Decision
I was not naďve. I knew it had been more than a decade since I last spoke to Theo Garner. I know things change and sometimes people change. I didn’t know if Theo would be the same Theo he was when I was 18 years old, but I did know one thing: it had been a long time since I was 18 years old. I also had no illusions about this call. I was in it to gain leverage, either against Baltimore or New York. This was an exchange of information, that was all – an exchange meant to bring me more dollars and a player option. I wasn’t expecting any apologies.
The voice of my negotiating team spokesman said, “Okay, you’re connected,” and beeped out of the call. The screen was blank for a moment, then Theo’s giant face appeared about four inches too close to the camera. Twelve years older, but still the razor-sharp white flattop and the snowy carpet of a goatee. Still the deep wrinkles, like grooves etched in dark wood. Still the accusatory blue eyes glaring out from under two bushy white caterpillar eyebrows. Still chewing gum and smoking a cigarette.
“Driscoll?”
“Theo,” I said.
“Well, my God, it’s good to see you. What’s it been? Ten years?”
“Twelve and change.”
“Heh. Feels like yesterday we were making it happen in Hinesville.” He smacked his gum while taking a drag on the cigarette. “I see in my notes here you’re married with two kids. That’s great. How’s married life?”
“It’s fine.”
“I was married, too, for a while, you know. Did the whole new house, new car, repaint the bedrooms, plant the herb garden. It was alright, while it lasted. I got to keep the Benz, anyway. Well, good for you. I’m happy for you. Family’s important.”
It was like listening to a bad actor read from cue cards. “What can I do for you, Theo?”
“Well you can come play for me, for one thing,” he said. “We got a spot for you just to the left of the mound. What do you think of coming to play for Baltimore?”
“I’m considering several offers at the moment, so I can’t really say.”
“Yeah, I know. New York and Philly. Philly won’t stay, trust me. We’d love to have you, and I think you’ll agree it’s a fair offer.”
I didn’t say anything. If I had it would have turned into an argument.
Theo read my mind. “Look, I’ll admit there’s some gaps in there that could be spackled up, but the team is committed to finding our next all-star shortstop and we want you to play for us.”
“All of this could have been handled by your AGM,” I said. “Why did you ask to speak to me?”
Another drag on the cigarette. “Just wanted to touch base with you. It’s been a while. Thought I’d call and make a, you know, personal effort.”
“Personal effort?”
“Yeah. Twelve years is a long time and a lot has happened for both of us. I’ve always respected your approach to the game and your ability --.”
“I’m going to cut you off there, Theo,” I interrupted. “I didn’t play for you for very long, but I know you well enough to know when your bull****ting me, so do us both a favor and tell me what’s really going on here.”
“It’s true,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I do respect your talent. I always have. I don’t bull**** about stuff like that.”
“So why the personal call?”
“Sometimes in our business it takes time to overcome the past, especially when that past includes me trading away a player I want to sign now. I want to clear up whatever’s in the way of a deal to bring you to Baltimore.”
What was in the way? How about a year of loading up a ton of expectation on a kid to see if he’ll break? How about trading a first round draft pick before he’s had five hundred at bats as a professional? How about a year of being a constant asshole to everyone around you?
“I have some reservations,” I said.
“Let’s hear them.”
“Your salary offer is the same as my current contract.”
“That’s because of the cap tax. Even with the savings from Ruddy’s contract it’s not something we can do. We have bonuses kicking in that affect our yearly budget.”
“New York does not seem to have that problem.”
“Good for them,” said Theo gruffly. “They don’t have Jeff Wills and Manuel Martinez, either.”
“What happened with Ruddy?”
Theo grimaced. “That was a private matter. It didn’t have anything to do with his contract.”
“Didn’t it?” I said. “I heard he wanted an extension and you wouldn’t give him one. He came in to argue and you dropped him to Triple A. He refused assignment, so you released him instead of working things out.”
“That’s not what happened.” A quick drag on the cig now.
“It solved your cap problem pretty nicely. Saved you millions.”
“What’s the point, Driscoll?”
“The point is I don’t want to be the next Terry Ruddy the instant you don’t like something I say or do.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Ruddy was an all-star,” I said. “Fans practically worshiped him. Look how you treated him.”
“How
I treated him?” snapped Theo. “I treated him like a ballplayer, not like the second coming.”
“A ballplayer you cut loose as soon as he became a problem for you. I’m sure you can see my concern.”
“Okay,” said Theo testily, stamping out the butt of his latest cigarette. “Let’s address your concern. If it’ll help clear things up, I’ll tell you exactly what happened with Terry Ruddy.” At this Theo’s eyes darted off-camera to someone else in the room. Something muffled was said to him. “No,” he replied. Something else was said. “I don’t give a ****,” he replied. “He wants to know and I’m going to ****ing tell him. I don’t give a **** what Bill would say. I run the team.”
Theo’s ice blue eyes came back to the screen. “Terry Ruddy didn’t just want an extension, he demanded it. He expected it. I refused. I told him I wasn’t going to offer him an extension beyond his player option because he was thirty-six years old and he was hitting .242. He didn’t like that. He told me he’d been given a promise by ownership. I told him to show me in writing where it says I have to give a 36-year old shortstop who’s hitting .242 a two-year extension. He didn’t like that either. We had a disagreement about who ran the team. I said it was me. He said it was him. He gave me an ultimatum: a two-year extension or he’d hold out, refuse to play, make the ownership pressure me into giving him what he wanted. I don’t like ultimatums unless they’re mine, so I accepted his offer not to play and sent him down to Rhode Island. I don’t think he expected me to do it. Fans will hate me for it. This will get you fired. Blah, blah, blah. I did it anyway. Now it was his turn to refuse. Now he’s out of baseball. So, yeah, Driscoll, I guess you’re right. I did cut him loose as soon as he was a problem for me, but a player like that is a problem for the whole team. What do you think of your all-star now? Six months later I’m still here, talking to you on this stupid screen phone thing. Why the hell they can’t bring back flip phones I’ll never know.”
“That doesn’t change my concern,” I said.
“Well, it’s been ten years, and I don’t know what’s happened in your life, but if you’re asking for a guarantee I can tell you there are no guarantees in baseball except a no-trade clause and you’re not getting one of those. So, if you can wrangle one out of New York, go for it. Emilio Lorenzo is still available.”
Emilio Lorenzo? Is he threatening me with a 34-year old who hit .216 last year? “That’s a hell of a sales pitch,” I said.
Theo seemed not to hear. He absently lit another cigarette and stared back into the camera. “Ah, ****, Driscoll. I’m not good at any of this. Look, it’s February. Why don’t you just tell me what you want and I’ll tell you if you can have it. Then we can save ourselves a ****load of headache.”
“I want more money per year.”
“No,” replied Theo immediately. “I told you. Cap tax.”
“Then I want a player option for a fifth year.”
“No. Team option only. Franchise policy.”
“Don’t bull**** me. Baltimore’s given player options before.”
“Yeah, in the Seventies.” Theo shook his head. “Not going to happen.”
“Then I don’t see much more for us to discuss. You know, I’ll enjoy New York. They went to the Championship last season. Have fun with Emilio Lorenzo and his two bad knees.” I reached to close the call.
“Hold it, hold it,” said Theo quickly. I paused, then leaned back into my chair. He smoked for a moment. He glanced down at something on his desk, then picked up a pen and made a mark on a piece of paper.
“You want more yearly money, which I can’t give you. You want a player option, which I’m not going to give you. But you want an assurance that you won’t be treated like a dirty bed sheet. Is that about right?”
“That’s right.”
“We’re at four years at 3.7 million per, right?”
“Right.”
“And the Admirals are four years at 4.1?”
“Right.”
Theo looked down away from the camera and I saw him concentrating. He looked like he was trying to remember where he put his car keys. Then he surprised me.
“I’ll give you a fifth year with a team option,” he said, looking back up into the screen. There was immediate conversation coming from somewhere in the room. Theo looked over, listening to something I couldn’t make out, then said, “Yes I can and I am.” Something was said, it had the tone of an argument. Theo answered: “Yeah, well, it’s my decision.” Something else now. Theo again: “Bill’s not in this room and Bill can’t tell me how to run this team. And neither can you, Phil. I need a shortstop. Driscoll’s a shortstop. A damn good shortstop.” Something else was said and Theo’s eyes took on an angry light. “Who’s gone to the Championship twice since he’s been here, you or me?” Another muffled response. Theo once again: “Then go cry in a corner until you can.” He stared off screen for a moment, then turned back to me.
“Where was I?”
“Fifth year and team option.”
“Oh, right, right,” he said, getting his bearings back. “So, right now we’re 1.6 under New York’s offer, but a fifth year at 3.7 per will put you 2.1 million over New York’s offer. And it’s as close to a player option as you’re going to get from anybody. This means I’m still under my cap tax and you’re playing ball until you’re thirty-six and possibly thirty-seven. How’s that for a guarantee? Not even Pangle got that. Chicago’s making him run a ****ing obstacle course every six months to get
his money.”
“That’s --, that’s a very good offer,” I admitted.
“Your welcome,” said Theo. “I told you I always liked you, Driscoll. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“You have twenty-four hours. Then the train moves on.”
“You’ll get your answer,” I said.
“How do I end this?” said Theo, staring off camera at someone in the room. I saw the shadow of a finger and the screen went dark. I sat silently at my kitchen table for a few minutes. A thousand things ran through my mind, then I took a deep breath and called my negotiation team. “How did the call go?” they asked.
“Start the paperwork,” I said. “I’m going to Baltimore.”
Next up: Dave's new adventure starts in Chapter 71: A Thousand Things