It finally happened. Jeff Francoeur is gone.
With the cancer removed, the World Series is now all but guaranteed, right?
What will the bloggers do now that their favorite persona non grata has left the building? His near imfamous monikers–Francine, Failcoeur, Stenchy–will have to be retired; the much maligned right fielder can no longer be blamed for the Braves failures.
And that could be dangerous.
The offensive woes have been placed so squarely on Francoeur over the past couple seasons, with every single at bat mercilessly scrutinized by ‘Bream65’ and ‘CoxSucks’, the prospect of having no one to pin the kick me sign on may force us to face a sobering truth: the Braves still aren’t very good. If George Bush’s exit from the white house was a political satirsist’s worst nightmare, Francoeur’s departure in the very least qualifies as a bad dream for dyspeptic Braves fans. We can poke fun at Garrett Anderson a.k.a. “loaf” for galumphing around left field, but he wasn’t the messianic figure Francoeur was in 2006 when upon arrival he hit every other pitch against or over the left field wall. Perhaps unjustly, we expected nothing short of hall of fame caliber play from our home grown prodigy. He was so magnificent during his rookie year, he seemed destined for superstardom. It didn’t just work out that way.
Admittedly, I was as vociferous an advocate for Jeff’s removal as the next guy after another double play or strike out with men on base this year. He seemed like a first class guy, devoted husband, son of proud wholesome parents, but I wanted my team to win another championship. I had grown imaptient with Jeff’s impatience in the box. It seemed like he came to the plate in a big situation nearly every game–and failed. I didn’t wish him ill–I didn’t even angage in the name calling online–I just wanted a more productive hitter in his stead. Whether Ryan Church qualifies as such is debatable–and by god it will be–but it’s a step. A step in which direction, I’m not sure. Somehow I don’t feel as optimistic as I had anticipated. Even if Frank Wren pulls another rabbit out of the hat and procures another Mark Teixeira, I still can’t help but think it won’t matter. Maybe the problem metastasized long ago, rendering the team in its current condition inoperable. Ironically, Jeff Francoeur may have provided a healthy distraction from other, more deeply embedded ills plaguing the franchise. He was flashy and very easy to look at–he may have just been the perfect martyr.
They say that sunshine is the best disinfectant. Now that Jeff is gone, and it’s a brand new day, we may be in store for something far worse than a bad dream: reality.