BALTIMORE _ Chris Davis, the disaster within the disaster that was the 2018 Orioles season _ the worst in the team's history _ must be the most self-conscious man in the country. I mean, wouldn't you be?
A few years ago, he was Crush. Now he's Crash. (And even that nickname doesn't work because it's already taken, permanently engraved in baseball culture by Kevin Costner's portrayal of a minor-league catcher by that name in "Bull Durham.")
I won't go into the statistics because they are too shocking and painful to put into print again. Besides, by now, everybody knows about Chris Davis and his epic collapse as a slugger, a collapse so severe he might never recover. And, of course, all the millions in his seven-year contract compound and amplify the calamity.
I am not he. You are not he. Only he is he. Only Davis knows how Davis truly feels about what happened this past season. I assume the man must be profoundly embarrassed by the paradox of his hitting decline and his financial ascent. I mean, you would have to have the emotional constitution of a door _ or Donald J. Trump _ not to be. I will even speculate that Davis feels guilty about all the money.
Again, I am not he. You are not he. Only he is he. Only Davis can decide what happens next.
But I have called this meeting to stick my nose in his business because, for one thing, unless the Angelos family finds some way of cutting him loose, Davis is going to be around for a while.
More importantly: Fans still care about the guy. No matter how awful he looks at the plate, he is still Crush to most Orioles' fans. A lot of us were pleased and relieved that, after hitting 47 home runs in 2015 _ a tragic and tense year in Baltimore _ Davis signed that big contract to stay here. We want to see him smile again. We want him to be happy, not miserable, with his millions.
Nobody, including Davis, asked me, but I think he has three options:
