Tommy Gun

Last season saw Met fans come around on Tom Glavine — after Glavine finally came around to realize that what had worked for him for so long in Atlanta wasn't working in New York. For the first half of the year he was still the Manchurian Brave — remember back in April? Andruw Jones said the Braves' whole lineup knew what Glavine would do. John Smoltz talked about how stubborn Glavine was about his paint-the-corners strategy. And this came after Brave after Brave stood on top of the plate, hammering changeups they wouldn't have been able to reach if Glavine had established the inside pitch. Glavine kept waiting for the strike zone to revert to late-90s Atlanta dimensions, or for Questec to go away, or for his arm to be five years younger, or for something that was never going to happen. And that kept happening: bad performances by Glavine, postgame analysis that sounded like diplomatic niceties but actually turned out to be excuse-making and finger-pointing, and through it all he stood there, aloof and bloodless, and we wondered if he was capable of change, or if he'd prefer to go down doing things the way they used to work, a Brave who made a bad decision but didn't have to compound that by accepting this hideous new blue-and-orange world where nothing was the way it should be.

In the second half he finally did change, mixing up his pitches, reclaiming the inside corner and forcing hitters to scrap their old scouting report. The results? He was 2-2 in July with a 3.43 ERA, 3-2 in August with a 2.50 ERA, and 3-2 in September with a 1.71 ERA. And by the time it was over, he was the Manchurian Brave no more — he was one of us, the Eventual Met.

Time to take the next step, Tommy.

Glavine will never be beloved here — he arrived too late and after too many ribbons earned in the enemy ranks, and he's an arm's-length kind of pitcher and person anyway. But he's got an opportunity to show us a little passion, a little fire.

John Schuerholz, the Braves' GM, has suddenly gone all Gotham in a new book called Built to Win. In that book, he says after agreeing to sign with the Mets, Glavine had second thoughts and told Bobby Cox he'd made a mistake. Schuerholz and Glavine met, with the GM bouncing the pitcher's kid on his knee, and Schuerholz convinced Glavine to renege on the deal and take a two-year contract for less money to stay in Atlanta. It's a decision that Schuerholz said left Glavine obviously relieved. The Braves were ready to hold a press conference celebrating this reversal of fortune, but Glavine then decided — or, perhaps, was pressured by the players' union — to stick with the original deal. (Here's the tick-tock, from David Lennon in Newsday.)

Don Burke of the Star-Ledger captures an annoyed Glavine pounding a new mitt in increasing agitation while calmly answering questions about what happened then. “It's interesting to me that for somebody who's been so tight-lipped about everything that goes on in that organization — player transactions, this, that and the other thing — that I'm the only player that [Schuerholz] ever talked about when it comes to a negotiation,” Glavine said. Throw in reports of Schuerholz's obvious pleasure in Glavine's 2003 struggles against his old club (after one Glavine implosion he was beaming and noting he felt great and had a heckuva barbeque lined up) and we've got what could fairly be called a situation.

Now, points to Glavine for admitting that the conversation took place as written — it's become standard operating procedure in our increasingly graceless age for athletes, celebrities and politicians to routinely and blithely lie about such things, even when the evidence to the contrary is on tape. Glavine called it “a business situation that should remain between the people that were involved,” and he's right — or at least, decency and appreciation for all Glavine did in Atlanta ought to dictate a longer statute of limitations.

So what will Glavine do about it, beyond pounding his glove? I'm not suggesting he deck Andruw Jones — or even Schuerholz's kid, who actually is a Brave prospect. But the Mets will be in Atlanta April 28th through April 30th, and odds are Glavine will be on the hill for one of those games. How about a little gesture — a little something to show blood does flow in those veins? A finger pointed at the GM's box, for instance. Or noting in the clubhouse that the victorious Mets have a heckuva barbeque planned. Because it would help to win the game, of course.