When we analyze baseball, we make a lot of leverage and balance. We talk about unsustainable BABIP rates, regression to the mean and, even, in the most basic, unadulterated, non-statistical form, pure karma.

The idea that for every action, a reaction, for every success a failure.

For every success, a failure.

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People often try to live vicariously through their heroes, be they film stars, musicians, politicians or athletes.

We learn, as baseball fans, at a young age to idolize the likes of Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams, Jackie Robinson, and Hank Aaron–and to idolize the idea that with a little hard work, anything is possible.

That is, after all, what makes the American spirit.

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For every success, a failure.

For every Francisco Cervelli, a not-really-elite-prospect that endears himself at the big league level, there’s a Christian Garcia–a world of talent and the short straw in the injury gene lottery.

For every Phil Hughes, an Alan Horne.

For every success, a failure.

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There are those you never expect to succeed in the first place.

Take the Yanks’ new favorite nemisis in Dallas Braden, for example. If you haven’t done so, read this post, by Joe Posnanski to get at what I’m saying.

If Dallas Braden hadn’t made it to the Major Leagues, as was expected, few would have ever noticed. To most, he would have simply been a name, a line in a box score in some AA or AAA game, a box score you were looking at for someone else–but not for him.

These ones are not the failures–after all, how can one fail when one is never supposed to have succeeded?
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There are those who might be expected to succeed, but have instead drawn the short straw in the injury lottery.

These ones, like Christian Garcia*, break your heart. They’ve got God-given talent, and no luck where it matters most–their health.

You want these guys to have every chance in the world, but something always happens. When it’s at the Major League level, like Carl Pavano or Ben Sheets or the 2009 Mets, you might, perhaps, end up laughing. After all, these guys have made it, make more throwing a single pitch than you will all year.

When it happens to the prospects, though, you can feel your heart break. After all, you can’t just sleep off an injury and ignore your health–we’re a long way from the days where surgery was so risky you’d be better off writing your will before going under the knife, but it wasn’t so long ago that a broken leg meant a broken career.

It’s too cruel to call this failure. Their bodies fail; not them.

*Garcia penned, through Mike Ashmore, a thank you note to the fans that have stuck by him. You can read it here.

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There are those like Eric Duncan.

The early–in this case, first–round draft picks of whom much is expected, and, ultimately, little delivered.

Gone from a mainstay in the Down on the Farm mentions over at River Ave Blues to a brief mention in a Spring Training column about Shelley Duncan.

These are the ones where the reality hits you–or, as our friend Andy in Sunny Daytona puts it, “while it’s tough to see your favorite prospects fail, chances are, they will.”

When you realize that they’ve hit their ceiling, that there’s no more going forward, it hits you like a punch in the gut, fast and furious.

You’ll recover, sure, but it will take time if you’re not used to it.

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It’s different, of course, when one fails though he’s put in every last effort possible, every last BP, extra bullpen session, extra fielding practice, extra coaching, extra whatever…and when one fails because he simply didn’t try, because he let whatever is going on off-field affect him on it.
It’s not easy to make it to the Major Leagues; we all know this and many of us have found out the hard way.

You can have God-given talent, be signed at the age of sixteen, be given all the opportunity in the world, but without a maturity, without the ability to remain confident without being entitled, without the knowledge that luggage needs to be left at the door, it can all go for naught.

Jose Tabata is with the Pirates; Elijah Dukes was released by the Nationals; Angel Villalona (Giants) was arrested in the offseason, charged with manslaughter.

For every success, a failure.

These are the ones that leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

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Last week, as you likely well know by now, Jesus Montero was benched for not hustling.

At AAA Scranton, he is, perhaps for the first time in his life, struggling with baseball.

He’s 20 years old, the youngest player at that level–so that he’s struggling is to be expected, and, ultimately is not what matters right now.

Given how far he has come at such a young age, it would suggest that Montero’s issue will not be his talent–at least, not at the plate, anyway.

What matters–and kudos for the coaching staff for not just understanding, but enforcing this–is how Montero responds.

A hard taught lesson now, hustling even for a ground out (what if Mark Teixeira hadn’t been hustling from first after Luis Castillo’s pop up last year?) will, we hope, nip the problem in the bud and we can return to our obsession with the #1 prospect in the Yankees’ farm system.

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For every success, a failure.

No matter how much we want Montero succeed, even if he does, becomes everything Yankee fans could have wanted and then some, there will still be someone who will not.

Baseball is about hope, about that one time out of 100, things really do go your way, but just ask those Cubs fans–you still have to get through the 99 first.

For every success, a failure.