Giving Nick Canepa The FJMing He Deserves

Fire Joe Morgan, the great website that moved onto a better, media-free world in late 2008, was the preeminent place for sports media criticism. Thus, to receive an FJMing, signifies a public demand for blood (or plasma if you would prefer) because a member of the media either mailed it in or failed at their most important task; making sense.

Which brings me to Saturday's column by Nick Canepa of the San Diego Union Tribune. I don't always agree with Nick Canepa. I'm speaking in code: what I mean to say is, I rarely ever agree with the man. But his article yesterday was on another level of "me-no-makey-sense". Let's explore.

Sez Me …

And here we go. Is there anything more tired than "Sez Me"? It's like always talking about Sculpin IPA or misspelling Will Venable's name.

In was in early October, 2009, that Padres boss Jeff Moorad fired General Manager Kevin Towers, and I wrote he’d just made the first major blunder of his captaincy.

Totally stupid blunder. Kevin Towers had only been here for 15 years. So dumb. It was like divorcing your wife after being married for 30 years and forfeiting nearly everything you own. Wait... someone did do that... we refer to him in these parts as, "The Guy Who Hired Kevin Towers In 1995". We're creative with our names around here.

For what money I have, Towers is the best GM in baseball, as he once again proved when he turned around woeful Arizona in a Phoenix minute (slower than New York’s, but fast enough).

Best GM in baseball based on having little money? I don't know what kind of money Nick Canepa has in his bank account but based on this being a Padres article I'm guessing it's nothing. I'm confused. Are there not better GMs than the guy who acquired Randy Meyers in 1998? And are we really assigning all of the credit in Arizona to Kevin Towers? People also wanted to give Towers the credit when Jed Hoyer was doing his part here in 2010. That Kevin Towers is clearly a God.

Moorad’s second blunder, obviously, was hiring Jed Hoyer as Towers’ replacement.

It would have been better to leave the position of GM vacant. Or bring back Joe McIlvaine.

Not that there was anything terribly wrong with Jed. Except that, coming here from snooty Boston, he obviously preferred big bowls of chowder to fish tacos. 

 Is this a small fish in a big bowl of chowder analogy? Or are we starting to equate snobbery with those who revel in soup?

So after two seasons he’s taken the first plane out of town to join fellow Red Sox brat packer Theo Epstein, who’s been given run of the dilapidated — but wealthy — Cubs.

Finally! A pop-culture reference! I loved Breakfast Club. And it was filmed in Chicago. Nick Canepa is owning us right now. OWNING. US.

Despite looking like a kid about to buy a prom night corsage, Hoyer seemed to know what he was doing. 

Wait. He looked like he knew what he was doing yet the hire was a blunder? Canepa is running circles around us. RUNNING. CIRCLES. AROUND. US. (My prom sucked. Canepa is mind-f*cking me right now.)

Like his predecessor, Hoyer was hamstrung by the Padres’ tight wallet. Unlike Towers, he chose not to stick around to see if he could handle the challenge and finish the work.

Towers stuck around for a reason. He wasn't fired sooner. You see, when a market is small, there is little chance of success unless the farm system is loaded. Towers failed to load the farm. Yet he kept his job. It's mysterious.

At least Epstein saw things through in Boston. Hoyer didn’t come close here.

Actually, in Theo Epstein's second year at the helm in Boston a World Series was claimed. And then Epstein quit after year three. Why? Because he wanted a contract extension. Just like Jed Hoyer.

Towers may not have drafted well — something I never will fully comprehend — but he had the great ability to fleece people in trades (the David Freese–for-Jim Edmonds deal was not one of them, but nobody’s perfect), and he got the club into the playoffs and World Series on a handmaiden’s budget.

CANEPA. IS. CORRECT. Towers was terrible in the draft! It's why the Padres haven't had a more sustained run of success.

But I must take umbrage with the crazy talk about getting the Padres to the World Series on a handmaiden's budget. Firstly because, I have no idea about the earning power of a handmaiden. Secondly, because the internet exists. The internet tells me that the Padres had the 9th highest payroll in 1998 and the disparity between 1st and 9th was a paltry $19 million.

And speaking of fleece(ing) I have two things to say: it's a comfortable product and also what Jed Hoyer did to the Florida Marlins. Hello Cameron Maybin. Goodbye fungible relief pitchers. (YES! I finally used the word fungible in a sentence.)

And no GM — maybe no GM ever — was better with pitchers, baseball’s plasma.

Some people write of "blood and guts" and others deal in "intestinal fortitude". Nick Canepa and I both broker in plasma. I sold my plasma in college and it allowed me to party like a rock star on Thursday nights.

Hoyer was in the process of rebuilding the club’s farm system, a good thing, when the glitter of Michigan Avenue beckoned. 

I have submitted "...rebuilding the club's farm system, a good thing...." as the understatement of the Mother f*ckING year.

At least he had that going for him, but even Jed readily admitted he screwed up this past off-season, sweeping a 90-win team of clubhouse leadership and miscalculating on veteran free agents who couldn’t cut it anymore.

I'm not a Hoyer apologist. But it's hard to calculate correctly on veteran free agents when the calculator you've been given is void of so many decimal places. You know this, Nick. So why mention it?

Young Hoyer also either bowed to upper management or public (I hope not) pressure to bring slugging minor league first baseman Anthony Rizzo

That Rizzo kid, for lack of a better word, RAPED the Pacific Coast League while an inept Brad Hawpe manned first base in PETCO Park. Why wouldn't he have been promoted?

Enter Josh Byrnes, former GM of the Diamondbacks when Moorad ran that club.

Our transformation is complete. We are now the San Diego Diamondbacks.

Byrnes was canned in Arizona, but he did some good things there. Many of the players Towers won with this year were brought in with Byrnes on the bridge. 

 I thought Towers gets all the credit because he's the Pitcher Whisperer. And there's also the matter of plasma.

What Towers did there was create a winning pitching staff and bullpen, his forte.

Uhhh.... Nick... I guess I'll give you the bullpen (only because, like you, I don't want to do the research) but the Diamondbacks only had four legitimate starters this year, three of which were acquired by Josh Byrnes (Hudson, Kennedy, Collmenter) and the other by Jerry Dipoto (Saunders). Good point though.

Byrnes, at 41, has a pedigree, having studied under good baseball people along the way. Hopefully, he’ll be more than a San Diego comet. Hopefully, he’ll buy, not rent.

Josh Byrnes has good pedigree. He's like a dog. And I'll be honest-- people who by houses are comfortable. I don't want a guy who's comfortable. Kevin Towers was comfortable. 15 years comfortable.

If Moorad wants to build a winner here, he has to keep GMs around long enough to learn their names. He can’t afford Blunder No. 3. …

 Jed's name only has three letters and I've heard Jeff Moorad say it on the Darren Smith Show numerous times. "Josh" on the other hand is a hella tricky name to master.

Losing assistant GM Jason McLeod, who’s headed for Chicago with Hoyer, may be the bigger loss …

Finally Nick Canepa makes crystal clear sense of this mess. I wish the clarity would have occurred before word number 553 of the column (I counted).

Epstein already has put the kibosh on Hoyer’s first planned move, signing Brad Hawpe …

Haha. Brad Hawpe jokes will never get old.

I can't wait to do this again.

Padres, Green Tea, and Misunderstandings

The rain pours sideways and it's never gentle. It's what the wind will do on an early October day.

I have been sick for the last week. A brutal four day stretch like none I've ever encountered. It included much time to my own devices lest I pollute those I love with an unrelenting upper respiratory viral infection. There's little that can be done for a virus. Lots of liquids. Lots of rest. Stay the course.

I haven't drank coffee or beer in the last week and I've eaten little. But there is one thing I've taken up-- tea. Any kind available really. I've sworn by it. The last few days have seen me venturing into Starbucks leaving only with a Green Tea, the biggest their baristas would provide. And that's really where this story begins...

As I entered Starbucks at 4:30 pm this afternoon I was prepared to order my second venti Green Tea of the day.

I approached the counter and said, "Venti Green Tea, please."

The recipient of my order was a man. A man named Steve. Steve looked at me incredulously. I didn't understand his incredulity. Is Green Tea on a cold rainy day some sort of monumental stretch? If so it is one in which I am unfamiliar.

Steve simply said, "Hot or cold?"

I replied, "Oh, hot, please."

 But my look suggested something quite different. I'm not sure but my face might have read, "It's cold mother fucker. I want it hot." Who can be certain of such things.

Our interface did not end there, though. Steve had more to say. I had replied hot but Steve had questions. Proper questions.

"What kind of hot tea? Because I could make a non fat soy green tea latte light on the foam or a Venti pump extra hot chai tea latte. Sometimes people like those on cold rainy days"


I looked at Steve. And then I looked over his shoulder. I needed to break eye-contact. I needed to break eye-contact and then take a deep meditative breath. And this simple action helped calm me.

Steve didn't need to be berated. And I'm sick . . . I haven't the energy for it. Steve needed something else. He needed to be complimented. So I looked at Barista Steve and I said the following:


"Steve, I admire your passion. It's not misguided and all would do well to have such passion for their day's work."


I had just paraphrased James Earl Jones as Terrence Mann in Field of Dreams. But Steve . . . he hadn't blinked an eye. The word lift, an unintentional and unforeseeable gaffe, left me undeterred. I carried on.


"If all had the passion that you bring to your job, Steve, the world would be a fine place."

Had I now lifted Hemingway? I continued...

"I appreciate your suggestions for my drink today. They were about as convoluted as anything I've ever heard but I appreciate the effort nonetheless. But, ya see Steve,  sometimes a tea is just a tea. No bells. No whistles. Just the simplicity of a teabag. Sometimes your customer just wants you . . . to give them a tea bag. The old fashioned way."


It hadn't even dawned on me that I had just given a soliloquy that could very well be censored in some states. How on Earth had Barista Steve received my signal? I couldn't tell. He simply turned, grabbed a cup, two Green tea tea-bags and started pouring hot water.


It was gonna be cold, wet and windy out there. I began to zip-up the high collar on my brown Padres heavy-weight track jacket and Barista Steve returned with my Green Tea. Money changed hands. In light of our conversation only minutes ago . . . it all seemed so dirty.


I looked at Steve. And in an attempt to put us back on some sort of level footing I said the only thing I could at that moment...


"Go Padres?"