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Bang! went the shotgun. Only louder. Shotguns are louder than you think, at least up close.

"Ahhh!" cried Luis Ayala.

"God dammit," growled the vice president. "You shouldn't get in my way like that."

"Ahhh!" cried Ayala again. "You shot me! It burns! In my arm!"

"Didn't you ever learn gun safety?" the vice president asked. "When I point my gun at you, you're supposed to get out of the way. Fer chrissake."

"Ahhh!" Ayala cried again. "You shot my arm, man! Am I bleeding?"

"You face looks fine," the vice president said. "But I'm still waiting for your apology."

"What?" Ayala asked.

"We're not moving until you apologize," the vice president said.

"Ahhh!" Ayala cried again. "You shot me! In the arm!"

"Dammit," the vice president said. "You blocked my shot, and now you're acting like you're the victim here. I am sick and tired of hunting with people who block my shots."

"I was standing behind you," Ayala said. "Ahhh! Crap, that stings, man! Will you just take a look at my arm?"

"Looks like your left arm," the vice president said.

"So?" Ayala said. "Come look at it. Is there blood?"

"So you pitch with your right arm, not your left," the vice president said. "Don't be such a crybaby. Now tell me you're sorry and we can keep going. There's more grouse still out in the field."

"Ahhh!" Ayala said. "I think I am bleeding. Cripes. I'm calling my agent."

"Garr," the vice president said. "Get a lawyer involved. Great. That's just great. Typical prima donna. Fine. I'll call the Secret Service truck and we'll go back to the cabin. But I'm not taking you hunting again until you apologize, like the last guy who blocked my shot."

"Ahhh!"

"Fer chrissakes. The whole damn day ruined."

P.T. Bowden acquires Wily Mo Pena from Red Sox for a player to be named later.

Former Commie Wily Mo may or may not be a great addition to the team at a very low price. But for the love of Pete, can someone please tell Bowden that it's high time he gets over the fact he's not with Cincinnati anymore?

Wait, so the hot competition this spring is between Ryan Church, who is capable of playing center but is slated to start in left, and Chris Snelling, for the left field job. Then centerfielder-designate Nookular goes down with a groin injury, and the solution to this problem is to bring up Rogearvin Bernadina from Potomac?

How does the solution not involve moving Church to center, starting Snelling in left, and then proceeding to hit the crap out of the ball with a solid, old-fashioned outfield? Granted, the loss of Nookular leaves the Nationals without a leadoff batter, as P.T. Bowden defines leadoff batter ("Lēd-off Bæt-er (n.): The skinniest batter on a team who also has some speed, without regard to ability to hit or take walks; preferably a batter more adept at hitting sacrifice bunts than line drives"). But if P.T. Bowden feels that strongly about leading off with a speedy bunter who doesn't walk, why not just bat the pitcher first and keep the strongest hitters in the outfield? Or Guzman? He's as much a leadoff batter as he is a number-two hitter. In fact, leading off would eliminate Six-Three's chances of hitting into a double play his first time up.

Issues of P.T. Bowden's expectations for a non-hitting leadoff batter aside, what confuses BallWonk is that a good-hitting but defensively average outfield of Snelling-Church-Kearns is exactly the kind of old-school, pre-Moneyball setup P.T. Bowden seems to have in his blood. How is it that the one time BW thinks the team should do it the stuck-in-the-mud traditional way and just fill the garden with hitters, P.T. Bowden is all about centerfield defense?

Other weekend developments:

1. BallWonk is very, very confused about first base. Travis Lee just up and retiring on account of lack of passion? Huh? Or was that more on the order of

P.T. Bowden: Travis, what would you say to starting the season with Columbus?

Travis Lee: I'd really rather not, sir.

P.T. Bowden: Sound like you don't have a real passion for the game anymore, Travis.

But if "passion" is what we want in a first baseman, then Young is probably the guy. No lack of passion there. Though BallWonk would not mind seeing Dmitri Lawrenceovich develop a passion for buying a larger glove.

As to Long John spending the last week and a half showing signs of continued arm weakness and then all but passing out from dehydration, BW doesn't know what to think. Is this trouble? With a capital T and that rhymes with D and that stands for team doctors? Injury-wise, Montreal/Washington has been the most snakebit team in the majors for about six years now. Are we somehow accidentally hiring only players with a CON score of 8 or less? Or is the constant drumbeat of nagging and often bizarre injuries a sign that maybe the Nationals need a better HMO? Are the rumors true that all of the medical students Reagan rescued from Grenada are now practicing physicians on the Nationals staff?

Somewhere in the bowels of the Nationals war room, James Carville wrote on the whiteboard, "It's the Pitching, Stupid." At least for the first couple of weeks of Spring Training, that's what everybody is watching. A bat inning or two now can spell disaster for any one of the 21,500 potential starters surged into camp. Which is why this was a bad weekend to be Joel Hanrahan. Yeah, it's Spring Training and all, and sure, the other team is wearing orange clown suits, but even so the Nationals expect a pitcher to get more than 14 percent of all batters faced out.

But it was a good weekend for Long John Patterson, who managed to get through two innings without severing his throwing arm, the only thing that would stop him from being our number-one starter, and for Matt Chico, who probably just earned himself the number-three spot just on account of being a lefty who can throw a ball more than sixty-one feet. And how about that Billy Traber putting his breaking ball down and in against righties? Second prettiest thing BallWonk saw all weekend.

Today, then, is proving day for Jerome Williams and his Hawaiian punch. Sure, Da Kine will probably get a second look if he flops in today's start, but maybe not much more than that. Call him irrational, but BW is really hoping Williams can pull it back together this season and make the Nationals rotation. Not that BallWonk needs an excuse to mix up a batch of Dave & Anna's mai tais, but Da Kine pitching every fifth day would be a pretty good justification.

At 2:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, Friday, March 2, 2007, Ryan Zimmerman hit the Nationals' first home run of the season, a two-run shot to center.

This after falling behind in the count 0-2 on a called strike and a whiff. Turned that right around, and went 2-for-3 on the day. Way to go, Z-Man!

District Attorney's Office, Feb. 20, 4:30 p.m.

The crotchety old district attorney waved his hand across his desk. "We both know relief pitchers don't win salary arbitration hearings. I don't care about your ego, you call the GM and you make a deal. Just get this case off your desk!"

McCoy turned, his dander up. "I've tried! They won't go higher than $3.65 million. This is a first-degree closer -- I can't go lower than $4.15 million. If you want to go below that, take me off the case."

"I ought to." But the crotchety old DA just waved dismissively again. "Fine. Your case, your loss when you take it to trial."

A knock at the door. The young assistant prosecutor poked into the room, waving a blue sheaf. "Defense motion. Get this: They want to exclude any mention of 'saves.'"

"On what grounds?" McCoy was even furiouser.

"They're challenging the scientific validity of it as a statistic, and that in light of the questionable science it would be too prejudicial to introduce at trial."

McCoy was fuming so badly he squeaked as he replied. "That's a matter for the jury to decide!"

"No," the crotchety old DA said, "It's a matter for you to prove to the judge or there won't be a trial. Have Briscoe and Green look for more evidence."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

###

Boston Massachusetts, Feb. 20, 11:25 a.m.

"Come on in. What can I do for you, detectives -- ?"

"Detectives Green and Briscoe," Green said. "Mr. James, we're here following up on the Cordero arbitration case."

"Oh my, the salary dispute that's been in all the papers? How can I help with that?"

"Well, we have some questions about saves."

"You mean saves for relief pitchers?"

"No, we mean the other kind," Briscoe said wryly.

"Right, well, what is it you want to know?"

Green glanced at Briscoe and went on. "Explain saves to us."

"Well, according to rule 10.20 of Major League Baseball, a relief pitcher who finishes a game is credited with a save if he enters the game with his team in the lead and the tying run on deck, or with a three-run lead or less and he pitches at least one inning, and his team maintains its lead and wins the game. Or if he pitches effectively for the last three innings, but isn't eligible for the victory."

"So it's in the rule book," Green said. "That makes it official."

"Official, yes. But you see, in order to enter the game with a three-run lead in the top of the ninth and blow that lead even half the time, you'd have to have an ERA of at least 13.50. You know what they give pitchers who post a 13.50 ERA?"

"Let me guess: a bus ticket to Vermont?" Briscoe said in a cynical tone.

"Right. So really, except for someone who has some sort of psychological problem handling pressure, any relief pitcher in the major leagues would convert most of his save opportunities. For example, if you have an ERA of 4.50, you'll still hold a one-run lead for an inning half of the time. So, yeah, saves are official stats, but they don't mean much more than when a teacher gives a kid a little foil star for attendance."

"A stat for just showing up?" Green asked.

"Hey, don't knock the value of just showing up," Briscoe said with an ironic voice. "Just ask Cal Ripken how he got to the Hall of Fame, or ask my third wife why she's my ex."

"Yes, and also ask any GM about the difference in value between two otherwise equal relief pitchers, one of whom has 30 saves and the other has none. Teams want closers, and closers get saves, so they bid up the value of any relief pitcher who has saves."

###

Salary Arbitration Court, Trial Part 22

"So really, there is no such thing as a so-called 'save,' is there, Mr. Bowden?"

"No. It's a completely meaningless stat."

"Thank you. I have no further questions for this witness."

The lead judge stirred. "Cross-examination, Mr. McCoy?"

McCoy screwed the look of bewildered outrage back onto his face. "Mr. Bowden, do you really expect us to believe that there is no such thing as a save?"

"That's the truth."

"Oh really? People's exhibit number five. The Nationals 2006 Media Guide. Mr. Bowden, would you please read from page 306, the highlighted portion?"

The witness paged through the glossy book. "Franchise pitching records, single season. Saves. Number one, Chad Cordero, 47 in 2005."

"I believe there's an asterisk."

"Yes. That means he led the league."

"So it's right there in your own team's book. The franchise record for saves. The league leader in saves. Seems like a lot of effort to go to keeping track of something that doesn't exist."

"Well, yes, but Chad only had 29 saves in 2006, so it's not the kind of stat that --"

"Ah hah! So when a player's saves drop from one year to the next, then saves are real enough for you?"

"No, I mean, I --"

"And when the Red Sox call you to ask about trading for Mr. Cordero, do you mention that he led the league in saves just the other year?"

"Well, of course. I have to --"

"So it seems, Mr. Bowden, that you treat saves as a real stat everywhere else but in this courtroom. Isn't that right?"

"I --"

"When it helps you to drum up fan excitement or to increase the value of your trades, then saves are very real, very important to you, isn't that what you're telling us?"

"Objection! Asked and answered," Bowden's attorney said.

"And when it helps you to avoid paying a player what he's worth, suddenly you've never even heard of saves, isn't that right?" McCoy went on.

"Sustained. Move on, Mr. McCoy."

"It seems awfully convenient, for you, Mr. Bowden, how saves are real when they help you and nonexistent when they don't. Isn't that what you're really telling us?"

"Your honor!"

"That's enough, Mr. McCoy."

"I'm through with this witness," McCoy shrugged in disgust.

###

Salary Arbitration Court, Trial Part 27

Dressed in his best blue blazer, Chad Cordero glanced meaningfully toward the prosecution table. McCoy was staring eagerly at the judge, but the pretty assistant caught Cordero's glance. They smiled nervously.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" The lead judge asked.

"We have, your honor."

The bailiff passed the verdict form to the judges, who reviewed it, and passed it back to be read.

"We find that Chad Cordero is a first-degree closer, and order the Nationals to pay him $4.15 million."

McCoy nodded in triumph.

###

District Attorney's Office, Feb. 22, 8:04 p.m.

Waiting for the elevator, the crotchety old DA turned to McCoy and his assistant. "Congratulations. You won the impossible case. Got your man an extra $500,000."

"Ah," McCoy chuckled, shaking his head. "If the Nationals had won, they'd have saved half a million dollars. But by losing, they have the arbitrator's official verdict that Cordero is a premier young closser. All we did was help the Nationals package Cordero for a more valuable trade. They win either way."

The elevator arrived, and they stepped on.

"Well, at least you got your client the money he deserves," the crotchety old DA said flintily.

"And maybe a ticket to Boston, too."

The elevator doors closed behind them.

Hmmm. So Six-Three's bionic shoulder is healed after all. He wants to start playing again despite a little minor soreness. But the Nationals are all like, "No, Guzzie, don't worry about us. We'll be fine. You just stay home and rest until you're back up to 100 percent. We'll hold down the fort."

And while Actavate is telling Six-Three to stay in bed just a few days longer, Diamond Jim Bowden called Randstad looking for an infield temp; they sent over Ronnie Belliard. Ronnie is sort of an anti-Mary Poppins: He's practically average in every way. Which also makes him sort of an anti-Guzman as well, but in the other direction. If you're Diamond Jim or Actavate, you've gotta be groaning when you compare your options: Felipez at short and Belliard at second, or Six-Three at short and Felipez at second. Now, if Six-Three plays like he did in 2001, when he finished 16th in the MVP voting, then option number two would be your choice. But if Six-Three plays like he has in any other season in his pro career, then you kind of want him to nurse that sore shoulder for a while longer. Until November, maybe.

Which probably explains the Nintendo Wii and the book of Domino's gift certificates Diamond Jim had delivered to Six-Three's condo today. "Just concentrate on getting better," read the attached note. "Take as much time as you need."

A week into Spring Training, and things are starting to get serious. Officer Schneider is all over the press -- George Michael, WaPo, probably speaking on background to Novak -- assuring everyone that (1) The Nationals cannot possibly be as bad as everyone says they'll be, even if we have less hitting and a one-man rotation than 2006; and (2) Yes, he really can learn the names, pitches, and bizarre emotional quirks of all 21,500 pitchers invited to Viera as part of Stan the Plan's "surge" of arms into the rotation. And we finally have the long-awaited Six-Three preview piece that BallWonk was, um, long awaiting.

And the news from planet Guzman is not good. Remember, last year, we were told about how Six-Three was coming to camp healthy and fit for the first time, like, in his career, and he had brand-new bionic eyes with 60/20 vision that would allow him to count the atoms on the seams of approaching pitches? Not so much this year. Now it's all about how he's a proud guy and he sure has a lot to prove and oh, by the way, after a full season off he's not actually healthy yet, so if he keeps failing it's not really his fault or anything.

The WaPo Six-Three profile is enough to send BallWonk into full panic mode. Added to the news that Riker is now echoing Newt Gingrich about his plans -- "I'll get back to you in September" -- well, that maniacal screaming you hear is probably BallWonk.

Still, BW gleans from the Mannyger's statements that Tim Redding and Jerome Williams are in the rotation unless they use the spring to fail their ways out. BW has always liked Jerome's stuff. "Da Kine" has had some issues of late, but BW is pretty sure it's all in his head. Perfect candidate for Dr. St. Claire's patented treatments. Hope for a DC renaissance for Da Kine is something like a chrome lining at best, but when the clouds are this dark, BallWonk will settle for anything shiny at the fringes.

So our dear departed St. Vinny led Team Mexico to victory in the Caribbean Series yesterday and called it a career. (And who knew there were so many guys named "Corona" on Mexico's national team? Are they all brothers, like Bengie, Jose, Yadier, and Stephen Molina?)

Back when the Nationals were a first-place team, they were so in large part because St. Vinny had unleashed a bit of holy wrath, hitting for about six weeks like Washington was a mile high instead of inches above sea level. Not to mention that he was the prettiest National. At the hot corner, and at the dish, Vinny was ¡caliente!

Now that he's retired as the home-run-hittingest Mexican player ever, he hopes to make it in coaching. To which BallWonk can only say Godspeed, St. Vinny.

A Nationals-doubting BallWonk reader whose identity BW will protect writes,

Let's take it easy on the Zimmerman deification. I've seen Mike Schmidt play, and sir, Ryan Zimmerman is no Mike Schmidt. Ryan Zimmerman *is*, however, Austin Kearns. Their OPS was about the same last year (.822 v .830).

Last things first. Kearns did put up Zimmermanesque numbers in 2006. And to Power Austin's credit, the man can draw a walk. BW likes the walks, oh yes. But the "Power" in Power Austin's nickname comes mainly from homers. Comrade Bluegrass walks, he hits home runs, and he strikes out. The Z-man, however, shows much more power inside the park. Oh, he hits home runs, sure. But he also hits about one-third more doubles than his colleague in right field. RFK Canyon National Monument tends to punish teams that rely on the long ball for power; it rewards teams that can hit doubles. And the new digs at the Navy Yard will be only marginally better for home-run bashers. The Z-Man's kind of line-drive power is just more valuable to the Nationals than Power Austin's kind of long-fly power.

But to the point. BW also has seen Michael Jack Schmidt play. Not only is Michael Jack Schmidt BW's favorite ballplayer, BW further believes that if one were to choose a single player to be cloned for an eight-man lineup, a team of Schmidts would beat a team of any other player, including Ruth. Schmidt could field any position at least competently; at third, first, all three outfield positions, and possibly backstop Schmidt would be an above-average-to-superb fielder. Ruth would do OK in left and right, but otherwise Team Ruth's misplays up the middle and around the bases would more than make up for Team Schmidt's lesser power. So BW does not raise the Schmidt comparison lightly.

(Though the prolonged exposure to Phailers "fans" has lately shaken BW's Schmidt-love. Michael Jack, your hometown followers make BW wish he could quit you.)

As one who has seen Michael Jack Schmidt play, in person, in his best all-around season, BallWonk affirms that watching Zimmerman play does indeed remind him of Schmidt. Though BallWonk has a strict statistics policy, he will venture to back up his Z-love by appealing to cold, hard, numbers.

You know how many home runs Schmidt hit in the seasons when he was 20 and 21? Zero. Batting average before the season he turned 22? .000. On-base? .000. Slugging? .000. You know how many fielding outs Schmidt made at third base before the season he turned 22? Zero. Not a one. At the age when the Z-Man was getting his first taste of the big leagues, and racking up impressive numbers across the board, Mike Schmidt had other priorities.

But once Schmidt did decide to serve his team in the majors, it took him three seasons, until he was 24, to put up the kind of numbers Z-Man showed when he was 20 and 21. Schmidt was a below-average hitter in just about every way in 1972 and 1973, when he was 22 and 23. He didn't break out until '74, when he was 24. Even then, Schmidt wasn't doing anything Z-Man hadn't done when he was four years younger.

And in the field? Schmidt played a clean third base from the day he stepped into the Vet. What set him apart and made him the greatest third baseman of all time was his extraordinary range, which was a result of his incredible athleticism and his uncanny ability to read batters and position himself to make plays. Mike Schmidt rarely made plays that looked spectacular. You had to watch him over the course of a game or two, and watch the opposing third baseman, to realize Schmidt's greatness. Schmidt regularly made outs on balls that would be hits against any other team, and he usually made those outs look easy. True defensive greatness is when you make extraordinary plays look routine, and Schmidt did that more than any fielder at any position BW has ever seen with his own eyes. And that confidence of play and range didn't really come into Schmidt's game until that '74 season when he was 24.

But. At 21, Z-Man is already a better fielder than Schmidt was at 23. The average third baseman today fields as cleanly at Schmidt did at his best, though today's average third baseman accomplishes that clean glovework by sacrificing range. Zimmerman fields more cleanly than young Schmidt did, and his range is better than Schmidt's, and better than the league average to a similar degree than Schmidt's was over his peers, in his first seasons.

Has the Z-Man shown the kind of dominating greatness that Schmidt showed at the height of his career? No. But at young Ryan's age, neither had Michael Jack. At the age Zimmerman will be in 2007, Schmidt was having the worst rookie season of anyone in Cooperstown. His sophomore season wasn't much to look at either.

So in fact our Zimmerman compares well to young Mike Schmidt, whether you compare them by season or by age. Maybe Zimmerman at 22 is as good as he's ever going to get. Not many players peak at 21, but it's possible. Or maybe Zimmerman's performance will improve as he matures into his twenties, like most players do and like Schmidt did. If so, the comparisons to Michael Jack will continue, and will continue to be justified.

And to get to a Schmidtian level of all-time greatness, the Z-Man won't even have to double his own rookie productivity at bat and in the field. Like, you know, Mike Schmidt had to.