All week it’s been draft draft draft, Strasburg Strasburg Strasburg, with a whole lot of youneverknow to follow. Unless the Giants have six of the first 51 picks, it’s one of my least favorite days on the baseball calendar.
Not that the draft is unimportant. To the Giants, it’s crucial, and they wouldn’t be this far along the rebuilding path if it weren’t for their strong draft-day work the past few years. Looking back on 2002, 2006, 2007 and 2008, I love draft day. But like so many hyped events, the initial aftermath has a lot of awkward silences. (Um, I think it was good for me. How about you?) The day after the draft, and the day after that, there’s no greater enlightenment. We all sit around, scratching our heads and blowing hot air on our blogs, barstools and talk shows, having absolutely no idea whether the superstud 6’4” Texas high schooler with the alleged 93 MPH fastball will ever pitch an inning in the majors.
Except for the rarest of birds like certain #1 pick Stephen Strasburg, who might well get a call-up this summer, concrete draft results don’t follow for months, even years. Until a prospect either hits the bigs or gets traded, it’s all potential energy waiting to be converted into something we can use. “Most Outstanding Minor-League Pitcher of the Year” is nice hardware to give to Mom, but for the rest of us who ultimately want to dance naked in the streets in late October, guys like Alderson and Bumgarner and Posey can’t answer the question “What have you done for me lately?” until they bring major-league Ws or are traded for people who can.
Anyone out there reading right now who felt an incredible rush and release and glow when the Augusta GreenJackets won the Sally League last year? Anyone?
That’s harsh, I know. The young guys on that team who jumped up and down after beating the West Virginia Power won’t forget, and their local diehard fans probably won’t, either (“Remember when the Bumgarner kid was in town that one summer? Remember that ball Villalona hit out past the concession stand?”) but I don’t vicariously enjoy the journey of prospecthood as much as those who can catch several games a year live at San Jose Municipal Stadium or sit in the bleachers on a hot Augusta night. All those minor lines and prospect reports are abstract to me. I don’t have minor-league, small-town nostalgia. I don’t want to sound too much like Al Davis or a Yankees fan, but if you soak in too much prospect fetish, you end up cheering happily for an organization that acts like a feeder system for the rest of the majors. Homegrown teams are nice; pennant-winning teams are better.
Draft well tonight, Giants, then let’s get on with the ballgames.
