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Wednesday, April 12, 2006
The Natural gets a whiff of adversity
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
An instructive thing happened Monday night. For the first time in his ridiculously charmed young life, the boy king heard the royal raspberry. And Jeff Francoeur reacted not as a seasoned pro who has learned to take the bad with the good but as the 22-year-old he is.
Talking about the experience two days later, he uses all manner of euphemism. “It was interesting,” he says. And: “It was different.” And: “It was kind of funny.” But over the course of a prolonged discussion it’s clear the concept of being booed in his home park has left the Braves’ golden child more hurt and miffed than amused.
“It surprised me a little bit,” he says. And then: “What have you done for me lately?” Mouthing the cliché, he smiles — not the familiar Francoeur 200-watt grin but a chastened version. Every pro athlete gets booed at some point, but the first boo stings like no other ever will.
Here’s what happened to Francoeur. With an aim toward throwing out the fleet Jimmy Rollins at third base, he whiffed on Aaron Rowand’s single to right-center, the upshot being that Rollins scored and Rowand advanced to third. And more than a few Turner Field patrons took the error as cause to lambaste the same player who was so extravagantly lauded last summer.
The boos weren’t deafening, but they were loud enough to resonate in the right fielder’s reddened ears. “It’s a humbling thing,” Francoeur says, and here his choice of words is utterly apt. Even with baseball being the most humbling of sports, he went 22 years without really knowing what it is to be humbled. “From Little League to high school to the minors to the major leagues, I’ve never had a period when I’ve struggled like this.”
So what do you do when you’ve known only success and you find yourself 2-for-33 (.061) after eight games? “It’s been a tough start,” Francoeur says, “but the good Lord has instilled in me a work ethic. I’m coming in at 12:30 and working on things.”
Without prompting, he anticipates the next question. “But I’m not overdoing it, either,” he says. “Just making sure I’m covering the bases.”
He has also sought counsel from everyone in a position to offer it. From John Smoltz, who knows how rookie success ratchets up expectations past the point of practicality. From Andruw Jones, who overrode a tepid April to hit 51 homers last season. From former Brave J.D. Drew, who opened last season 0-for-25 but wound up hitting .317.
“I’ve learned that a baseball season is 162 games,” Francoeur says. And then: “We’re not one-twentieth done. This is just a small little glitch.” And then: “Sometimes I forget I’m 22 — I’ve got a lot to learn.”
He says he feels comfortable at the plate. He says he was satisfied with Monday’s 0-for-4, results notwithstanding. “Except for a slider inside on my last at-bat, I didn’t swing at any bad pitches.”
Because he’s Jeff Francoeur, local hero since he was a Parkview sophomore and a Sports Illustrated cover boy his second month in the majors, he’ll never sneak up on anybody. He knows he has been outrageously fortunate. “Not saying I’ve never had to work at it,” he says, “but sometimes things have come easy. But in the major leagues you have to make adjustments.”
And now the good news: Francoeur is gifted enough and clever enough to adjust to most anything. Failure is new for him, but he won’t fail forever. Back to Drew: “He was being booed at home [Dodger Stadium] last year, but he said he just tried to take it day by day and watch the numbers go up.”
Finally Jeff Francoeur flashes the staple smile, nothing rueful in this one. “We play Houston on Oct. 1 at 1 p.m.,” he says. “At 4:30 that day, I think everything will be right where it needs to be.”
And the boos of April 10? He’ll remember them always, but he has already taken to putting them in context. “When he had that slump [0-for-32 in 2004], they booed Derek Jeter in New York. That’s a perfect example. They love Jeter to death in New York.”
Permalink | Comments (56) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Mark Bradley
Fond memories of Atlanta’s first Braves
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
To be perfectly straight with you, you had to be here to know the feeling. Atlanta was in the major leagues. The Braves had divorced Milwaukee and taken up housekeeping with us. The divorce had been ugly. Lawyers and judges jawing back and forth, all depending on whose court you were in. The good guys had won and the Braves were ours.
The manager, Bobby Bragan, as Southern as black-eyed peas, tells his own particular story, with tongue in cheek. “I told them in Milwaukee that I was leaving, and I got a biggest ovation I ever got.” He paused for effect. “But I’m taking the team with me.”
Sure enough, here they were, on the night of April 12, 1966, playing Pittsburgh after all the ceremonials that accompany such a coming-out. Old Atlanta Stadium — Fulton County hadn’t anted up yet — was rocking with 50,671 patrons intoxicated with pride. The Braves lost, 3-2, when Willie Stargell delivered a bomb into the rightfield stands. Seems I remember it carried to the upper deck, but a lot of memories get garbled after years of recycling.
Well, would you believe, the next night only 12,721 people showed up. Wait a minute! You got yourself in the major leagues and you stay away because you lost the first game? Oh boy, was that a precursor of things to come, you know, the playoff games that didn’t sell out. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
This April 12th, Atlanta celebrated the Braves of ‘66. They had been summoned for a curtain call 40 years later, some who hadn’t seen one another since that season. Not all could be here. Joe Torre and Felipe Alou had previous commitments. They were managing their own teams. Henry Aaron, for some reason, had decided something else was more pressing. Mack Jones and Gary Geiger have passed on. There was much back-slapping, and that old standby, “Man, you’re looking good,” and a lot of gray hair and few paunches. What you don’t do at a reunion, you never risk a look of surprise, for you may get one back. It’s all in the eyes of the beholder.
Charlie Vaughn was probably the youngest, he’s now 58, and you wonder who’s Charlie Vaughn. Well, as a 19-year-old he had the look of a rare gem, a lefthander with a level head and great stuff. Whitlow Wyatt, the pitching coach, fell in love with him. But, alas, the old soupbone — that’s a 1960’s term for pitching arm — went South on him. Charlie went back to Brownsville, Texas, got into the hardware business and there he still lives. Mike de la Hoz, another enterprising type, left and went to college, got a degree in finance and has operated his own company in Miami for years.
Now, back to ‘66. It was different in those days. Cloninger went the 13-inning distance that night. Horrors! No set-up man, followed by another, then a closer and the bullpen parade we’re used to today. Did Tony’s arm fall off? He won his next start, pitched 258 innings, and at bat, hit two grand slam home runs in a game against the Giants. He and Ken Johnson both pitched 11 complete games.
Denver Lemaster pitched ten and one of them was the game of the year. Bobby Bragan had just been fired, not his first time, and it was Billy Hitchcock’s first day on the job. LeMaster was matched against Sandy Koufax, and the crowd came out for this one, largest of the season. It was 1-1 when the rain came, and after midnight when play resumed, upon which Eddie Mathews hit a Koufax pitch into the stands in the bottom of the ninth and Lemaster won the battle of the lefthanders.
There were other things that weren’t the same. Paychecks, for instance. Bragan was paid $20,000 to manage the team. Players had roommates on the road. The press guide was four inches by nine, and an eighth of an inch thick. You could carry it in your vest pocket. Players didn’t mind spending time with sports writers, and sometimes we picked up the check. But none of us made a lot of money, so we didn’t have that social barrier.
This April 12 was a great day, first at lunch in the 755 Club, then later at the game when the first Atlanta Braves took their bows and renewed some old, if distant, acquaintances. It was a coming together of eras, from Bobby to Bobby. Bragan to Cox. They didn’t win the pennant, but many of them were still there when the Braves won their first division championship four years later. So you might say they set a standard. You can’t take this away from them: They will always be Atlanta’s first Braves.
Permalink | Comments (28) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Furman Bisher
Peerless’ new deal is priceless
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
This Peerless Price thing is, is … well, I was going to say that it is bizarre, but I really want to say that it is hilarious.
Go ahead. Laugh with me, because this is a hoot. I mean, the wide receiver with only one standout year on his resume was cut by two different teams last year within a five-month period, and he just signed a contract with the Buffalo Bills for four years.
That’s right – FOUR years.
Oh, and the contract is worth more than $10 million.
That’s right – $10 million.
If that isn’t enough, these are the same Bills who drafted Price originally in 1999 and shipped him away (at his request) to Atlanta where he was a $37-million bust for two years through August 2005.
So Price hooked on with the Dallas Cowboys soon after he was cut by the Falcons, and then he was cut by the Cowboys, and now he is …
I’m in stitches.
Permalink | Comments (82) | Categories: Quick Hit, Terence Moore
The Price is right?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
This Peerless Price thing is, is … well, I was going to say that it is bizarre, but I really want to say that it is hilarious.
Go ahead. Laugh with me, because this is a hoot. I mean, the wide receiver with only one standout year on his resume was cut by two different teams last year within a five-month period, and he just signed a contract with the Buffalo Bills for four years.
That’s right – FOUR years.
Oh, and the contract is worth more than $10 million.
That’s right – $10 million.
If that isn’t enough, these are the same Bills who drafted Price originally in 1999 and shipped him away (at his request) to Atlanta where he was a $37 million bust for two years through August 2005.
So Price hooked on with the Dallas Cowboys soon after he was cut by the Falcons, and then he was cut by the Cowboys, and now he is …
I’m in stitches.
Permalink | Comments (3) | Categories: Quick Hit, Terence Moore
