I learned a long time ago not to take this game too seriously. I learned that, more times than it will ever reward your faith, this game will break your heart. I learned that when they say you fail seven out of 10 times in this game, they don't just mean hitters. They mean everyone, and everything. And so, naturally, I learned one more thing:
I learned to take more joy from three wins than pain from seven losses.
So even though I am a stathead, a man very much in love with the numbers, a cold and calculating bastard of a baseball fan, I rejoiced on July 24, 2007. That was the day I learned that the Cubs had traded for Jason Kendall.
I had admired Kendall from the first time I saw him play against the Cubbies. He hit for average and, in those days of the late 1990s, a modicum of power. He had speed, especially for a catcher.
He had a wad of something (I didn't know it was chewing tobacco at the age of eight, or I might have been less impressed) always in his mouth, making him appear constantly to have his jaw clenched for a fight. His uniform was always the dirtiest one on the diamond by the end of the day.
Not to mention, our catchers sucked. I grew up with Benito Santiago, Scott Servais, Tyler Houston, and even Pat Cline. By contrast, Kendall looked like Johnny Bench.
Anyway, I had dreamed for years of seeing Kendall don the better pinstripes, and so when he became a Cub that July, I felt a sort of metaphysical fulfillment that only washes over those who have had a good dream really come true. I didn't care that he was well past his prime, that his skills had eroded, and indeed hadn't been all I used to think they were, anyway.
I knew all of that. I knew the numbers. But for the only time I can recall in the past four or five years, the numbers were just numbers. I didn't care.
I have that feeling again, now. I have done the statistical regression projections on Mark DeRosa for next season. I know that he will probably not be above league average as an offensive player next year. I know he is no longer a positive contributor on defense, if ever he was. I know he'll get about a two-year, $13 million deal, that he will not play up to.
I don't care. I remember the way DeRosa played, the way he made plays look so easy on defense, the intensity he brought to the dugout, the enthusiastic fun he brought to the clubhouse. I remember a crisp night in September of 2007 when he capped a three-run ninth inning rally to beat the Reds, with his fifth hit, and keep the Cubs atop the Division. I remember Wrigley being louder right then than it was during the NLDS in 2003.
I remember, vividly, handing DeRosa my ticket stub from that night at the Cubs Convention in January of 2008. I remember waiting to see whether he'd even glance at what he was holding. I remember his eyes lighting up. I remember him saying, "This is from THE game," like there hadn't been any other all season.
I remember him thanking me for the autograph he had just signed. And I remember thinking that there aren't nearly enough players like Mark DeRosa.
So bring on what I would estimate will be a .335 wOBA next season, just under the league norm. Bring on a subpar defensive second baseman, at least by objective metrics. Bring on an aging player who may fight injuries all season.
If Jim Hendry makes a handful of moves to address other problem areas on the 2009 roster, it need not be a make-or-break acquisition.
Re-signing Mark DeRosa is the right thing to do. It's the fun thing to do. It's the "it's-not-whether-you-win-or-lose,-it's-how-you-play-the-game" thing to do.
It's just not a good idea.
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