Why "Trevor Time" Should Come to an End Soon in San Diego

It was a warm afternoon in San Diego. Petco Park was about halfway full, with thousands more shuffling in by the minute. I found myself surrounded by Tigers fans. "Great" I whispered, "now I get to hear about the '84 series for the next three hours."

The starting time for the game was still about 20 minutes away, and vendors started to walk through the aisles offering mostly cold drinks and iced treats.

I waited for the rest of my party to return from the concession stand and looked down at my cell phone, shuffling through unread text messages.

San Diego baseball fans are usually pretty tepid, usually more enthused to talk about the weather and summer blockbuster movies than what's going on inside the diamond, so when suddenly a mixed chorus of boos and cheers rained down on the field, I quickly lifted my gaze to find the center of debate.

And there he was. Never looking up from the perfectly mowed grass, jogging along the outfield towards the home bullpen in left-center field, Trevor Hoffman, cap pulled down low on his forehead and jacket covering up name and number, couldn't hide from his fans—and his detractors.

I decided to voice my opinion, standing up from my seat along the right field wall and expelling a hearty, "Booooo!" My notion of the tepid, fair-weather San Diego fan was about to be challenged. "Come on, man! He's the best ever!" I heard a voice say a few rows behind me. "Exactly. And he's done. Remember what happened to Tony Gwynn," I shouted.

And Willie Mays. And Babe Ruth. And Michael Jordan. And countless other legends.

Trevor Hoffman turns 41 this October, an October he'll no doubt spend in his home in Southern California watching other teams compete for a World Series crown, as the Padres stumble towards a season where they can potentially lose upwards of 100 games.

Though it would be truly incorrect to pin the Padres' woes on a few blown saves and an uncharacteristically high ERA from Hoffman, here's just a few reasons why Trevor should consider sitting there in his living room and making the decision to hang it up soon—and fittingly—leaving the ninth-inning routine and "Hell's Bells" to his probable successor, Heath Bell.

His salary

The Padres aren't that cost-cutting, bottom-dwelling club that they have historically been. The Padres' management consider the '08 season as a setback from the ultimate goal that San Diego has of being a perennial playoff contender.

Petco Park has eased the team's finances, giving it great revenue, which has reflected itself in the Padres' payroll staying over the $70 million mark, even after trading Greg Maddux and releasing Jim Edmonds earlier in the season.

However, San Diego's payroll still ranks 19th in the league, and 1/10th of the team's salary is going squarely into Trevor Hoffman's pocket.

According to ESPN.com, Hoffman is projected to throw 48 innings this season, earning roughly $156,250 for every inning pitched and $52,083.33 for every out recorded.

San Diego, while not competing economically with New York, Boston, or even the two Los Angeles clubs, could put that money to better use. Heath Bell has a lower ERA this season, more innings pitched, and is making $420,000 this season.

Oh, and he'll be 31 on opening day of 2009. Which brings me to my next point.

His age

While 41 years of age isn't exactly incredibly alarming for a pitcher, (Randy Johnson will turn 45 very soon, and Hoyt Wilhelm pitched to the age of 48), Hoffman's stuff and his body have seen themselves ravaged by the passage of time.

Once a dominant fireballer, Hoffy reinvented himself as a finesse guy, combining a sharp slider with a virtually unbeatable change-up in his mid 30s.

However, batters in the NL have had a chance to study Hoffman for years now, and guess hitting the San Diego closer isn't a particularly daunting task when say, a change-up in the low 70s can give way to a fastball or a slider in the low to mid-80s.

After going under the knife for a major surgery five years ago, Hoffman's appearing to show signs of aging this season, allowing batters to pin him with an ERA over four for the first time ever in his career.

His inability to show up in clutch games

This one hurts me the most because I've been there time and time again to watch the guy no one can hit get clobbered when there's more than a few thousand San Diegans chattering about the weather while watching him.

The 2007 NL Tie-Breaker Game, the 2006 All-Star Game, the 1996 NLDS against the Cardinals, Game Three of the 1998 World Series...I'll stop there.

The one reason Mariano Rivera is talked about more, despite Hoffy owning the all-time saves record is the difference in their postseason records and overall clutch performances. Rivera's postseason ERA, for a reliever, is the best ever, and Hoffman has a loss and two blown saves in little more than 10 appearances.

The "legend" factor

I already mentioned greats like Mays and Ruth not hanging it up at the appropriate time earlier in this article, and it's definitely something Hoffman should keep in mind.

Heck, he could just remember back to when Tony Gwynn was limited to pinch-hitting duties earlier this decade due to his chronic injuries and inability to let go of the game.

Hoffman is a lock for the Hall of Fame. He owns the greatest record available to relief pitchers and is a symbol of baseball in San Diego.

For all the muckraking I did in this article, I also suppressed hundreds of great memories that Trevor has given the franchise and its fans since 1993. And thus, it's time for Trevor to step aside lest that mixture of boos and cheers turn into full-on boos in the future.

Paraphrasing a line from a fellow San Diego Padre fan (who borrowed the same line from Batman: The Dark Knight): Why linger long enough to let yourself turn from a hero into a villain?