A Triptych to Jeff Francoeur
The yearly cycle for a bad team should be familiar to most.
There’s the uplifting dawn that is spring with it’s bird-chirping optimism. There’s the disillusionment of summer, when, as if wilting in the strong noon-time sun, everything that can go wrong does go wrong. And then there’s the softly-falling sadness of the offseason, when even jaded fans pine for the good old days – because flawed baseball is still baseball.


