John Romano: Wander Franco avoids prison but is sentenced to a life of infamy

TAMPA, Fla. — It began with thunderous ovations, and ended in stunning disgrace.

Welcome to the career of Wander Franco, baseball’s fairy tale in reverse.

Franco walked away from his trial on sexual abuse charges in the Dominican Republic Thursday as a free, but broken, man. A two-year suspended sentence for an intimate relationship with an underaged girl kept the Rays shortstop out of prison but will almost certainly ruin any chance of returning to Major League Baseball. As a court clerk read the verdict, Franco dropped his head into his hands and appeared to wipe tears from his eyes.

In retrospect, he should consider himself fortunate.

The three-judge panel made it clear that they mostly believed the videotaped testimony of a then-14 year old who described herself as Franco’s girlfriend for four months in 2022-23 when he was 21, according to journalists in the Puerto Plata courtroom. The girl also described a financial arrangement between her mother and Franco, which led to the mother being sentenced to 10 years for trafficking and money laundering.

The idea that Franco somehow escaped prison time for dating a 14-year-old while sending money to her mother is astonishing and not likely to be so easily dismissed by MLB officials who will conduct their own investigation now that the legal proceedings have ended.

Once upon a time, Franco was baseball’s hottest prodigy. Taken out of school at age 12 and groomed for stardom, he was the can’t-miss kid, and he was all ours. Signed to a $3.85 million bonus by the Rays as a 16-year-old, he quickly embraced the idea of being the face of Tampa Bay baseball for the foreseeable future. And that was reflected in an 11-year, $182 million deal that was — and still is — the largest the Rays have ever given out.

His talent was uncommon and bordered on unreal. He was the game’s No. 1 prospect at age 19, was hitting postseason home runs at 20, was an All-Star at 22, and a month later was an internet villain after the victim hinted at their relationship on social media.

In the end, Franco flirted with immortality and ended up with infamy.

So how do you process the news today? Do you cheer for justice, or mourn for wasted talent? Do you believe he was somehow railroaded, or are you repulsed that he escaped with minor legal repercussions?

I would assume the Rays are mostly pleased with the resolution, although they have been careful not to speak extensively about Franco’s circumstances. Had he been acquitted — and somehow given a visa to return to the U.S. — the Rays might have been on the hook for the $164 million remaining on his contract. Even if the team was sold, that contract would be hanging in the balance as an outstanding debt.

Instead, with the guilty verdict, the Rays will likely be able to void the deal and not worry about the public relations nightmare of hanging his old No. 5 jersey in his locker.

It’s stunning to think about this way, but Franco has been gone almost as long as he was here. He made his MLB debut four years ago this week, hitting a three-run homer in his third plate appearance in the big leagues. Two years and two months later, he was pulled from the lineup before a Sunday afternoon game after the victim’s social media post and, soon after, he disappeared from Tampa Bay.

By then, Franco had already accomplished things only a handful of other shortstops had ever done at that age. We’re talking about players such as Cal Ripken Jr., Alex Rodriguez and Fernando Tatis Jr.

Franco may not be the first phenom to be sidetracked, but he will go down in history as among the most self-destructive.

Most of the others were pitchers whose arms blew out far too soon. Some were high draft picks or bonus babies who never lived up to the hype. When it comes to bona fide stars whose careers were interrupted in their early 20s, there are few comparisons. Maybe Tony Conigliaro, who was hit in the face with a pitch. Maybe, to a lesser degree, Cesar Cedeno.

Is it fair to throw Franco into a cauldron of eternal shame? That depends on your perspective, I suppose. And maybe on Franco, depending on what he does with the rest of his life.

During his time in Tampa Bay, he was mostly celebrated but could also be standoffish and immature. Which isn’t terribly surprising considering his fame and dedication to the game kept him from having a normal childhood. There were a couple of altercations with teammates, and manager Kevin Cash went so far as to send him home for a couple of days to readjust his attitude just months before the scandal broke.

Yet, despite the enormous pressure, instant riches and perpetual fame, the consequences are ultimately Franco’s alone.

There used to be a picture in the elevators at Tropicana Field that I recall whenever thinking about Franco. It’s a child on her 10th birthday holding a Franco sign with a pen and a ball for an autograph. Franco stands next to her, happily smiling and looking not that much older than the young fan.

In light of his conviction, the picture might seem creepy today, but I prefer to think of it in a more wistful manner.

Wander Franco could have been one of the greats. He should have been one of our all-time favorites.

Instead, he will be the cautionary story MLB officials use to warn young players. He will be the forgotten name that old baseball fans recall in barroom debates. He will be the baseball fairy tale that began with cheers but fell desperately shy of happily ever after.