Bill Conlin: Werth's a nice player, but c'mon Nationals

SCOTT BORAS sold the Washington Nationals the Brooklyn Bridge yesterday. Told general manager Mike Rizzo it's a great deal because in a few years the bridge will be carrying auto traffic instead of horses and buggies.

Scott Boras sold the Nationals 1,000 acres of oceanfront property in the Sahara desert. Convinced owner Ted Lerner it's a great deal because Ted's buddy, Al Gore, says in a few hundred years the Mediterranean Sea will be lapping at the edge of the property. Just think of the condo potential.

Boras is the agent for both of major league baseball's last two megabuck, can't-miss, better than Roger Clemens and Babe Ruth, first-round picks. He scored amazing deals for 2009 No. 1, Stephen Strasburg, and 17-year-old seven- or eight-tool phenom Bryce Harper.

And yesterday, Jayson Werth's agent hit the lobby-minglers schmoozing before the first official day of baseball's winter meetings in Orlando, Fla., with the impact of a 10-degree orange-crop freeze.

Jaws dropped so far open they had to sound like a 21-gun salute when the late-afternoon press conference was called announcing the last-place bleeping Washington Nationals had signed the former Phillies rightfielder to a free-agent contract for 7 years and $126 million.

One-hundred-twenty-six-million for 7 years.

That's an average of $18 million a year guaranteed through the year 2018, when Werth will turn 39. He will be 32 May 20.

But Mike Rizzo, apparently a gerontologist in his spare time, said with confidence that Werth's "best years are ahead of him." I immediately thought of Steve Carlton's personal trainer and guru, Gus Hoefling, predicting Lefty would pitch until he was in his 50s.

When I assumed in a column last week that Boras would use Werth to set the 2010 position-player free-agent market, I should have said, "set the 2010 free-agent market on its ear."

Carl Crawford, by far the youngest and most gifted position-player free agent, had to be on his knees somewhere sighing, "Thank you, Jesus . . . "

If a soon-to-be-32 outfielder with a history of wrist injuries that took years to heal can command numbers and length of contract in the range of, yes, absurdity, what will a 29-year-old All-Star with a Sistine Chapel ceiling take to the bank?

The mind boggles . . .