As Brian Bannister continued to battle the Brewers and himself today, en route to a rather hard-fought, exhausting win [1], I was struck by an odd, unwelcome thought: Why am I not giving him the Zambrano treatment?
This was B.B.'s line today: 5 IP, 6 H, 1 ER, 5 BB, 4 K, 112 pitches, 63 for strikes.
This was V.Z. last week: 5 IP, 6 H, 3 ER, 4 BB, 3 K, 87 pitches, 47 for strikes.
And yet when Bannister got in jam after self-created jam, I was urging him to bear down, to focus, that he had eight guys behind him, all that usual rah-rah shouted-at-the-TV stuff. When Victor's being Victor, the best I can muster is generally an exasperated, “Come on, Victor,” delivered in the tone usually reserved for dogs that you've decided just aren't ever going to be housebroken.
But is that fair?
Victor, of course, was traded for Scott Kazmir, who Met fans will always assume would have been the next Franchise if left to blossom in Queens. Does that play a role? Or is it something worse? For a time this afternoon, I wrestled with this thought: Is Bannister, with his big-league pedigree and cerebral interviews, getting a break from me that I won't give Zambrano — a Venezuelan whose native language isn't my own? Or is that just the years of liberal-arts brainwashing finally leaving some trace in my psyche?
I decided that I was innocent, that there really are a host of reasons to grade Bannister on a curve. First and most obviously, his stats reflect the grand total of three starts, while Zambrano is approaching his 100th career start. Bannister seems to have a plan out there, taking a page from Al Leiter in preferring to walk a guy and work on the next hitter than risk a ball up the gap. (Granted, the execution of that particular plan can be excruciating to watch, but it is a plan.) I don't get the impression that Zambrano ever has a plan beyond surviving the next pitch. Bannister has serviceable stuff around a good curve, but his biggest asset is having the guts of a burglar. Zambrano's stuff is much, much better: He throws harder and can contrast his fastball with a good change and that amazing slider. But he doesn't seem to have any idea how good he is — whenever he gets in trouble, he nibbles like an ancient junkballer, his mechanics go to hell, he leaves his defense flat-footed, and then you have to endure constant pats on the rump and visits from the pitching coach. After which he still exits early and tires out the bullpen.
I don't have any doubt Zambrano cares: Heck, as a new Met he cried in the clubhouse in Colorado after it became clear he was hurt and the Kazmir trade would look like a short-term disaster. But his body language isn't exactly heartening to see, while Bannister's keeps you believing. When Bannister's facing the bases loaded (even if it's his fault) the expression on his face is that of a bright young student facing a difficult but interesting math problem. Zambrano, on the other hand, looks like he has the wolf by the ears and doesn't know what the hell to do next. Is that the kind of semi-phrenology old scouts who don't believe in numbers trade in? Maybe. But it's sure hard to get past.
OK. I absolve myself of bias — beyond the bias of having had my hand pressed onto the hot Victor stove too many times. Bannister's young and seems determined to improve; Zambrano's not so young and can't seem to get out of his own way. Though the role of youth in all this should serve as a warning for Bannister: A younger Victor would have been cheered, too.