Editor's Note: This story appears in the May 22 edition of ESPN The Magazine. To subscribe, please click here.
Jeff Weaver knows what you think of him.
He hears you snickering even now, about the
meltdowns in Detroit and the Bronx, about the screaming into his glove,
about the body language so obvious it reads like closed captioning for the
hearing-impaired. He knows you have him pegged as a punch line: the soft
surfer dude who couldn't cut it in New York, the hothead hot prospect who
never really panned out.