Barry Zito: Poster Boy for Troubled Times

Pitcher’s high-profile train wreck a microcosm of bigger (and badder) things

By Joe Eskenazi

A few years back on a crisp and cold winter’s day, former Major League journeyman “Subway” Sam Nahem told me a story. After a particularly odious outing in 1940, the young Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher was queried by a New York Daily News reporter just what good, exactly, he was doing the team.

Nahem’s response was instantaneous: “I am now in the egregiously anonymous position of pitching batting practice to the batting practice pitchers.”

These days, many a Bay Area reporter (and fan) has to be wondering the same thing about the San Francisco Giants lefty who can do no right, Barry Zito. After yesterday’s latest fiasco – Nine outs recorded, eight runs allowed – his record fell to 0-6 with a historically awful 7.53 Earned-Run Average. And yet Nahem-style repartee won’t inspire too many chuckles. Subway Sam was earning $150 a week (and damn happy to be doing so) and had a law degree in his back pocket in case this whole baseball thing didn’t work out. Zito, meanwhile, is in year two of a seven-year, $126 million contract.

Once one of baseball’s most dominant starters, Zito has transformed into the Old Faithful of awfulness. His consistency is almost admirable; the chances of him getting shellacked are virtually as high as spotting a lower back tattoo in a porno movie.

Your humble narrator was in the upper deck yesterday on an otherworldly beautiful Sunday, watching Zito absorb his ritual beating. It was bat day for kids under age 14, and by the time the sixth Cincinnati Red crossed the plate with only one gone in the first inning, I began to fear that a shower of Louisville Sluggers would come cascading out of the stands. Thankfully, this did not come to pass (but two more Reds runs did).

As a longtime baseball fan, I can tell you that not many ballpark experiences are more frustrating than being caught in the same section as the two twerps who won’t stop talking business (a development made infinitely worse by the ubiquity of cell phones). I’m not the sort of person who believes in baseball as some sort of mystical fantasy land; I was more than a bit suspicious when players began hulking up and enjoying career renaissances in their 40s. But the ballpark is a refuge from everyday life. I don’t want to think about the pressures of my job and I certainly don’t want to think about yours.

But Zito’s epic failures conjure up more than angst about deadlines, office politics and HR losing your W-2 forms (yes, again). Watching a handsome, wealthy and powerful young man of once-unlimited promise fail on an inexplicably grand scale reminds me just a bit too much of the sorry state of the nation. And dwelling upon that can certainly suck the good times out of an afternoon spent -- to paraphrase the words of The Daily Show’s John Hodgman -- watching a man hit a ball over a fence with a stick.

Zito’s 0-for-April won-loss record tied the all-time mark for pitching ineptitude. Fair enough. And yet, when you think about it, high-priced failure is far from uncommon. How many Wall Street CEOs have “downsized” thousands of workers yet drawn ample bonuses? How many have benefited personally from performance incentives that encourage cavalierly targeting short-term gain over long-term stability? In short, how many executives made the words “subprime mortgage crisis” a household term while earning severance bonuses that made Zito’s millions look like chump change?

As for the Giants signing Zito for astronomical amounts of money despite overt and plentiful signs that his performance was on the wane – well, I don’t think I even need to complete that analogy. Let’s just say the team hasn’t yet figured out an “exit strategy” for this contract. And just as I never expected a team ace to be on pace to lose 20 games, I also did not anticipate state-sponsored torture to become part of the national dialogue. I just never anticipated this level of debasement.

I admit this sounds a bit heavy – but, then again, we live in heavy times and carry our pain and fear into the places that should be reserved for joy. And, when one shambles into the ballpark grumbling about our nation’s costly and tragic decline – and watches Zito’s predictable immolation – baseball ceases to be a pastime. It becomes an ordeal

For Giants fans, Zito’s tribulations are an ongoing irritation. Yet the notion that his brand of high-priced failure simply makes him The Man of his Time and Place – that’s a tragedy for us all.