Off Topic
When Will the Krill Front Office Wake Up?
June 2, 2058: Forever Land: For the second season in a row the alleged baseball team known as the Bikini Krill have spent all of April and half of May getting everyone’s hopes up only to fall upon their own bat shard as they stumble into June. As late as two weeks ago there was serious discussion about the playoff-capability of this team, but now, after a disastrous 8-game road trip and ten-game losing streak, those conversations have that air of quaintness that the phrase “Bless Your Heart, Isn’t that Cute,” was made for. That the lesson was delivered by the dregs of the Heartland division (meaning anyone not Nashville), makes it even more difficult to swallow.
Not to fear, though. The Bluebirds are coming through the Door next—or swimming here, or whatever cockamamie thing the Nashville front office has in store. Not that it will matter. With the way the club is playing, they could send their Rookie team and wipe the floor. Go ahead. I dare ya.
The past two weeks, we’ve all watched this club not hit, and not pitch and not run, and find just about every way to lose that one can. They took an 8-4 lead into the eighth only to lose 11-8 in a game that essentially included giving the Kernels a run with a HBP, a walk, another walk, and a second HBP. Sure, there was a single mixed in there. So what? Earlier in the series they gave a five-spot 7th inning to lose 6-5. That inning included a walk-single-walk-single-walk sequence so predictable you could dance to it. And really, it just gets worse from there.
This is a club that suddenly seems capable of finding ways to pull defeat out of thin air.
I say this because it needs to be said, and because I need you to know I see the entirety of the train shipwreck that’s plaguing our little island paradise before I delve into what I think is the problem of the moment. Or at least the one I’m fixated on. I’m sure you are too. So I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next.
And that is this:
Sure, he’s a nice guy.
But he can’t hit.
Sure, the kid worked hard all off season. Reported to camp trimmed down five pounds and looking stronger. I get it. We’ve been there and done that. It sounded so good in the press room. But on the field? Holy stinker city Batman, I think we need a new landfill.
I know I don’t need to quote the numbers. They are as horrific as anything Edgar Allen Poe ever penned. But as a service to you, dear reader, I will.
Jiménez is hitting exactly .208. Which sounds bad enough, but comes as a result of a recent streak where he’s had hits in five of his last seven games. Before that, the batting average was .183. That’s right. A buck eighty-three. What’s that? You’re one of the newfangled guys (in 2058?) … okay. His wOBA is an anemic .254. OPS+ is 59. wRC+ is 57. I mean, anything that negative really should come with a serotonin booster, don’tcha think?
The man has grounded into seven double plays.
But, Misty, I hear you say, don’t be so harsh! The cat is only supposed to hit right handers!
Those splits are .221/.279/.337, with a 67 RC+ and a OPS+ to match.
It’s so bad that the insiders are being forced to fall back and note that Jiménez’s glove has actually been almost passable, as long as you ignore the fact that offenses are teeing of on Bikini pitchers like it’s mardi gras on Pebble Beach.
So, right. Seriously?
When will the Krill front office wake up and smell the mango. The Pedro Jiménez experiment is not just sleeping. It’s dead, Jim.
It’s time to do something else.
