There isn’t a whole lot about the last couple of days that I’d like to talk about, so instead I’d like to talk about a man who’s turning 37 today, a fellow from Gastonia, NC by the name of Wes Helms. Sure, you probably remember that Mac called him “Smelms,” and there’s a reasonable chance that he frustrated you. He was really very bad in a Braves uniform, hitting .234/.287/.423 with approximately -0.5 WAR in 488 plate appearances scattered over parts of four different seasons.

Then, as he came back to Atlanta rather often over the course of the next decade, he had a frustrating knack for killing us. Somehow, he hit .284/.369/.496 in 160 PA against us, which you’ll note is rather higher than his career .256/.318/.405 mark.

I come not to bury Wes Helms, but to praise him. He was a barrel-chested right-handed third baseman who couldn’t really field and couldn’t really hit, and he managed a 13-year career in the majors as a platoon infielder with pop. His -1.5 career WAR testify to the fact that the Braves fans got it right all along, but his years of service testify to something else entirely — his persistence. He played in three different decades, for Pete’s sake, the ’90s, the ’00s, and the ’10s.

He was a 10th round pick out of a high school in North Carolina whose chief claim to fame is having produced James Worthy; before Wes came along, the only other professional baseball player picked from the school was Wade Frye, a 20th-round pick in 1971 who never made it out of A-ball. If he hadn’t come up with the Braves, I doubt that I’d ever remember him. But he was ours, and I’m proud of the guy.

Have a piece of cake, Wesley Ray.