[Tib]

Mercenary Mentality

The Denver Bandits were strong, winning 97 games and finishing 13 games ahead of second place Cleveland. Jim Middleton, Alex Alvarado, and Bobby Matthew led them at the plate and the tandem of Alandro Licon and Ferdinand Prados (the Golden Arm Award winner) each won 19 games. They were the favorites in the United League, but no one told the New York Admirals. Edging out Baltimore for the UL Wild Card, the Admirals eliminated Washington in three straight and shocked everyone by taking Denver in five games to advance to the Championship. Leading them was star shortstop and my former teammate Sean Pangle, who hit .330 with over 200 hits, the third time he’d done that in his career. Sean Pangle, who filed for free agency six days after I did. So, the Admirals knew they were losing their long-time shortstop, and Pangle knew it, too, and his performance during that playoff was only going to increase his asking price.

Pangle’s inspired post-season aside (and Norman Lacefield’s .394 average), the outstanding performances and great stories in the CBA in 2015 were in the Mutual League, starting with Steve McCammon winning the batting title.

Moose won the ML batting crown by hitting .337/28/106 in 144 games. And that vicious swing he had all those years ago in Hinesville, well, he refined it, shortened it, and learned to see pitches better. He didn’t just drive the barrel at the ball, he swung through it. Now he was a batting champion.

He also led Montreal’s pitching staff to a league low and franchise record 3.13 team ERA, a tremendous performance that was the result of a lot of things coming together all at once. Moose had always been good with pitchers, showing confidence in his guys all the time and cracking the whip when necessary. Moose was a realist when it came to pitchers, and he never tiptoed around their feelings, but he was also their biggest proponent because he could see potential, even in a bad performance, which is the hallmark of all the great rotation managers in baseball history. Faraday, McCall, Morenz, Boganefsky. They all had it. Now Moose was in their elite company. The entire Blue Sox pitching staff took out a full-page ad in the Montreal Globe-News thanking him for making their historic accomplishment possible. Licon and Prados both won 19 games, but Patricio Fortunato and Rick Minshew both won 16. Salvie Cruz saved 37. And they all gave credit to Moose. And he did it all under the cloud of arbitration. If Montreal wanted to keep him, they were going to have to pay. I wanted to call him, congratulate him, but I didn’t.

Elsewhere in the ML, it was a season of runaways. San Diego, the team no one wanted to play for three years ago (including me), won 101 games and took the Western Division by 27 games. Three other teams in the West lost over 90 games. San Diego had no player earning more than $7 million.

And winning the division by 27 games should be some kind of record, right? In a normal season it would have been, but in 2015? Nope. The Chicago Chiefs, lit by the blazing sun that was Suturu Teikase (24-5), won 118 games and took the Central by 36 games over second place Houston. 36 games. It’s still the record, of course, and is not likely to be eclipsed for decades. So, too, was Teikase’s 1.00 ERA. Can you imagine? 1.00. The lowest season ERA in the history of baseball and that includes the ABA and the CBA and any league that formed after 1856 that didn’t play in a pasture, use flour for baselines, and suspend play after the fifth inning to have a picnic. My only question is: how the hell did Teikase lose five decisions?

After Moose’s Blue Sox eliminated the Vipers, a victory that had bookmakers pulling their hair out, they lost to the Chiefs in five games. In the Championship, Pangle’s Admirals were no match for Teikase and his Chiefs and they fell to Chicago in five. It was bedlam in Chicago for a few days, and I celebrated as well, because at least a Chicago team was champion. Gwen worked the victory parade and I took the kids downtown and cheered from the curb.

And as soon as Bernardo Ayon’s fly ball was snagged on the run by Chad Kraft for the final out, Money Season had officially begun. Money Season doesn’t start right away, though. A few things have to happen first. In the two weeks after the last out, postseason awards are announced, arbitration and free agent lists are verified, and everyone gets a call from their agent.

As for awards, Benji Gillingham won Defensive Ace for right field for the second time, a well-earned accolade. The UL Defensive Ace for shortstop went to Washington’s Steve Sarachaga, an outstanding glove who had an incredible 633 chances that year. I finished third in the voting and I was happy to get the votes I got. Personally, it was the best defensive year of my career, only 14 errors. Over the last 25 years in the UL only one other shortstop had fewer than 15 errors in 550+ chances. You may have heard of him: Horatio Munoz.

As for free agent lists, players believe declaring early gets you a small advantage because teams see it and start calculating an offer. Basically, you can be in their plans a little sooner than the guys who wait. Guys who wait to declare are usually feeling out the team for a possible post-season contract extension. It’s a reflection of the player/team trust that might still be there. It’s a small gamble, but sometimes worth it. Regardless, in the two weeks after the season was over, 165 players signed extensions and 81 filed.

One of those late filers was Joel Kral. When I called him, he said talks with the Colts had chilled over the last two months of the season, and he wasn’t sure why. He said his agent told him it was because he just turned 32 and would probably be worth about $8 million a year. He also said Los Angeles was nice, but he wouldn’t mind going someplace else. He said he felt the pressure this time a little more because he and Kaleigh were expecting their first child in February. I asked him where he wanted to go and he said he wasn’t much for big cities but didn’t care as long as he felt he could make a contribution.

“Thirty-two homers a year is quite a big contribution,” I said.

“And I’ve stayed healthy, which should help,” he said, then added, “I talked to Von last week and he said he talked to Cleveland about both of us.”

“They got Valera,” I said. “They don’t need me.”

“Yeah, and they got Tobin in left, too. And he’s younger than me,” said Joel. “I think Von just sees us both as signable. It was kind of big for him to go out and say so.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t usually do that kind of thing. Maybe he wants to get the Squires back together again.”

“That would be great,” said Joel.

“I’ve almost forgot what it feels like,” I said.

“What?”

“I don’t know. To chase something great? To be part of something special? Chicago came with an expectation. It was so professional, so businesslike here. Guys were pros here, and that’s fine, but the passion, the love of it all… it got snuffed sometimes by a predatory media and the weight of all the history. I mean, this town still thinks each team is the ’32 team.”

“I know what you mean. I still sometimes think about the KC days.”

“Me too.”

“Did you know KC still has Squires t-shirts in their e-store, in the retro section? And the Squires baseball card from that year, the one with all of us on it, is worth eleven dollars?”

“A whole eleven dollars?” I said sarcastically.

“Hey, that’s a lot,” said Joel. “I have nine of them.”

“Well save one for me then.”

“I already am,” he said. Good ol’ Rhino.

After the call I ordered a Comanches onesie for the baby and a card addressed: “To Baby Kral from Uncle Dave and Auntie Gwen.”

I also called Bobby Nitta, who went down with a bad elbow at the end of the season. He was doing okay, he said, but the team is pushing for surgery. He’d had arm injuries before, but this one scared him. “I’m not so young anymore, Davey. And it’s not just about getting hurt. Hurt gets repaired. It’s about getting damaged.” I told him I knew exactly what he meant. “About free agency, get the most you can get, because you never know,” he added.

“I will,” I said.

Then it hit me: the truth about free agency -- the real truth. So much uncertainty. So many unknowns. The successes of the past do not guarantee anything. I was about to negotiate the terms and conditions of the rest of my career with people I didn’t really know, people who were going to try to get the best of me in talks and the best out of me on the field. And they didn’t know what was going to happen either. It was best case scenario vs. worst case scenario sprinkled with a few million dollars’ worth of economic commitment. Which is why my “strategy team” told me what they told me during our conference call.

“You are a mercenary now,” they said. “You need to have the mercenary mentality because they are going to. You are a killer, you are in fantastic physical shape, you are a proven veteran, you do not have to rise to championship level because you are already there. They cannot expect more of you than you expect of yourself. And if they want all that they are going to have to pay for it.”

“Got it,” I said.

“They are not your friends. They are not your fans. They want what they want because they want it, like you do. Pressure pushes both ways. They have jobs to do and people to impress, too.”

“Mercenary mentality,” I said. “No problem.”

“Based on our analysis of current team economics, we believe there will be four to six teams with interest, and of those only two or three will prove to be serious. Our job is to get those teams into a bidding war for your services. We have already eliminated three teams because they didn’t have the level of commitment we wanted to see.”

“Really? What teams?”

“Doesn’t matter,” they said. “They no longer exist as realities in this situation.”

“Wouldn’t it be good to know, in case --.”

“It would not be good to know. You want to know because you’re a player and players always want to know. Focus now. Do you want to waste time talking to teams that will low-ball you?”

“I guess not.”

“You don’t guess not. The correct answer is ‘****, no.’”

“**** no.”

“There you go. If it keeps you up at night, after all this is over we’ll tell you, but not while there’s money to be made and years of service to negotiate.”

“Fair enough. So what happens now?”

“We discuss offers. Want to know what’s on the table right now?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Keep in mind these are first offers and first offers are like the first waffle: they are ugly and no one wants them. They do not represent any kind of reasonable payment for your services. Our job is to bring these teams into reality, to make them cook you a good waffle, a waffle so big it will feed your entire family for four years. The counteroffer is an art in itself and we are artists. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. San Francisco Gulls: 3 years, $2.9 million per, no signing bonus, no player option. Pittsburgh Cannons: 2 years, $3 million per, $500k bonus with a team option. Miami Gators: 4 years, $2.5 million per, $750k bonus with a team option.”

There was a pause. “Is that it?”

“Not remotely. New York Scouts: 2 years, $2.75 million per, no bonus, but a membership at Glen Lakes Country Club and a new Cadillac Grand Estate performance SUV, no option. Lastly, the Detroit Monarchs: 3 years, $3.2 million, $800k bonus and an 1,800 square foot penthouse apartment in Robert Melton’s own building, no option.”

“Each of these is less than I’m making right now,” I said.

“Which is why we have sent each of these teams a bag of dog ****.”

There was another pause. “You didn’t really --.”

“Of course not, Dave,” they said. “We are professionals here. We sent them gift-wrapped.”

“You’re not serious,” I said. “Are you serious?”

“No, we are not serious. Are you ready for the real offers?”

“After those, I very much am.”

“Okay. Philadelphia Rebels: 2 years, $3.7 million per, $500k bonus, player option. St. Louis Tornadoes: 3 years, $3.8 million per, $600k bonus, team option. Baltimore Steamers: 4 years, $3.7 million per, $1 million bonus, team option. New York Admirals: 4 years, $4.1 million per, $1 million bonus with player option.”

“I like those better.”

“We thought you might. Of these we consider Baltimore and New York the closest to reality.”

“New York Scouts or New York Admirals?”

“Admirals, Dave. The Scouts offered you a car and a country club membership. What kind of flea market **** is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s like they invited you to dinner and heated up some leftovers for you. Would that make you feel special?”

“I guess not.”

“Not guess not….”

“**** no,” I said.

“There you go,” they said. “It really comes down to New York and Baltimore here, though we could probably get St. Louis to get serious. Any thoughts?”

“What would you consider ‘getting serious’?”

“We believe this market will bear either an additional year’s commitment with player option, or an increase of between $250-450k yearly salary. At your level of service, you should have been offered a player option automatically. That fact you weren’t means they are straight up dicking with you.”

“So when do we respond?”

“We have already responded,” they said. “Like we told you, the first waffle is always **** and we don’t want it. Only New York offered you a real raise, and even that was ****.”

“How long will we have to wait for them to counteroffer?”

“If you have four poles with fish thrashing on each one, how long would it take you to set each hook?”

“I’m not a fisherman…”

“A while, Dave. It’ll take a while, a few days, maybe longer for Baltimore. Theo Garner’s unpredictable.”

Holy ****. It hit me. How could I have forgotten? Theo Garner was the GM for the Steamers. He pissed off Terry Ruddy. He created Baltimore’s hole at short. And now he wants me to replace Terry Ruddy? “Not Baltimore,” I heard myself say.

“You don’t like Baltimore? It’s a good baseball town. It’s not a bad offer.”

“I can’t play for Theo Garner,” I said. “I won’t play for that guy.”

There was another pause. “That was over ten years ago.”

“We’re not going to get along,” I replied. “He and I locked horns while I was in Hinesville, more than once. I don’t like him.”

“Mercenary mentality, Dave. Focus. If you make this personal…”

“It’s not personal. I don’t agree with his…managerial…everything.”

“He’s not the manager, he’s the GM,” they said. “Tim Stokes is the manager, and he’s good. A player’s manager. You’re not going to be on the field with Theo Garner. You probably won’t even see him.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Look, Baltimore and New York both lost shortstops. Pangle is a free agent and Ruddy is gone.”

“Ruddy finally had enough of Theo Garner, that’s what happened.”

“So what? There’s a spot on two good teams, contending teams. You should at least consider Baltimore. Theo Garner being there does not magically erase this offer. In fact, Garner made this offer. This is his offer. You may not like him, but he must see something in you worth making this offer.”

“If he saw something in me, he wouldn’t have traded me to Little Rock.”

“Ancient history, Dave. You’ve had an entire career since then, a good career which started in KC, who had no good shortstops when you went there. Atlanta was impacted with infielders. Theo did you a favor.”

I was incredulous. “Theo did me a favor? I thought you guys were supposed to be on my side.”

“We are on your side, but if you want to take up golf and drive a Cadillac for a million less per year than you’re worth, we’ll tell the Scouts you’re in.”

I didn’t like hearing it, but right is right. “I’ll take some time and think about it.”

“Good. Talk to Gwen. See what she thinks.”

“Why does everybody tell me that?”

“Because she’s smarter than you.”

“Okay, just for that you’re not getting a commission.”

And so it began. Through Thanksgiving and into December talks with the four most serious teams continued. Eventually, as predicted, Philly and St. Louis were unable to meet even halfway. My team countered with 4 years at $4.5 million, and they ran. There were less accomplished shortstops out there for half the price. That left only the Steamers and Admirals, who did not flinch in this game of chicken. Neither would agree to four years and a player option. Three yes, not four. I would be 35 and have control over my fate until the age of 36. Uncommon for a shortstop who didn’t have 300 home runs. And $4.5 million per year was not their reality, no matter how hard my team pushed. Four million maybe, but not more. So my team countered again: 4 years, $4 million per, $1 million bonus with a player option. Both teams agreed to 4 years but would not commit to a player option. No formal offer came. We waited, then everybody took a break for Christmas.

I spoke to Gwen. She agreed that Theo could be a distraction and that he might just trade me if he got in hot water over signing me or something better came along, like he did when Lino Lopez was the hot shortstop in the Atlanta organization. She didn’t trust him either. By Christmas, I was all but decided.

Through January the Admirals had the inside track. They offered more money, and they weren’t run by Theo Garner. Plus, I liked New York. It was a world unto itself, and after Chicago big cities didn’t scare me. I grew up going into LA for Legends games, after all. I was used to cities. Getting a job for Gwen was no issue in a city that big and relocating the kids before kindergarten was also going to be fine. And for the money I’d be earning, we could live almost anywhere. I felt some pangs of nervousness at the end of January at not being employed, but my negotiation team told me things were fine, even progressing. It wasn’t unusual for signings to happen even a few days shy of reporting for spring training.

Apparently, the newest hang up was over the terms of my initial physical and my future “physical performance requirements”. Both Baltimore and New York wanted some assurance that I was in good enough shape to play an average of 130 games per season. It was clear to me that this was an age-based concern. I was 31, soon to turn 32. My team told them both to buy some insurance because I had averaged 130 games a year for ten years and I wasn’t going to agree to any “periodic physical evaluations”. Both teams dropped the issue, but no offer came. And it was not lost on me that there was still a half-dozen shortstops still on the market, including Sean Pangle. It really was a waiting game, and I hate waiting.

Then, on February 5th, Joel Kral signed a 3-year, $19 million contract with the Chicago Comanches. Apparently, Fontillion wasn’t too worried about arbitration costs. This was a bit of a shock because Chicago already had Benji Gillingham and Juan Devera, who weren’t cheap, either. And they had Lampman waiting for his shot. Adding Joel was going to make the Comanche outfield a real power in the UL – and one of the most expensive. I called Joel as soon as I heard. “Congratulations and watch your back,” I told him.

“Thanks, and I will,” he said. He knew all about the Chicago media from my conversations with him over the last few years, but he didn’t need me telling him; Chicago’s reputation was well-known around the league. But, strangely, I wasn’t worried. Joel didn’t get phased by things like media pressure and incendiary questions. If anyone could diffuse the Chicago press, it was Joel Kral. His unpresumptuous honesty made him immune to ulterior motives.

“Why Chicago?” I asked.

“They offered more than Boston and it’s closer to my farm,” he said.

I had to chuckle. “Leave it to Joel Kral to sign a nineteen-million-dollar deal just to be near his corn.”

“Soybeans and corn, actually. And some cows. And chickens. But that’s not why. I want to be able to visit Kaleigh and the baby on off days.”

“That makes sense.”

“What’s happening with you?”

“Still waiting for more offers. Ball’s in their court.”

“I heard New York and Baltimore.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll do great in either place. Are you worried about Pangle?”

“A little, maybe, but he’s far more expensive. Not everybody can afford him. Big markets only.”

“If he goes first it might up your value.”

“I may not be able to wait that long,” I said. “Pangle’s not married. I have a house to find and a family to move. And it’s February already.”

“The Lord will watch over you,” said Joel. “It’ll work out. Good luck, Davey.”

“Thanks.”

Joel Kral was a fortune teller. Five days after signing Joel, the Comanches signed Sean Pangle to a four-year $32 million contract. Arbitration costs, my ass, Fontillion. This was a huge move for a few reasons. For one, it proved Fontillion wasn’t being completely honest about how much money the team had. Either that or Old Man Bassone decided to release a flock of thousand-dollar bills into the front office. That’s $51 million spent in five days, for those of you scoring at home. Okay, Chicago had been winning at arbitration with their eight pitchers, but they hadn’t been $51 million winning. It meant Fontillion must have squirreled away millions over the last couple of seasons. On the surface it meant Chicago was building a dangerous lineup to go after Cleveland and Denver, but this just confirmed I made the right decision. This was the same money first, chemistry later strategy Chicago always used. Joel was a quality person and player, but Chicago had fallen back into their own trap. Now they didn’t have a lot of leftover cash, and they still needed pitching. Sound familiar?

The impact of the Pangle signing sent ripples through the league. I even got a little buzz on the SportsReport. The next morning while eating breakfast, I got a call from my negotiation team. “We have received a counteroffer and a request,” they said.

I put down my fork. “I’m all ears.”

“New York is in for four years, $4.1 million per, no physical performance evals, and a player option.”

“Player option is good.”

“Player option is very good.”

“Let’s do it then.”

There was a pause. “There’s one other thing,” they said. “Theo Garner wants to speak with you on Facephone.”

“No. Absolutely not,” I said.

“Dave, this is rare. GMs don’t just call and speak to players. That’s assistant GM stuff. We know you two have a history, but this could be good for you.”

“Dealing with Theo Garner has never been good for me.”

“We might be able to leverage the Admirals into a better offer. GMs don’t make personal contact like this. New York will worry. They might sweeten the deal. Remember, Dave, mercenary mentality.”

It felt in that moment like my professional future balanced on my next decision. Well, I told myself, if I’m going to do this, then I’m going to goddamn do it.

“Put him on,” I said.