"Unforgivable"

 

I remember that my parents had a coffee-table book of some kind about the Sistine Chapel. It included all of these great, close-up reproductions of Michelangelo's masterwork. 

The one to the right used to fascinate me. It's a depiction of a sinner at the Last Judgement, and I used to stare and stare at it as a kid, mesmerized by the idea that everything in your life could be too late—that no repentance could matter. Believe or don't believe: it speaks to a primal fear adult in all of us, that we have squandered our lives with nothing to show for it. 

Many years later, when I finally got there, I found the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel every bit as amazing as I had thought it would be. There are all sorts of strict warnings posted, in language after language, telling you to be quiet as you stare at it. But they never take. The crowds are so overawed that a buzz of amazed commentary inevitably builds until finally the guards, who are clearly expecting this, make a collective shushing sound.

The crowd goes silent. But within a few seconds, the noise begins to build again.

Imagine having painting something so magnificent that, over 500 years later, people cannot look at it without expressing their adoration. That's what I call a fucking artistic achievement.

But I digress.

This season, when he went out on April 15th with another serious injury, after jogging into second base, Giancarlo Stanton looked at all the games he has missed as a Yankee—now at 307, as opposed to 473 played—and pronounced it "unforgivable."

It wasn't, of course—not in any real sense. 

Not even Dante has a level of hell for squandering a potentially great baseball career. Stanton, by all accounts, seems to be a stand-up guy who has never complained about our disappointment with his performance—or his inability even to stay on the field. It's nice that he finally recognized his shortcomings.

Giancarlo vowed to find ways to stay on the field more. Which is nice. But it's too late.

Stanton is 33, and will be 34 in November. His best years are behind him—well behind him. 

He should have thought about seriously changing the way he trained for and played the game in, say, 2019, when missed 144 games and still had to beg out of the ALCS. Back when he was still 29.

But he didn't. Then he managed to play only about one-third of the Covid season. 

Still no change. 

A pretty good 2021 followed—though nothing like the superstar numbers he was supposed to run up—then came a great start in 2022.

But after May of last season, his monthly batting averages for the rest of 2022 were .176, .156, .130, and .174, followed by a 6-32 postseason, with 2 walks and 9 strikeouts.

This season brought another (lesser) quick start—followed by a month-and-a-half on the DL. Since returning on June 2nd, Giancarlo is 5-41, or .122, with 2 homers, 2 RBI, 4 walks, and 15 Ks—culminating in yesterday's 0-7, 1 walk performance at the Fens.

In short, he has not played well for any sustained period, for over a year now. His .708 OPS would be the worst of his career if it held up—and his 93 OPS+ indicates that he is hitting below the (pathetic) league average. Oh, and all you WAR fans out there: Giancarlo's is 0.0. A perfect nullity.

I won't bore you with more statistics. Suffice it to say that there is every indication that Stanton is done. That he will never again be even an adequate player—on those occasions when he can show up.

I have no idea what the old-timey goals mean to a modern player like this: playing in a World Series, making the Hall of Fame, etc. Probably not much—for a guy who will earn over $200 million in contract money alone. And that is what it is. Hell, there are plenty of people who busy themselves destroying the world for money like that. Giancarlo Stanton isn't a bad guy.

But what a waste. And how sad to wake up and realize it's too late to regain the gift you squandered.