairs on a really, really weak Titanic–his Isolated Power rose to a still-anemic .080 from .031. The speedster had stolen 43 bases, but his batting average fell to .252. There was no reason to believe he had any particular ability hidden behind that mediocre line; he’d only hit 16 doubles, so home run power–such as that of teammates Ed Whited and Mike Simms, who had combined for 67 home runs–didn’t seem forthcoming. And even if it did, the Astros had to be more intrigued by their first round draft pick, a catcher who signed and, the very same year, hit 375/.472/.597 with 31 stolen bases in his 64 games with the club. Yes, Craig Biggio certainly did seem like a player on the fast track.

Still 20 in 1988, he was sent up yet another level despite having yet to thrive anywhere. The Astros moved him to Osceola, in the hi-A Florida State League. There he stole 64 bases and even got his average back up to .283, but both of those play second fiddle to what has to be one of the greatest power outages this side of Amish country. In 452 at-bats–132 games–Tuffy managed 7 extra-base hits. Seven! Four doubles, two triples, one homer. His plate discipline remained outstanding–81 walks to only 53 strikeouts–but a guy whose line in the low minors is .283/.395/.308 is going to get the bat knocked out of his hands in the upper levels.

Speaking of those upper levels, the Astros saw fit to move him up again in 1989, apparently not worried about their speedy leadoff type’s .025 isolated power. In his first taste of the high minors, the AA Southern League, his batting average fell back to .258, but he nearly quintupled his XBH output… to 34. In AAA Tuscon for the next season, the 22-year-old Rhodes continued to gain power, though it still wasn’t much to look at: a .418 slugging percentage. The difference, this time, was that the Astros didn’t have anything better. Eric Anthony, their young opening day starter in left field, had only managed a .192/.279/.351 line. (He’d be most useful to the Astros, eventually, by being sent to the Mariners in exchange for a pitcher by the name of Mike Hampton.) On August 6, their starter out in left was diminuitive utility-man Casey Candaele; on August 7, it was Tuffy Rhodes. He went 1-3 with a strikeout and a run scored, and from there on out he was their starter. In his 36 game trial, he went .244/.340/.372, stealing four bases and hitting one homer.

In 1991, the Astros’ outfield was young and talented; on opening day rookie Luis Gonzalez started in left, recently-acquired Steve Finley patrolled center, and Rhodes held down right field. Two of them stuck in the big leagues, and continue to start even today. Rhodes hit .246 in April, .184 in May, and AAA in June. In 1992 he made the bigs as a backup outfielder; he went 0-4 in pinch-hit work in April, and then returned to AAA.

He had run out of shots in Houston. Eric Anthony reemerged as the last member of that outfield in 1993, and in April of that year Tuffy Rhodes was released. The Royals picked him up, and must have immediately realized that something was different. He had only stolen 13 bases in the minors over the last two years, after making that the focus of his game before, but nothing else had changed in his stats. Until then. Joining the team at the end of April, he immediately started pounding the ball. Up to this point his career HR tally, minors and majors, was 16 home runs. From May to July, 1993, he had hit 23, joining with future rookie one-year-wonder Bob Hamelin to form a potent middle of the order for Omaha, then a member of the American Association. But, rather than promote Rhodes, then hitting .318/.386/.603, he was traded. In a three way deal that July 30, the Yankees sent the Royals John Habyan, and the Cubs, who received Rhodes, sent the Yankees durable reliever Paul Assenmacher. Tuffy continued to thrash the ball in Iowa, and he eventually earned a fifteen game trial in the Show. He made the most of his time there, hitting .288 with 3 homers.

On Opening Day, 1994–for the second time in three years–Rhodes found himself on an opening day lineup card. Most people know what happened next, and until 2001 it would be his one claim to fame: he homered three times that day. Gone, once and for all, were memories of the punchless defensive-minded outfielder the Astros drafted; he hit .312/.396/.600 that first month, including another multi-homer game on April 28th. But what happened next must have been deja-vu: his average fell under .200 for May, .218 without a homer in June, and then .200 in July. August 10th was his last game; he went 1-1 with a double in a pinch-hit appearance, and then the strike intervened, preventing his eventual demotion.

In 1995 he played sporadically for the Cubs until May, when he was claimed off of waivers by the Red Sox. As a backup outfielder he lasted until June 8–he went 0-1, sending his average with the club to .080–before he was sent down to Pawtucket. It was the last time he would play in the major leagues.

In 1996, rather than spend another season shuttling between the majors and the minors, the 28-year-old Rhodes trekked to Japan, joining the Kintetsu Buffaloes. Unlike most foreigners, who are at times bewildered by the culture shock they experience, Rhodes flourished, even becoming fluent in Japanese. That, combined with his immediate success, made him extremely popular. He hit .293 with 27 homers in 1996; in 1997, he hit 22 homers and stole 22 bases; and in 1999 he broke out with 40 home runs, leading the Pacific League. After falling back to 25 homers in 2000, at 32, he seemed to be on the wane for his second time in as many continents.

Instead, he started 2001 on a tear. And he just kept on hitting. And with five games left in the year, Tuffy Rhodes had 55 home runs, tied with Sadaharu Oh for the single-season record.

It had happened before, and this is what made it so weird to hear, during the WBC, John Kruk’s apparent mancrush on the Honorable™, Dignified™ Japanese Home Run leader. In the 1980s, a former major league scrub by the name of Randy Bass erupted in Japan, winning two consecutive triple crowns(!) and, in 1985, hitting 54 home runs. Going into the last series of the season, that is, he had 54. His opponents? Sadaharu Oh’s Yomiuri Giants. In those two games, nine plate apperances, Bass’s Hanshin Tigers having already clinched, he was walked six times. At one point, disgusted, he walked to the plate and held the bat upside-down. (At which point he was walked.)

So fast forward to 2001, Rhodes having outdone Bass by tying the record. While, in 1985, sentiment around the league was in favor of Oh, Rhodes had been very much accepted by the Japanese. The third-to-last game of the season, coincidentally, Rhodes and the Buffaloes–who had, once again, clinched–would play the Fukuoka Daiei Hawks, managed by none other than Sadaharu Oh. (Can anyone imagine Roger Maris doing this?) From the web site Tokyo-Q:

In the game, however, Rhodes saw 18 pitches, and only two were strikes. And those two strikes were borderline at best, and could easily have been called balls. And considering that the catcher held his glove a foot or more outside the plate, they probably weren’t supposed to be even that close. Rhodes walked twice, and in his other two times at bat, he swung at pitches over his head in a futile (Randy) Bassian effort to break the record. Once again, protectionism had reared its ugly head in Japanese baseball. The Hawks, if you haven’t guessed already, happen to be managed by Sadaharu Oh.

The still reigning homerun champ claimed to be “out of the loop,” and said that it was up to his pitchers to decide for themselves how to pitch Rhodes. Pitching coach Yoshiharu Wakana took the heat for Oh by saying that he (Wakana) ordered his pitcher not to throw strikes. Wakana said, “If Rhodes broke the record I would have felt sorry for Oh.” (Wakana [added]: “I just didn’t want a foreign player to break Oh’s record.”) It should be noted the Hawks pitcher, Keizaburo Tanoue, said that he didn’t want to walk Rhodes, and that he “felt really bad about the situation.”

Rhodes had two more games that year, against So Taguchi and the Orix Blue Wave, but he was unable to break the tie. Rhodes would lead the Pacific League twice more in home runs, with 51 and 45 in 2003 and 2004, before an injury-marred 2005 season led to his ill-fated return to the majors.

So ends, it would seem, the odd story of Tuffy Rhodes. He may never have broken through in America, but like Pokémon, schoolgirl outfits, and Def Leppard, he’ll always be big in Japan. Could he have hit in the US? Who knows. Finally, before you comment telling me I just wasted nearly 2000 words on a guy who’s got nothing to do with the Cardinals, a look at his combined AAA and Japanese League stats–not what could have been, but what, for better or worse, was.

[Note: OBP is approximate.]

         G   AB    R    H  2B  3B  HR  RBI  SB   AVG   OBP   SLG
22 PCL 107  385   68  106  24  11   3   59  24  .275  .358  .418
23 PCL  84  308   45   80  17   1   1   46   5  .260  .345  .331
24 PCL  94  332   62   96  16  10   2   54   8  .289  .393  .416
25 AmA 123  490  112  156  43   3  30   89  16  .318  .391  .602
27  IL  69  246   40   70  13   3  10   43   8  .285  .375  .484
28 JPL 130  501   80  147  29   1  27   97  11  .293  .363  .517
29 JPL 135  511   88  157  37   0  22  102  22  .307  .409  .509
30 JPL 134  494   81  127  25   0  22   70  15  .257  .359  .441
31 JPL 131  491   94  148  38   1  40  101   5  .301  .388  .627
32 JPL 135  525   85  143  25   2  25   89   6  .272  .345  .470
33 JPL 140  550  137  180  19   0  55  131   9  .327  .421  .662
34 JPL 138  534   94  145  31   2  46  117   5  .272  .361  .596
35 JPL 138  508   94  140  16   0  51  117   7  .276  .391  .608
36 JCL 134  523   95  150  17   0  45   99   3  .287  .377  .577
37 JCL 101  379   54   91   9   0  27   70   2  .240  .337  .478
CAR   1793 6777 1229 1936 359  34 406 1284 146  .286  .375  .528

Latest on the He’s-Gonna-Die bandwagon is Dave Pinto, who notes Spivey’s ever-rising strikeout rate. I’ve been hardline pro-Spivey all along, so this isn’t going to surprise anybody, but I’m pretty sure that rumors of his inability to hit are greatly exaggerated.

The narrative begins with his fluke 2002, in which he hit .301 and struck out in 18.6% of his at-bats. Now, that his K rate was lower and his batting average higher than his minor league career totals should have set off warning bells, and they did. So when he hit .255/.326/.433 in his second major league go around, striking out in 26% of his at-bats, it was no great shock; he was now a decent hitter, but with his very good defense still valuable as a starter.

In 2004 he was part of the Great Arizona Exodus to Milwaukee in exchange for 90 at-bats of Richie Sexson. That year he hit a very solid .272/.359/.421 before requiring surgery on his left shoulder and missing the second half of the season. In 228 at-bats, he struck out 21% of the time.

In 2005–coming back from shoulder surgery–he started off just awful, striking out in more than 32% of his at-bats and failing to keep his OBP over .300. He improved a little in May, and then hit .263/.371/.461 with a low K rate in June. In July… he went 1-18 with 12 strikeouts and a double, and then a freak wrist injury ended his season.

Now, those are the numbers. And while Pinto’s contention that it’s been “downhill ever since” his fluke 2002 is a little disingenuous–he hit better and struck out less in 2004 than he did in 2003, so really it’s been downhill between 2004 and 2005 and this spring training–the strikeout rate jump in 2005 is pretty ominous, especially if you think he should’ve been fully recovered from the shoulder problems by that point.

But to take these Spring Training at-bats–42 of them–and extrapolate from them the end stages of a trend toward huge strikeout rates is just nuts. Need I remind you of Molina’s .162 start over 68 at-bats? His strikeout rate wasn’t high, because it never is, but he had 26 more at-bats in which to turn things around.

My prediction, based solely on guessing: unless the shoulder injury crops up again, he’ll hit like he did in 2003 and 2004. No reason, per se; I just think people are playing up this strikeout “trend” for much more than it’s worth, seeing as the downward spiral consists of a grand total of 300-ish at-bats, 40 of which have been spent in Spring Training.

On the other hand, the continued worrying about his platoon split is justifiable; it’s big, and it always has been. The problem is that lefty-hitting second basemen don’t grow on trees. (It would be nice if Todd Walker was not-wanted somewhere besides Chicago, wouldn’t it?) Derrick Goold notes that Aaron Miles was a lefty before he took up switch hitting, and he does hit better against right-handed pitchers… but unfortunately “better” is an OPS of .697 in Coors Field; Spivey has managed only .669 against righties since his big 2002, so it would be an improvement, but if I were to institute a platoon I would want a more solid gain than that. Recently waived Bobby Hill has a lower OPS, but over the last three years his OBP vs. right-handers is .340, which could be useful.

Of course, if the Cardinals want to fix the problem in-house, their #7 prospect, as per Baseball America, just so happens to be a left-handed-hitting second baseman by the name of Travis Hanson. In AA last year he hit .284/.347/.458 against everybody; no splits data, obviously, but it’s safe to assume he was better against righties. Perhaps because of the age at which he hit AA last year–24–PECOTA isn’t a big fan, projecting him to go only .249/.303/.386. But if he lights up AAA for a month or two this year, or even just keeps his gains made in AA, don’t be surprised–or exasperated–to see him in the big end of a 2B platoon.

Peña for Arroyo is a done deal. It’s okay, there are plenty of other guys out on the market with potential out the wazoo who are so undervalued by their team that they can be had for a so-so starter who also happens to be tone-deaf.

First, the rigamarole: eek–I have to apologize for the bloglessness. We’re at that limbo where Spring Training no longer has the “Hey it’s baseball!” pull and Real Baseball™ is a few weeks away. El Sid Grande appears to have sewn up the fifth starter spot, so save for a little ragging on Junior Spivey we’re fresh out of Spring Intrigue.

In any case, while I’ve been searching out the one Smoking Popes CD I’m missing, the baseball world has continued to turn. Most interesting, to me at least, is this latest bit from Ken Rosenthal detailing the latest attempt by the Reds to trade away a hard-hitting young outfielder. (You’d think it’d be easier…) In this case the Red Sox are the interested suitor, and Wily Mo Peña is the guy behind door number three. The Reds, it would appear, are covetous of Bronson Arroyo.

Now, let me preface this by saying that, for all the talk about being statistically inclined, for all the arguments I’ve had about Ray Lankford being a better player than Ichiro! Suzuki, at heart I’m a sucker for toolsy prospects, big natural-ability guys that get by on an inexplicable, unteachable skill. And Wily Mo Peña may have finished last year with an OBP just a little over the Neifi line, but show me a player who put up an Isolated Power mark of .268 at the age of 22 and I’ll trade you any number of disciplined hitters with stealth value. It’s an instinct, I guess, and not necessarily a good one.

So, when I see Rosenthal say that the object of the Reds’ affection, in parting with this toolsy outfielder, is Bronson Arroyo–well, I get a little crazy. It’s not that Bronson’s a bad pitcher; he’s cheap, thanks to a hometown discount he granted Boston, and at the very least he’ll be average. He’s a known quantity, and when you’re relying on a return to form from Paul Wilson to fill out your rotation that has to be pretty enticing.

But for Wily Mo Peña? To give you an idea of the potential he possesses, Baseball Prospectus’s most similar players list for the 24-year-old includes: Willie Stargell, Frank Howard, Dale Murphy, Jose Canseco, and Albert Belle, among others. They project him to hit .283/.346/.566 as soon as this year, and see a slugging percentage over .600 in his future. And for that, the Reds want a guy who’s most famous for having sported a very unfortunate set of cornrows for much of last season. (Right: Exhibit A.)

It all comes down to what the Reds want: stability. For all my salivating over Wily Mo’s future, it’s all fake numbers from formulae and the observations of scouts; Arroyo’s an solid pitcher now, and if you want to know if he will be tomorrow you can just look at the track record. Right now, the Cardinals have a lot of known quantities in the outfield, and in the rotation, and pretty much everywhere but the brand new concession stands. And if the Reds want one–or maybe one and a pitcher with some projectability–I certainly hope Walt picks up the phone. Am I crazy? Could be; like I said, I’ve got a blind spot when it comes to guys with, as they say on NBA Draft night (over and over), upside, and this is all subjective. (As always, I’d love to hear differing opinions, or the same opinions, or something that isn’t phentermine spam, in the comments.) But for the moment, much as I like Marquis and Wainwright or whoever it is the Reds would ask for in exchange, PECOTA’s 90th percentile, pi-in-the-sky projection for Wily Mo–.318/.381/.654–just sets my heart atwitter.

“[The tattoo] wasn’t for everybody else. It was for me. There were rumors it was naked. But it’s nothing like that,”

Excuse me a minute, while I bring up “nothinglikethat.jpg.”

Man, how could people have made a mistake like that? Obviously the nakedness here is future-tense, which I’m told is much classier. On a side note, this is what that woman’s… upper torso immediately reminded me of:

I hope he’s just lost muscle tone or something.

In the mail: Yes, I actually do get mail! Thanks to lboros for passing my blog’s name along, because I just received a review copy of Alex Belth’s Stepping Up, a biography of Curt Flood. My two favorite Cardinals–Lankford and Edmonds–both compete with Flood for the title of best Cards centerfielder, so I haven’t paid his story a lot of attention in the past, but just the same I’m stunned that there hasn’t already been a biography on such an influential player.

I’ve pushed my suicidal attempt to read War and Peace back in preparation, so as soon as I finish it I’ll write it up. If you too are a published author looking to send your book to someone without any influence at all, just e-mail me and I’ll give you my address. It’s that easy to waste advance copies!

As for the Cardinals today, Chris Duncan continues to hit, and apparently even PECOTA has taken a swig of the Kool-Aid; VEB has the details, including his MLEs and his three most similar players, as per PECOTA: George Scott, Derrek Lee, and Nick Johnson. I’m guessing it comes from his considerable prowess at popping extra base hits, but the thing is that all three players were already in the majors at his age. In 2003, 24 years old, Nick Johnson hit .284/.422/.472 in the big leagues. Duncan hit .265/.358/.469 last year in Memphis. I’m guessing that Duncan is on the low end of each similar player pair.

The odd thing is that, similar players aside, PECOTA has about the same idea as I do: he’ll peak as a marginal first baseman, with a slight chance of becoming a good one. (His best 50th percentile line in PECOTA’s long range projections is this: .261/.342/.471, which is forecasted for his age-29 season. That’s not bad–it’s basically Tino Martinez’s career rates, because of his late-career decline–but it’s not much as far as “prospects” go.)

With raw power like he seems to have, it’s certainly possible that he’ll come out of nowhere and slug .500, but at this point I like the idea of throwing him in AAA for another season. If he really has made a sudden improvement he’ll show it, and in the meantime he can learn to be a little less Kingman-esque in the outfield.