Chris Davis and the Worst Season Ever
Life is a topsy-turvy roller coaster ride filled with highs and lows and twists and turns—so, every once in a while, it’s going to make you barf. And when the highs come along, it seems like everyone is there to celebrate with you. But when the lows come along, it can be a disturbingly lonely experience.
A few years ago, I had one of those years where everything seemed to go wrong, and everywhere I turned, I seemed to get kicked in the face—and, sometimes, kicked in that sensitive region lower than the face but higher than the knees.
After an absolutely satisfactory previous year, it looked like the good times would keep on rolling. But within a few months, I had two very profitable ventures fall through. My girlfriend dumped me—via a strongly worded email. My writing projects that were going full-steam ahead suddenly evaporated. One of my closest friends began practicing the Amish tradition of shunning with me. And to top it all off, there was that “mix-up,” which led to me being “handcuffed” and “questioned.”
It was a rough year. And you, sitting there reading this, can probably think of a year where seemingly nothing went right and the world was out to get you. And that time might even seem pretty horrible to you now, years later. But, as bad as that one year was for me, and as excruciating as every day may have been in the year you’re thinking of, none of us has had it as bad as Chris Davis.
That’s Chris Davis of the Baltimore Orioles and not Khris Davis of the Oakland Athletics. It’s hard to imagine anyone who gets paid tens of millions of dollars to play professional baseball for a living could qualify for a worst year ever. But, what if that player was about to go down in history as one of the single greatest disappointments in the sport? What if that player was having a season that would be remembered by generations as one of the epic stink burgers in all of sports? Okay, now your year doesn’t look so bad, right?
In the 2016 offseason, Chris was re-signed by the Orioles with a brand new contract of seven years for $161 million. Just about all the experts hated this signing. I’ve always liked his game. He’s a huge dude with rugged good looks, and a combination of power and patience at the plate. He’s even proven to be a decent first baseman. But that did seem like a bit much to pay for a player with his inconsistencies.
It’s also unclear what other team the Orioles were bidding against. In that offseason, it looked like the Orioles were going to part ways with Davis, but then Scott Boras called the owner and reminded him that Scott knows where the bodies are buried (presumably?), and next thing you know, Davis is back with the Orioles getting paid like the superstar he wasn’t.
Theoretically, he was what the Orioles needed to power their offense. They wanted a left-handed batter. He is left-handed. They wanted a slugger. He slugged. His batting average has never been very high, but this guy got on base with walks at a Hall-of-Fame pace.
He had a solid 2016 campaign, and then in 2017, he looked like he had hit rock bottom offensively. Guess what? This year has been even worse. He’s been awful. He’s not hitting any home runs, he’s not getting any walks and he’s got a WRC+ of 23—an average player has a 100 WRC+.
He has been worth -2.0 WAR (Wins Above Replacement). He’s created a new stat: WBR (Wins Below Replacement). He leads the league in WBR. That means that if the Orioles had replaced him with a minor league player no one really wants, they would have won two more games—for the league minimum. Davis is getting $17 million this year (plus some significant deferrals) but has been worth -$18 million.
I’ve never seen anything like this. Basically, you could just grab any other baseball player in the league, or even in the minor leagues, and the Orioles would be a better team. The team would actually be better if he followed Rodney Dangerfield’s move from “Caddyshack” and claimed his arm is broken.
And no one knows why this is happening. Sometimes, player production slows down when they get a big contract, but this production is historically embarrassing. Maybe he’s injured and he isn’t saying anything. Maybe he met some girl who’s sucking the life out of him and he isn’t allowed to say anything. Or maybe there’s some trouble in his family that’s distracting him. Maybe aliens abducted him and their tests left him unable to play—hey, don’t laugh, it could happen. It sort of happened to me once. Well, not really “happened,” so much as I dreamt it.
But the Orioles can’t just replace him. After this season, they still owe him over $100 million. And it’s more than that—it’s the possibility that one day he could show up and just start hitting like he used to. That’s what happened a couple years ago to David Ortiz of the Red Sox. He stank up Fenway Park for a few months and then started hitting.
Relationships can be like this. You’re dating some great guy or girl—whichever happens to be your preference—and it starts off fun and exciting and sweaty. And then she (or he) starts acting weird and things aren’t nearly as fun or exciting or sweaty, but she (or he) already moved in and you’re kind of stuck. So, you keep hoping the next day will be the day when she (or he) snaps out of it and it will all be fun, exciting, sweaty times again.
I don’t know what Chris Davis should do, and I don’t know what the Orioles should do with him. I know what they would do with him if he was a horse. But horses don’t have $161 million contracts.
I do know what I did at the end of my awful year. Road trip. I drove all the way from L.A. to Cape Cod. Sometimes you just have to get out and clear your head. Force-quit the program. Pull the chute. Hit the reset button. And then start over like nothing bad ever happened.
It worked for me. I recovered. And the next year I got married—to a girl who is fun and exciting and sweaty. I also made my first film. And I discovered the deliciousness of Korean BBQ. All in one year.
It can get better, Chris. It can get turned around. Let’s do this, Chris. You. Me. Road trip.
