VALDÉZ, THE D-TRAIN, AND THE RED LIGHTS ON BEHIND

Unlike Phillies’ off-seasons in the recent past (remember Merry Cliffmas?), this one was characterized primarily with yawns and raised eyebrows.  Sure, every good team needs a lunatic to close out games, and the Phillies paid a lot of money to a Boston free agent named Jonathan Papelbon because of his outstanding qualifications in that area.  The only problem is that they could have paid the same or less to keep the lunatic they already had.  “Better the lunatic you know…” I always say.  From all reports, the Phillies’ long-time resident madman, Ryan Madson, wanted to stay in Philly, was loved by his teammates, and had the knack of keeping things light and upbeat in the clubhouse, no small task over the course of a long, hot summer with a 162 game schedule.  The problem – his agent is Scott Boras.  And so, the King is dead, long live King Papelbon.  Madson, meanwhile, moves on to greener pastures in Cincinnati.  (A side note:  this may require closer scrutiny as the season progresses, and as the playoffs approach.)

Then there were the journeymen acquisitions, guys with names like Nix and Wiggington, called upon to shore up an aging and injury-prone set of "every day" players.  And there was the obligatory touch of nostalgia – bringing back “Good Ol’ Boy” Jim Thome, a 41-year-old nice guy, to help out until Ryan Howard is once again able to stand upright.  Never mind that Jim hasn’t played first base since the Clinton era.  The bottom line is that he’s a blue-collar, salt-of-the-earth, lunch-pail kinda guy, just like us Philly Phans.  [By the way, whoever stole my baby blue Shmitty’s jersey ($109.99 on eBay, plus shipping), and my lead-lined Wanamaker’s lunch pail, capable of keeping a Pat’s steak piping hot for six hours, can return them anytime, no questions asked.] 

Sorry for the digression.  What happened next, for me at least, brought more than a yawn, more than a raised eyebrow.  For me, it brought the tear of the off-season.  “Someone” in the front office – I’m quite sure Ruben had to be out of the office at the time – decided that Wilson Valdéz had to go!  Yes, you heard me.  To paraphrase the immortal words of a crestfallen Chase Utley when he heard the news, “Wilson f#cking Valdéz?”  “Are you f#cking sh#tting me?”  I couldn’t have put it more succinctly myself, Chase.  Wilson was the guy whose facial hair was never the same color or style from one day to the next, the guy with the perennial crooked smile, the guy who could play anywhere on the diamond – and I do mean anywhere – and do it well.  This is the same guy who actually pitched the 19^th inning of that marathon game with the Reds last year, after playing 18 hard innings at second base.  He faced the heart of the Reds’ order (Votto, Rolen & Bruce), tossed ten pitches, and won the game.  Adding to the Legend of Valdéz, keep in mind that the game was then over six hours old, that nobody wanted to play it, or for that matter, watch it, anymore.)  And now he’s gone.  Just like that, Wilson is gone.  And for what?  A minor league lefthander name Jeremy Horst, with all of 15 big league innings to his credit.  And to add insult to injury, his destination...wait for it…Cincinnati.  I’m beginning to have a recurring nightmare in which the Phillies face the Reds in a final, deciding playoff game.  As extra innings commence, Ryan Madson eventually takes the mound and shuts down the Phillies, inning after inning, until the top of the 19^th, when he’s lifted for a pinch hitter who, of course, drives in the lead run.  You know what’s coming.  A grinning, red-haired, yellow-goateed Wilson Valdéz salsas his way to the mound, everyone in the ballpark, as well as those pinned to their HDTVs knowing exactly – EXACTLY – what they are about to see.  Wilson takes the mound, tees the rubber, and then proceeds to toss ten increasingly dazzling pitches to three befuddled Phillies’ hitters, and it’s done.  Once again, it’s time for the long cold winter.

It’s a reflection of my ADD that I actually started writing this piece to discuss the Phillies’ release of Dontrelle Willis yesterday - the old D-Train himself.  I remember seeing Dontrelle pitch for the Marlins down in Philly in his rookie season, and after watching  him pitch several innings of impressive baseball, exchanging words with the guy in the seat next to me, my then new best friend who I ‘ve never seen since.  Paulie (probably not his real name) leaned over to me and, in hushed tones, confided, “This guy’s got some nasty stuff!”  (Not his real words).  To which I nodded knowingly, and added, “Filthy!”  (Not my real word.)  “We could sure use a guy like that on our side.”  This profound exchange stuck with both Paulie and me for years.  At least I assume it did, as there’s no way to actually fact-check that as far as Paulie’s concerned.  So when the Phillies signed the “D-Train” this winter, I’m sure there was a disjoined but celebratory “YO!!!” exchanged between Paulie and me, although again, this is unverified.  So it was with profound disappointment that I learned yesterday that the "powers that be" in the Phillies camp have concluded that the once magnificent D-Train, still a mere 30 years old, is no longer capable of getting major league hitters out.  The Phillies have shown him the proverbial door.  I’m sorry, Dontrelle, I really am.  But I’m happy that we "knew ye when," me and Paulie.  Good luck to you!  And if you do happen to find your nasty, filthy stuff again, I hope you find it in the other league.