It’s not Chris Lambert’s fault that current Yankees Christ Figure Phil Hughes was chosen four picks after the Cardinals opened up their 2004 draft. It isn’t his fault, either, that Mike Ferris was their second rounder. But it says something about the tenor of the Cardinals’ 2004 amateur draft that, after noticing he had allowed one run in 4.2 innings–bringing his ERA up to 0.84–I thought: “Why does he have to keep sucking like this?”

Formulated, apparently, after Walt Jocketty read the first fifty pages of Moneyball, 2004 saw the Cardinals focusing harder on college talent than anybody this side of the Girls Gone Wild production team. Not a single high schooler was picked in the first forty rounds, and none of the preps selected in the “favor for the relatives/Mike Piazza” portion of the draft signed.

Chris Lambert was picked first, a collegiate pitcher fresh out of his freshman year at Boston College. There’s something to be said for chosing college pitchers–you get them further from prime injury territory, and theoretically they should have a lot of mechanical problems worked out before they become your problems. But Lambert, who was blessed at the time with a fastball that “touched 97″ (draft-speak for low 90s) and little else, was invariably described as raw.

The thing about avoiding high school pitchers, as Michael Lewis so aptly championed with the Athletics’ trade of Jeremy Bonderman, is that it doesn’t really work if you draft a guy with all the same problems as a high school pitcher. When you’ve got awful command–Lambert walked four and a half batters per nine innings in college–time away from prime injury territory becomes a short development window. And while he may not have blown out his arm yet, his stuff has “deteriorated”, according to Derrick Goold in this year’s Baseball America rankings. 24, now, he’s been pushed into Memphis despite having walked walked five guys and allowed more than a homer per nine innings during a season and a half in AA. Lambert enters 2007 with a live strikeout rate and a good fastball, but little else–I have to figure that, unless he continues to post an ERA under 0.90, his future is in the bullpen.

Phil Hughes has struggled a bit in his first two AAA starts, if it’s any consolation.

Next up came Mike Ferris, a mashing first baseman. Rather, a mashing first baseman in college. He was supposed to be all polish and readiness, but he managed a .590 OPS in his short-season debut, then hit .230/.334/.399 in the Midwest League the next year. His prospect status on the line, he began 2006 hitting like he was supposed to all along–he posted a .945 OPS in April. Then a .483 OPS in May. He made similar noises in Spring Training this year, but as a 24-year-old first baseman in high A he can’t even look forward to a string of minor league all-star appearances in his future, at this point.

Ferris was pick number sixty. The Astros’ number one prospect, Hunter Pence, went sixty-fourth. One pick later, the Red Sox drafted Dustin Pedroia, the Platonic Ideal of the scrappy, hustling, four foot tall infielders the Cardinals currently employ.

Next up came Eric Haberer, one of the better fringe arms on the farm.

I have a handy device to remember the next nine names on the list. See, what I do is forget their names, because none of them are going to reach the major leagues.

After that group comes Mark Worrell, in his frustrating glory, and eight irrelevant picks later comes Mike Sillman. And that’s all she wrote. One of the many bones I have to pick with the 2004 draft: this was originally going to be a much longer piece, but there’s nothing to write about!

After the similarly disastrous 2002 draft (which had a pretty good excuse–the Cardinals had all of one pick in the first five rounds, even though they did spend it on a 5′9″ second baseman), the Cardinals had rebuilt their draft approach, and for about twenty minutes 2004 seemed to be a nice step forward from 2003 instead of a complete and utter relapse. Instead, its lasting legacy will be two or three righty relievers and a deep-seated, irrational feeling of scorn whenever I see the name “Lambert.” Flying into St. Louis will be tough, from now on, and it’s their fault.