Hopeless Joe Profiles A Remaining Free Agent

Hopeless Joe here, with a look at one of baseball’s top remaining free agents, someone I think has been getting a raw deal in the marketplace, with virtually no downside to signing him, a MVP award in his past, ability to play every infield position, or at least maybe, great character guy in the clubhouse, if you define character as someone who would make for a good antagonist in a movie, probably one of the ages he has claimed to be, or at least close to one of the ages he has claimed to be, possibly not still on drugs, maybe the owner of a Dominican Winter League team different from the one he was playing for, suspended in multiple countries.

I’m of course talking about Sam Fuld. Wait, no, Sam Fuld is a model citizen. Who I would pick in a fantasy draft, which is why I don’t play fantasy baseball. I mean Miguel Tejada. Who batted a .288 last season, and is obviously getting screwed, just like I got screwed when the plant I work for shut down. I mean died. Because I forgot to water it. Yes, I worked for a plant. His owner left him a ton of money in his will, and all I had to do was water him, and talk to him, and I couldn’t even do that, and he died and the executor of the will had me fired and now I don’t know what I’m doing and these FanGraphs pieces barely pay my rent, and I tried to pitch a piece to Psychology Today last week but they ended up sending someone to my apartment for an intervention, and, needless to say, they did not buy my article, even though I think the untold story of one of the widespread afflictions I suffer from, Fear of My Shadow, is a piece worth printing. But I digress.

Robinson Cano batted a .271 in 2008, which is 17 points lower than Tejada’s average last year. And Cano just got $240 million. So I don’t understand why no one is signing Tejada to a $260 million contract. It’s not like 39 is old. Please, don’t say 39 is old. Please.

Prediction: New York Mets, 1 year, $3 million.



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Jeremy Blachman is the author of Anonymous Lawyer, a satirical novel that should make people who didn't go to law school feel good about their life choices. Read more at McSweeney's or elsewhere. He likes e-mail.


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