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A Thousand Things

www.SportsReport.com/baseball/free agency
February 10th, 2016
Baltimore, MD – The Baltimore Steamers announced today the signing of free agent veteran shortstop Dave Driscoll to a five-year $18.5 million contract. Driscoll, a ten-year veteran, filed for free agency this year after six years with the Chicago Comanches. Known for his slick glove and consistency, Driscoll, 31, joins a Steamer team rebounding from the loss of all-star and franchise favorite Terry Ruddy, who refused assignment to the minors and retired last July.

Steamer Assistant GM Phil Robertson said Driscoll brings experience and poise to his new team. “Dave is a solid performer and a top-notch defensive player. We look forward to seeing him in the black and orange.” Asked whether Driscoll, a career .262 hitter, could fill the offensive shoes of Terry Ruddy, Robertson said he’s not worried. “Dave has made strides at the plate the last two seasons and his glove is one of the best in the league. If anyone can fill Terry’s shoes, it’s Dave.”

Driscoll could not be immediately reached for comment, but Driscoll’s agent, Jackson Majkowski, says the fit is a great one for his client. “Dave is excited about Baltimore and the thousand positive things that will come from this new start. He wants to show what he can do, and Baltimore is the perfect situation to do it.”

Baltimore fans reacted with criticism of GM Theo Garner’s choice on the team’s website:

Steamerforever64 said: “Good glove but no power. Won’t even reach the warning track when the wind’s blowing in.”

And from SteamerNation69: “WTF? Dave Driscoll? Didn’t he just get his ass kicked by Marcus Barrows?”

And maxwood999 added: “Garner’s gonna give this guy 18 million to throw the ball to first base? He squandered away the Pangle money, now look where we are. #bringbackTerry.”

But Lloyd Beyer, known to Baseball Insider readers as The Diamond Pundit, defended the signing: “Driscoll and Garner go way back to Dricoll’s first year when Garner was doing penance managing in A ball. Driscoll was a three-time Minor League Defensive Player of the year at shortstop and his first was in Hinesville playing for Garner. Clearly Theo remembers. I wouldn’t discount this guy yet. Steamer fans won’t like me saying this, but Driscoll is a good player, and a far better defensive player than Terry Ruddy. If he can stay healthy, he’ll give Baltimore its money’s worth – all five years of it. And to all the amateur Pundits out there grousing about this signing: second guessing the instincts of Theo Garner is not always the smart thing to do. I’m looking at you, [former Steamer GM] Artie Magnussen.”

A couple of the thousand things that went through my mind after Theo’s call had to do with truth and honesty. Neither one is often kind, especially in baseball. One truth was that I still didn’t like Theo Garner very much. He was just an aggravating guy. And I knew my time in Baltimore was not going to be roses and champagne with him around. But another truth – and this I had to admit to myself – was that Theo would never leave me hanging. This was a difficult admission, because when you talk to him, you become convinced that Theo would trade you and sell your gear for gas money.

Another truth was that Fontillion did not tell his team everything. He had no obligation to, of course, and perhaps that’s what made it possible to sign Joel and Sean, but he led me on, led all of us on. He was playing the situation to his best advantage and misrepresented the severity to all who asked. As I sat at my kitchen table, the more I thought about it the angrier I became. Who told me the truth when it mattered? Suave, polished Cesar Fontillion, or pain-in-the-ass chain smoking Theo Garner? And I realized in that moment what I wanted most of all out of this was honesty. I didn’t need someone playing angles on me. I didn’t need someone hedging bets with my future. I wanted someone who was going to tell me the truth whether I liked it or not.

I’d been in baseball for thirteen years and the biggest problems I had were when someone lied to me or to themselves (and that included me lying to myself). I endured the Kellinger Shuffle, caused by a guy who didn’t know his players, which is to me a form of lying to yourself. And I just played for a guy who said the right thing but planned something different. And Chicago’s coaching staff was not blameless in this. Somebody was feeding Fontillion information that should have remained in the locker room. And that’s dishonest when a player’s trust is at stake. I realized at this stage of my career I didn’t need all that. I wanted honesty, and as much as I hated to admit it, I’d rather have honest arguments with Theo Garner than pleasant conversations with Cesar Fontillion.

People under stress will always make decisions that lessen the stress. It’s human nature to move away from pain or discomfort. People rarely move toward a situation they know will cause them stress, but they’ll do it if they believe they’re getting closer to their goal. My decision to take Baltimore’s offer was a move toward stress – moving my family, joining an unfamiliar team culture, adjusting to a new living environment, handling the pressure of replacing an excellent and popular player, dealing with Theo. But more importantly it was a move toward a goal – getting a championship – and, ultimately, the risk was worth the stress. New York was also tempting, and this was the most ironic thing: in the end, New York did not have Theo Garner.

Gwen was surprised at my decision, but when I explained to her what I just explained to you she was behind me a hundred percent. She put in for a transfer and started talking to stations in Baltimore. Within a week she was hired as a managing sports editor by WECN, her company’s Baltimore affiliate. She wanted an on-air position, but the great Frank Roza was already there, and he was still a few years from retirement. She would do weekend sports and feature stories.

I called my Mom and Dad. My mom didn’t like that we were taking her grandchildren even further away than they already were, but she was excited for my new start. She liked that I was going to a team with recent success. “Baltimore will compete,” she said knowingly. My dad questioned me gently about playing for Theo again and asked how I chose Baltimore when New York had offered me a player option. “You could have left after four years and signed with someone else,” he pointed out.

“My negotiation team said the same thing,” I said. “But it’s a hidden trap. If I take the option to leave, I’m thirty-five and looking for a job. I might gain my freedom from New York, but a player option guarantees rate of pay, and that would make me a very expensive gamble. Realistically, what am I to teams at that point? A Sunday starter with a 4.1-million-dollar price tag. I might not have found a slot anywhere at that price. Theo’s offer guaranteed me 3.7 million at the age of thirty-five. It was actually better.”

My sister Jen’s reaction was a little different. She had graduated four years earlier from UCLA with a degree in kinesiology and had gone to work for ProLabs, the athletic performance company in Sausolito, California. She saw things little differently. “Isn’t Theo Garner the guy that traded you when you were eighteen?”

“Nineteen, but yeah.”

“Well then he’s a prick and you shouldn’t be working for him.”

“It was a complicated situation. He believed he was doing what was best for my career.”

“Your career? See? Once again the elites take advantage of the worker under the pretense that they don’t know what’s right for them. ‘Oh, it’s in your best interest because I know better than you.’ That’s B.S., big brother. He did it for himself, I guarantee you.”

“He probably did.”

“He did,” she said angrily. “You should just leave.”

“I can’t leave. I signed a contract.”

“Contracts are handcuffs made out of paper. They should be illegal.”

“Do you know how capitalism works?”

“Oh., I know how capitalism works,” she retorted. “Contracts are capitalist shackles for the worker, perpetuating economic oppression.”

“Well, those shackles are oppressing me for eighteen million dollars over the next five years, so...”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“Tell me again how you get paid?”

“I have an informal dual-party agreement that retains my employable independence while providing for the necessities of living in a capitalist society.”

“Is this dual-party agreement recorded anywhere?”

“We wrote it all down so we wouldn’t forget the terms of my independence.”

“And did you both sign it?”

“We recognized the rights of the other party and our commitment to an oppression-free workplace by affixing our names to it, yes.”

“That’s a contract, Jen.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.”


Damon and Molly were sad to leave their friends, and we were sad to leave ours. We threw a big going away party and invited the whole block. I went to the Comanche front office to say goodbye to everyone, even Fontillion. It was fine, but I noticed something. I felt a kind of business-as-usual atmosphere. After the big signings and the arbitration victories the team was poised once again to challenge for a division title. There should have been some excitement, there should have been some buzz in the hallways. There wasn’t. It only reinforced my decision. I asked about Joel, but he wasn’t in town. He was going to Spring Training from his farm on the 28th.

I called Cliff, too. He’d heard on the news about my signing. He was happy about the money and security, and hearing that I would be able to visit more often, but not about Theo Garner. “That man is a matchstick in the woodpile,” he said.

“He’s front office now,” I said. “Not in the dugout.”

Cliff grunted. “A fire that starts in the house can still burn the entire farm,” he said. “But I am glad you’ll be able to visit more.”

“Me too,” I said.


Gwen and I had a thousand things to do. First, we found a house in Ellicott City, west of Baltimore. It was very nice, with some room around it for privacy. And yes, Gwen wanted Shepherd’s Robe again for the hallways, but this time I paid someone else to paint them. I had a thousand things to do.

We moved everything in a two-truck, two car caravan on February 20th, the same day Moose ended his contract holdout with the Blue Sox. Puzzlingly, he signed a one-year, $3.2 million deal with a player option. I thought the money was about right, but the weird terms made me think all was not right with their relationship. For what he’d accomplished, I would’ve locked him up for at least 4 years, maybe more. I was still happy for him.

On March 1st I drove Gwen into Baltimore to meet her people at the television station, then we went to lunch at CookHouse, then to the Steamers front office to meet my people. I had a sit-down meeting for an hour with Tim Stokes, a friendly, smart, guy who was not a bad player for Milwaukee twenty-five years ago, and the coaching staff. It was a good conversation, and I realized how excited I was for this new start. I gave an interview to the Baltimore press, who were fair, which I appreciated, though they mentioned Terry Ruddy about a thousand times. Theo did not appear while I was there.

Also on March 1st, the Comanches traded Benji Gillingham to Atlanta for Josh Murrieta and Bert Stanley. Wow, I thought. I guess sacrificing the best outfield in the Central Division is one way to get the pitching you need.

On March 3rd I traveled to Fort Pierce, Florida, Baltimore’s spring training home, and went to the big welcome dinner at Meadowood, one of the many golf and tennis clubs in the area. On March 4th I went to the team office at the stadium, was confirmed on the spring roster, and walked with Lowell Haran, our hitting coach, into the player’s facility with two big bags of gear. I walked past posters and framed photos of all the great Steamer players of the past: Alex Aponte, Sean Shawver, Tony Buglietti, Ryan Ross.

I took in the smell of cedar lockers, tinged with the acidity of stale sweat. The familiar humid odor of the showers hung in the air near the wide tiled entrance. But I also smelled the vanilla air freshener they pumped into the room. As I approached my locker’s open door, I saw my practice jersey suspended from a cedar hanger, the pumpkin and black of the Baltimore Steamers, the flowing script, the ship’s wheel emblem. I saw my new cap on the top shelf, stared for a moment at the stylized Baltimore “B”. No more Chicago “C”, I thought. It was a literal upgrade. I only hoped it would be the same in reality.

My gear sponsors had also sent black and orange versions of my wristbands, shoes, batting gloves, ankle guard and flip-downs. It took me a moment to get used to the colors. No more Chicago emerald. A thousand new things in my life now. A thousand changes. And then I saw that some things hadn’t changed, that some things would stay the same, and it made me smile.

“Same number okay, Davey?” asked Haran, turning the jersey around.

It was my number 4. New colors, of course, but it was my number, or what had become my number. First Kansas City, then Chicago, and now Baltimore. The fact that they thought of this made me even more satisfied with my decision. “Yeah,” I replied. “Same number’s fine. I’m not taking this from anyone, am I?”

“No,” said Haran. “It used to be Antonio Dominguez’ number, but we just released him. Now it’s all yours. And speaking of all yours,” added Haran, “dress out and I’ll show you your new office.”

As I dressed, I thought about the thousand things that had changed in my life in the last three weeks and certain thoughts began to flash in my mind, images of the unchanging, reliable things that have anchored me over the years. Gwen. The kids. Hal’s advice. Cliff’s friendship. My dad’s wisdom. My mom’s support. The support of my friends. And one other abstract image appeared in my brain.

A baseball diamond never changes. It doesn’t matter where you are in the country, Hinesville, Mexico, Japan, Kansas City, or Chicago, the familiar dimensions of a ball field are the same everywhere, like a cosmic blueprint. It was the framework upon which I based my life for so many years, the defining space of my professional career, but it was more than that. It was a home for my competitive heart, a bottomless place that could hold the deepest part of who I was and why I did what I did. And like all the other diamonds I played on in my life, Baltimore’s would be mine, too. Not forever, I knew. Only for the next five years, and if that’s all I would be given, I had to make the most of it. The 2016 season was only the beginning.

Haran appeared in a distant doorway, silhouetted by the light of the morning sun rising over the Atlantic. “You ready? We got a thousand things to do today.”

“You bet,” I said with a smile. “Let get started.”

Jogging out to short (my “new office”) as a Steamer was strange, given all the different sights and faces around me, but jogging out to short as a ballplayer felt exactly the same as it had when I ran out for my first game in Hinesville, full of excitement and expectation, except this time guys shouted my name in greeting. James Wills walked over from third and shook my hand. “Welcome to Baltimore,” he said.

Gazing around me, even though everything had changed, it felt like home. I looked to Haran standing at the plate with a fungo. Terry Gulbranson, one of our catchers, stood nearby, ready to feed him balls. Reaching down, I put a handful of dirt in my back pocket, then I crouched and pounded my glove. I saw the familiar angles again in the corners of my eyes.

No bad bounces, I said to myself.


Next up: Chapter 72: Full Steam Ahead