Tao on Snider saga: A tragic waste

It’s rare that we get a thoughtful, candid retelling of how a player’s relationship with a franchise soured, and rarer still that we get one so soon after the player left.

It’s why many of us have spent recent days poring over minute details in Shi Davidi’s three-part story on Travis Snider’s departure and the events that led to it.

I can understand why many fans want to move on and don’t care to rehash the Travis Snider saga any further. For some, Snider’s performance here in Toronto doesn’t nearly warrant all of the angst that has been displayed by his fans.

For others, retracing the steps that led to his exit seems to be more misery than a stressed-out, heartbroken Jays fan can take at this point and yet the curiosity around what really happened to the Jays’ former No. 1 prospect is almost impossible to resist. For those of us who have spent the last five years agonizing over Snider, his progress – or lack thereof – the feature has been a source of frustration and bewilderment. Getting a bit more dirt on what many of us have suspected was a strained relationship at the best of times has been irresistible.

But we shouldn’t mistake the story as merely a salacious rehash.

What happened with Travis Snider matters going forward because many of the key figures involved – Alex Anthopoulos, John Farrell and Paul Beeston – are still actively setting the course for the future of the franchise.

Their approach to Snider’s development should be scrutinized, as should their self-evaluation for how they handled him. The story paints a picture of a development plan that was improvised at best, careless at worst. But for the most part, the Jays brain trust remains mostly unapologetic about their handling of Snider.

This is obviously subjective, but to my reading, no one comes off less sympathetic in the story than Cito Gaston.

And while it might seem as though that shouldn’t matter, it bothers me that he will continue to have a voice in the Blue Jays’ front office so long as Beeston remains ensconced as the team’s president. This is the man who ran John Olerud out of town for not being more of a pull hitter, who benched Shawn Green in favour of Ruben Sierra and ultimately, who helped to diminish the value of Travis Snider.

But he’s got his World Series rings, so I guess I should just shut my mouth, smile and love him. I’m sure that’s what he’d say.

I find reading the Snider Saga with Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” playing to be particularly poignant. That’s just me.

— Tao of Stieb (@TaoofStieb) September 26, 2012

As a side note, both Gaston and Gene Tenace were 25 years old by the time they reached 500 at-bats in the big leagues. Maybe they looked upon Snider as a kid who needed to toughen up and listen up, but they can’t even remotely relate to what he was going through in his initial stint with the team. When they were 20-years-old, they were farting around the Carolinas or the Florida State League, playing low-A ball and failing miserably.

Maybe they could have cut the kid some slack rather than looking upon him as an incomplete player absent their personal imprint.

In a way, it seems as though all involved started to forget soon after his initial call-up that Snider should have been regarded as a valued asset. Back in 2008, you could have made Snider the key piece in a major trade for a star veteran player, but by the time 2012 had rolled around, all he could fetch was a bullpen arm.

For all of the talk of asset management around the Blue Jays in recent years, they certainly seemed careless with this one. Repeatedly, the Jays took steps that diminished Snider’s value with other teams. Whether it was the ham-handed lefty-lefty platoon with Fred Lewis, or choosing Eric Thames over him this past spring, the team took decisions that continually eroded his reputation and lowered him to the level of a replacement-level player.

It doesn’t seem as though the coaching staff or front office ever got a decent read of his mental makeup. It could be that they figured it wasn’t a concern because he was regarded as “mature” and a “good makeup” player from his draft year forward. Or maybe they just didn’t care and figured that he was a man and needed to toughen up.

Whatever the case, few responsible for overseeing his development with the team seem prepared to take responsibility for what might have gone wrong.

As a result, the nagging voice at the back of my head wonders: Are they making the same mistakes with Anthony Gose? Or even Brett Lawrie?

If anyone does assume blame throughout the three-part series, it is Snider. He recognizes that he was perhaps overly-sensitive and too easily affected by outside voices. Moreover, he acknowledges his own contributions to the long series of crossed wires between himself and the team.

He calls himself “proud” and “hard-headed,” and fesses up to the anger and disillusionment he allowed to overtake his moods and affect his play.

Now before you scoff or offer up tough love remedies, remember he’s a kid. Remember that, above all. Snider’s a smart kid in his early 20s, and he worries way too much about himself. He’s struggling to figure out who the hell he is. He’s immature, but he’s aware of it. He has trouble with authority and he hasn’t quite figured out how to master his emotions. Sometimes, he beats himself up because he wishes he could be better, and sometimes, he looks to rationalize his behaviour.

Can any of us say that we were much different at that age?

I’ve believed for several years that the worst thing the Blue Jays did to Travis Snider was not allow him the latitude to fail. For a young player who had dominated virtually every level of amateur and affiliated ball in which he played, the shock of finding yourself unable to keep up with the best players in the world can be disconcerting.

There were hints throughout the past four seasons that Snider might be struggling with his emotions and letting the negative thoughts get the better of him, though it is surprising to see the extent to which Snider is willing to reveal his neuroses.

The question I think a lot of us are left with after reading the piece is: “Why would he come out now and say this?”

It seems as though there’s not a lot of good that can come from publicly airing out your grievances with a former employer.

I suspect that there’s something therapeutic for Snider in unloading the past like this. He seems like a thoughtful player, and someone who spends a lot of time – probably too much time – in his own head.

I’ve been asked by Sportsnet to do a response to the Snider Saga. Will shoot the video of me crying in a fetal position this afternoon.

— Tao of Stieb (@TaoofStieb) September 26, 2012

On subsequent readings of the full three-part saga, I felt as though Snider was taking on much more blame for his situation than he was doling out towards others. The process of talking through the past few years wasn’t an angry one focused on slamming those who had done him wrong.

It’s a level of self-analysis that isn’t often shared by athletes.

It also strikes me that the best thing that Snider could have done for himself was to forego pro ball in favour of college. There are aspects of his personal growth he could have dealt with and worked out while on campus, and it strikes me that spending some contemplative time in a classroom here or there would have helped him tremendously, and prepared him mentally to move into what passes for the “grown up world” of Major League Baseball.

Ultimately, Snider is going to be judged by his output on the field, and as of yet, he hasn’t nearly reached his promise. Watching him over the years, it always seemed to me that he had the physical skills to play the game at the top level. If he can stay healthy and keep his head together for an extended period of time, he might yet be a really good ballplayer.

Whenever, wherever or if ever, that happens, I’ll continue to root for his success.