Mike Moustakas is not good right now. He hasn’t been good this whole season, and frankly, he wasn’t very good last season, either. In fact, statistically speaking, he is one of the worst everyday hitters in the Major Leagues.
Oh sure, he drove in three runs in Wednesday’s win over the Colorado Rockies. So he’s “fixed,” probably. And yeah, he’s tied for the team lead in homeruns, and he’s tied for third in RBI. But when you’re dealing with an offense that is this disgusting, this anemic, that’s like being the thinnest kid at fat camp: it doesn’t mean shit.
There was a ton of talk swirling on Monday and Tuesday about whether or not he’d be sent down to Omaha. The Royals had some roster moves to make, and manager Ned Yost had previously hinted that Moustakas had “lost his confidence.” He intoned, basically, that he was all for giving Moustakas a little time elsewhere.
The Star’s Sam Mellinger wrote a very good—and responsible and sane and tempered—column about how shipping Moose to Nebraska made great sense. Previous jaunts to the small-screen had worked wonders for guys like Billy Butler and Alex Gordon, so why couldn’t it work for Moose?
Then the roster move happened (Omar Infante to the DL! Hellooooo Pedro Ciriaco!) and Moustakas was still there, manning third with his .161 average, his .226 on-base-percentage, and his .348 slugging percentage.
In the related press conference, general manager Dayton Moore said really cowardly, horse-shitty things like, “WHAT’S A BETTER ALTERNATIVE?” and “MOUSTAKAS IS OUR GUY. HE’S THE GUY WE’RE GONNA WIN WITH,” and “HOW ABOUT THE PITCHING, DOESN’T ANYONE WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT?” and “WHO SEVERED MY TESTICLES? I COULD HAVE SWORN I HAD TESTICLES.”
So these aren’t verbatim, and I’ll probably be sued if Moore somehow ever actually reads this, but as a lifelong, mentally disjointed and permanently scarred Kansas City baseball fan, I really don’t care. I’m not Sam Mellinger. I don’t need to be politically correct, or “factually accurate” with my quotes. The bottom line is, he said MOST of those things, in some form or another.
He honestly wanted to know what alternative they had.
In a bizarre, defensive maneuver, he asked if anyone wanted to talk about what was going well with the team, instead.
1) Whose fucking fault is that, Dayton?
2) No, because a problem is a problem is a problem.
And I know it seems petty to harp on a singular piece of a puzzle that is actually on the winning side of the ledger now, but how much better would the Royals be right now if Mike Moustakas wasn’t shitting it up almost every day?
Could an everyday Danny Valencia possibly be any worse?
Couldn’t Johnny Giavotella—who has spent more time in Omaha this season playing third than his native second—be just as lousy, and maybe not even quite as much?
It is painfully obvious that Moore is determined to make Moose fit—he was his first draft-pick, after all—but when do you stop repeatedly ramming your dick into the side of a barn and calling it sex?
Mike Moustakas could be a brilliant third baseman in the major leagues… some day. But it won’t be tomorrow and it won’t be next week, and as long as he’s being handled with pussy-drenched kid gloves, it’ll never happen, ever.
He needs Omaha, and he needs it now. And if Dayton Moore wasn’t such a bull-headed, stubborn dipshit, it would have happened long ago. And then Moose could gather the confidence that he’s clearly so desperately lacking. And he could be, you know, actually be helping the team in a meaningful, consistent manner.