On July 7, 2005, Jeff Francoeur made his debut as a Brave and hit a three-run homer. By the end of August, Francoeur would grace the cover of Sports Illustrated, which labeled him “The Natural” and asked, “Can anybody be this good?”
On July 4, 2008, the Braves sent Francoeur, who was hitting .234 with an on-base percentage of .287, to Double-A Mississippi. He would be back by July 8. Francoeur told The Atlanta Journal-Constitution that the demotion left him feeling “a little betrayed.”
On July 10, 2009, the Braves traded Francoeur to the Mets for Ryan Church, who would hit .260 in 44 games as a Brave before being non-tendered in the offseason. Church played his last big-league game in 2010.
On July 5, 2013, the Kansas City Royals released Francoeur, who cleared waivers after being designated for assignment. He was hitting .203 with three homers and 13 RBIs.
In the span of eight seasons, Jeff Francoeur of Parkview High went from being the sunniest star on his hometown team to being of such little value that he was cast aside for a fourth outfielder, and now, at the not-exactly-ancient age of 29, he has played his way off the sub-.500 Royals. There have been stranger stories in the long history of baseball, but not many.
Most precipitous career declines involve an injury. Francoeur has never really been hurt. He hit .300 in his first major-league season and drove in more than 100 runs in his second and his third. He won a Gold Glove. And he was, and presumably still is, about the nicest guy in the history of the world.
In designating Francoeur, Royals general manager Dayton Moore told reporters: “He’s been an incredible teammate and brought a winning attitude every day and made a real positive difference in our community, so he’s a winner.”
So how is it that July 2013 arrived with this former phenom and longstanding solid citizen looking for work? How is it that such a talent — you don’t drive in 100 runs and win a Gold Glove without being pretty darn gifted — could have had such an unsatisfying career? One word: Timing.
Francoeur arrived at a moment — "Moneyball" was published in 2003 — when on-base percentage had come, in the minds of many, to mean more than batting average or RBIs. In August 2006, John Walsh of Hardball Times wrote that Francoeur — who hit .277 with 29 homers and 105 RBIs over his first 157 big-league games — "is truly among the very worst regular outfielders in the (National League) right now … The almost complete lack of walks is keeping Francoeur's OBP at sub-replacement level."
That Francoeur lived to hack shouldn’t have been surprising. In May 2002, a month before the Braves would draft Francoeur in Round 1, this correspondent covered a Parkview doubleheader. By night’s end, one patron at the Big Orange Jungle was heard to say of Francoeur, “That’s the fifth time in seven at-bats he’s swung at the first pitch.”
Francoeur was a superb wide receiver and defensive back on championship football teams. It has long been my belief that his football mentality — when in doubt, hit somebody harder — worked at cross-purposes with his chosen vocation. In baseball, swinging harder is no answer. Post-“Moneyball,” swinging can even be construed as a weakness. (We reference the raging debate over Cincinnati’s Joey Votto, who has a great OBP but not as many RBIs as old-schoolers believe he should.)
Had Francoeur come along in the 1960s, before Bill James began printing his “Baseball Abstract,” would we have cared that he’d drawn only 19 walks (six intentional) in his first 157 games? His misfortune was to arrive at a time when sabermetics shape every baseball discussion, and the sabermetric set had no use for Frenchy.
Inevitably, the feeling became mutual. In May 2009, Francoeur asked Jerry Crasnick of ESPN: "If on-base percentage is so important, why don't they put it up on the scoreboard?"
Seeking to adjust, Francoeur spent offseason time with Texas hitting coach Rudy Jaramillo. (Terry Pendleton, then the Braves’ batting instructor, conceded he felt, er, betrayed.) Fresh eyes didn’t help. Francoeur still swung too often, to demonstrably less effect. The harder he tried, the more he succeeded in getting himself out. It became excruciating to watch.
In “Moneyball,” Michael Lewis cites Oakland general manager Bill Beane’s belief that plate discipline can’t be taught — a guy has it or he doesn’t. Francoeur’s on-base percentage in his last full season as a Royal (.287) was roughly the same as in first full season as a Brave (.293). In nine big-league seasons, he has drawn as many as 40 walks only once. (Dan Uggla walked 96 times last year, FYI.)
Having had many conversations with Francoeur, I can attest that he’s neither stupid nor oblivious. (A message left on his phone this week was not returned.) He’s a bright guy who knew what he needed to do to improve as a ballplayer, but couldn’t quite do it. He’s both a case study and a cautionary tale.
Grant Bisbee of Baseball Nation notes the similarities between the hot rookie of 2013 and the hot rookie of 2005. The Dodgers sensation Yasiel Puig has hit .430 with eight homers and 19 RBIs through 29 games, but he has walked only four times. In his first 23 games, Francoeur hit .432 with eight homers and 22 RBIs, and it wasn't until his 33rd big-league game and his 132nd plate appearance that he drew his first walk. And it was intentional.
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