I can remember my reaction to the 1969 announcement that the majors were putting expansion franchises in Seattle (the Pilots), Montreal (the Expos), Kansas City (the Royals) and San Diego — “San Diego? Are the kidding? How many people are there in San Diego?” It seemed like a fantasy, or a shameless reach. The American and National Leagues were competitive, balanced . . . interesting. Now, though, there would be four official doormats, including a team named (get this) the Padres. And for what: a shade more revenue? A dilution of talent? It’s not as if the people of Montreal, Seattle, Kansas City or San Diego were exactly clamoring for a team — there were no public marches, no grand petitions. Above all, the expansion decision meant extra time spent assessing the qualities of new meat: Tommy Dean, Ed Spezio, Ollie Brown. Oh, and Nate Colbert — a young Houston castoff whose first years defined the Friars, and led to my (admittedly irritating) habit of naming teams for their players. They weren’t the Padres, they were the San Diego “Colberts,” a perhaps too-cheeky dismissal of their claim to a place in the hearts and minds of baseball afficianados.

The Padres were an afterthought, no more than a footnote really, until 1974, when the hobbled and aging Willie McCovey came down from San Francisco to give the franchise legitimacy — and to put bodies in the seats. This must have been an MLB decision, for I can’t imagine Willie ever agreeing to accept a San Diego assignment willingly. “Go down there Willie and see if you can’t help these people out,” I imagined Bowie Kuhn saying. McCovey didn’t make the Padres winners, of course, but his arrival signaled a new seriousness on the part of San Diego’s ownership. It was during the first home game of 1974 that new owner Ray Kroc grabbed a microphone and apologized to the fans for fielding such a lousy team. “I’ve never seen such stupid ballplaying in my life,” Kroc intoned. Yeah, well . . . if Kroc had looked a little more closely he would have seen a San Diego ballclub that, despite their 60-102 record, was on the road back. For out there in left field (on the other side of the diamond from McCovey), was a 22-year-old Minnesota prospect, Dave Winfield, while standing in the bullpen (ready to begin his second season in the Padres’ rotation) was a 24-year-old curve-and-sinker specialist by the name of Randy Jones.

Jones was not an immediate success. In the year that Kroc berated his own team, Jones compiled a record that ranks as among the most futile in all of Padres’s history — 8-22 with a 4.45 ERA. It’s a wonder that Padres’ manager John McNamara kept running him out there, game after embarrassing game. But “Johnny Mac” saw something in Jones that others would not or could not recognize: an almost obsessive desire to win and (oh yeah) a sinker that (when it was thrown well) was absolutely unhittable. The Jones sinker hardly sunk at all in 1974 — but the puffy-haired semi-Afro wearing Californian went 20-12 the next year (and helped the Padres climb out of the cellar) and an astounding 22-14 in 1975, when Jones pitched in 40 games and completed 25. The world noticed. SI put Jones on its cover (“Threat To Win 30″) and Topps printed a card that showed Jones paired with Baltimore ace Jim Palmer.

Sadly, but perhaps predictably, Randy Jones was never better than he was when SI decided to put him on its cover. While Jim Palmer went on to a Hall of Fame career, Jones reverted to form: his sinker lost its edge, his arm tired, and his record over the next six years (43-69) seemed to prove the adage that while strike out pitchers succeed, ground ball pitchers fail. Jones ended up in New York (the Mets have a penchant for signing end-of-career burn outs) and then was out of baseball. In retirement, Jones perfected a line of baseball barbecue sauces (Randy Jones Original Baseball Barbecue Sauce, Inc.), and gave private pitching lessons to young and talented pitchers — including (in one notorious case) Barry Zito. Jones is an exacting  teacher and an apparently good one: he began coaching Zito when the lefthander was 12 and watched proudly when he won his first Cy Young.”It was great to inspire him,” he told a reporter back in 2002. Jones remains a part of the Padres community outreach efforts, speaking on behalf of the team to business and community groups and he has his own program on the Outdoor Channel — “Randy Jones Strike Zone.”

For me, at least, Randy Jones defines what it means to be a Padre. The Padres are (like Jones) a bright meteor of a team that, from time to time, will shock and awe before reverting to what they were in their darkest years: a left coast footnote waiting for an identity. Jones would probably and emphatically disagree. But Jones, more than either Colbert or Winfield (who went on to the Hall of Fame) is quintessentially San Diego. Then too, to give him his due, for a short time in the mid-1970s (when his sinker was sinking), Randy Jones was not only the hair-flying junk-ball master of San Diego — he was the best pitcher in baseball.

Padres’ fans will undoubtedly take issue with that description, arguing that the Padres are a successful franchise that is deeply rooted in the San Diego community. That’s true now, but it wasn’t for many years. In 1974, the Padres were on the verge of coming to Washington — baseball card companies had even changed their card design to reflect the move. Instead, the team was sold to McDonald’s mogul Ray Kroc who, the next year, apologized to fans for his teams’ play over the team’s public address system: “I’ve never seen such stupid playing in my life,” he said. Padres’ fans will also point out that the team’s front office has a reputation for savvy trades: landing Gonzalez from Texas in 2006 for minor leaguer Billy Killian and pitchers Adam Eaton (now with Baltimore) and Akinori Otsuka. True enough. But for every Killian-for-Gonzalez trade there is an offsetting and haunting swap: like the 1981 trade that sent superstar Ozzie Smith to St. Louis in exchange for Sixto Lezcano and Gary Templeton. Padres’ fans are also quick to note that perhaps baseball’s best all-time reliever, Trevor Hoffman, was a Friars’ mainstay before moving onto Milwaukee at the beginning of the year. That’s true, but it’s also irrelevant. That was then, this is now.

The 2009 San Diego Padres bear no resemblance to the 1984 NL champs, nor the 1998 Gwynn-Hoffman nine (which lost the series in four to the Yankees) nor even to the 2006 Western Division winners. While the team has gained a cadre of dedicated fans (and committed themselves to San Diego with the building of Petco Park in 2004) last year’s cash-strapped Padres finished the season with 99 losses and have been in rebuilding mode since: attempting to off-load all star pitcher Jake Peavy for prospects and dangling Gonzalez to teams in lieu of paying him added millions when his contract is up in 2010. The club was also victimized by an off-season divorce of primary owner John Moores’ and his wife Rebecca, who fought for custody of their lavish houses — and the Padres. This is the team’s story: not of on-the-field heroes, but off-the-field eccentrics who have been undercapitalized (first owner C. Arnholdt Smith), weird (Ray Kroc), parsimonious (TV producer Tom Werner) and absent (Moores, who rarely attends Padres’ game).

Still, it is hardly the place of Nats’ fans to scoff at such a history. The Padres boast one of the games best pitchers (in Peavy, who is now on the DL) and one of its potential greats (in Gonzalez). An all star pitcher? One of baseball’s potential greats? The Nats have neither. The Nats take on the Padres in a three-game set beginning at Nationals’ Park tonight, with Garrett Mock (0-3) facing off against Matt Latos (0-1). The two teams will face-off again tomorrow (Tim Staufer is scheduled to go against J.D. Martin) and then on Sunday (with Chad Gaudin slated to face John Lannan).