[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
October 5th, 2022

I can only describe this ballpark tour as a marathon sprint. Seeing 29 ballparks in 20 days took a Herculean feat, but it's nothing a private jet and a small fortune can't remedy.

I saw Albert Pujols play his last home game at Busch Stadium. I watched Aaron Judge hit his 61st and 62nd home runs. I saw venerable baseball cathedrals in Boston and Chicago, and modern technological wonders in Atlanta and Arlington. Today, my big tour wrapped up in the Big Apple.

The Mets were scheduled to play the Washington Nationals at 4pm, but I had to sit through a 2-hour rain delay. The team's owner, Steve Cohen, was a no-show, but had his trusted righthand man entertain me with a tour of Citi Field. His name is Tom Wielgat, but he insisted on being called "Wheels." Or was it "Wiels?” Who knows.

Wiels greeted me with a wry smile and welcomed me to Citi Field. Then he said, “Let’s show you around.” I didn’t even have time to ask if I could record. We were on our way down into the inner labyrinth of the stadium.

Our first stop was a giant hallway directly underneath the ballpark. It’s the nerve center of Citi Field. Murals and pictures adorned the hallway, telling the rich history of the New York Mets. The Amazin’s of 1969. Tom Seaver, Tommie Agee, a young Nolan Ryan. The ‘86 Mets. Dr. K, The Straw, and Mookie. The 2000 Subway Series. Mets vs. Yankees. Piazza vs. Clemens. Towards the end of the hall, the last Mets team to reach the World Series: deGrom, Syndergaard, Harvey, and Colon.

I didn’t have much time to admire the artwork. Wiels took me upstairs to the Control Room. An endless wall of video monitors adorned the room where the in-house TV broadcast is produced and directed. It wasn't anything I hadn't seen before, but I did my best to act impressed. I think Wiels could sense my lack of wonder, and summoned me over to push a button on the switcher. As I did, he gestured toward the outfield, where a giant apple was going up and down, just as it does following every Mets home run during home games. Pretty cool.

Right next door was the Foxwoods Club, which is a giant room behind home plate. It has a view of the parking lot, where Shea Stadium used to stand. You can still see where the bases at Shea were, as they're in the pavement now. A nice nod to the past. Wiels then guided me to the Press Box, where the media were chowing down on the pregame meal and chatting, killing time before the game started. Wiels ushered me into the Mets radio broadcast booth, where he introduced me to the announcing team of Gary Cohen, Ron Darling, and Keith Hernandez. They had just gone on the air to inform viewers the game would be under another hour-long rain delay. That left them all the time in the world to chat with me and Wiels. I got the impression that Wiels was the go-to guy for Hernandez, whether that was getting him a table at an exclusive New York City restaurant or something a little more nefarious and dubious. I didn't ask, and I didn't want to know.

We both looked out the press box window at the pouring rain as spectators seeked shelter under the overhangs. I overheard one of the sportswriters mutter, "I don't think the heavy stuff's going to come down for quite a while." Caddyshack quote. Nice.

Wiels took me back downstairs and pulled me into the press conference room, a surprisingly large room with rows and rows of seats to accommodate the notoriously salty New York media. They were all upstairs in the press box, save for one man, standing behind the podium. He tapped on the microphone to get my attention and gave me a devilish smile.

It was Steve Cohen. Owner of the New York Mets.

I tapped my tape recorder and asked if I could start recording. "For now," he answered, "Go for it."

[Begin Transcription, 5:11 pm Eastern, 10/5/22]

Cohen: I trust Wiels took good care of you.

Arkwright: He did. Thank you.

Cohen: Hungry?

Arkwright: I could eat.

Cohen: Wiels, get us the finest pizza and hot dogs that our fair stadium has to offer. Drinks? Beer? Bourbon?

Arkwright: Lemonade. If you don't mind.

Cohen: One bourbon, neat. And one lemonade for our esteemed guest. Didn't see that coming.

Arkwright: You didn't see what coming?

Cohen: No alcohol. I pegged you for a drinking man.

Arkwright: How would you know if I drank or not? Do you have a crystal ball I don't know about?

Cohen: If I had a crystal ball, rest assured my good man, I wouldn't waste it trying to figure out if Sam Arkwright drinks Sangria or Lemonade.

Arkwright: What would you use your crystal ball for, then?

Cohen: Hmmm... that's a great question. I'd start with, Are the Mets going to win the World Series?

Arkwright: And then what?

Cohen: And then? Is Aaron Judge going to hit 62 homers again?

Arkwright: Keep going...

Cohen: Is Jacob deGrom's arm about to fall off? Where's Edwin Diaz going to do five years from now? How many more miles does Justin Verlander have on his tires? Is Carlos Correa worth $300 mil?

Arkwright: Sounds like someone's already thinking about the offseason.

Cohen: Are you kidding me? There's going to be blood in the water, and I'm going to be circling Verlander and Correa like a Great White. When those guys hit the market, I'm going to pounce on Verlander and Correa like they're seals doing a backstroke. You watch. These owners won't know what hit 'em.

Arkwright: I believe it. But there are limits...

Cohen: The luxury tax threshold? Please. They named that tax after me. They call it the Cohen Tax. You think that bothers me? I wear that as a badge of honor, man. If I need to sell a Picasso to cover the tax to win a ring or two, so be it. As long as we're all smoking victory cigars at the end of the year, I couldn't care less. Speaking of which... you want a Cuban?

Arkwright: Cigar?

Cohen: No, Yoenis Cespedes. Of course a cigar. Montecristo Number Four. A finer cigar on the planet there is not.

Arkwright: You're too kind. One has to wonder if there isn't an ulterior motive at play.

Cohen: What's wrong with a little hospitality?

Arkwright: I always thought that New York hospitality included a middle finger and a few choice four-letter words.

Cohen: If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a fellow New Yorker. Direct and to the point. I like that.

Arkwright: Just the way I'm geared, I guess.

Cohen: Well, then, let me be direct and return the favor...

[End Transcription]

Cohen prompted me to stop recording, and I obliged. He then laid out his real motive: to help take my video game company public. He told me about the financial windfall I would get from an Initial Public Offering, and he explained to me that his investment firm would be the perfect fit to put my company on the Stock Market.

I, of course, declined. But Cohen was very, very convincing. He rattled off laser-accurate numbers off the top of his head, covering everything from sales figures to market share. For a company that's not publicly traded, Cohen had a stunningly firm grasp of my financials. Anyone else would have blushed at the dollar figures he said an IPO would fetch. It was in the hundreds of billions. I didn't flinch. Nor did Cohen.

The food and drinks arrived. A server presented us with a cart loaded with everything on the Citi Field menu. Hot dogs. Pepperoni pizza. Maine lobster rolls. Another assistant rolled up a second cart. This one was stocked with a pitcher of lemonade and a bottle of bourbon. But not just any bourbon. I may not drink, but I know what the good stuff is. Cohen poured himself a glass of Old Rip Van Winkle 25-year Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. Neat. That's about fifty-grand a bottle. He offered me a taste, to which I politely declined. The lemonade was outstanding.

Cohen asked only once if I wanted the bourbon, but was unrelenting in trying to get me to go public. I quickly realized that Steve Cohen would be a powerful ally, and an even more formidable foe. So I did my best to let him down lightly. For two very blunt, analytics-based people, this was a very difficult dance. He's clearly made a living off of reading people and trusting his instincts. I wondered if he could see right through me, and I could sense that he was analyzing my every move, whether it was how I breathed between sentences, or where I looked as I formulated sentences. It was then that I decided I would reciprocate his bluntness. I asked if I could resume recording. Cohen shrugged, waving his hand as if to say, "fine."

[Resume Transcription, 5:46 pm Eastern, 10/5/22]

Arkwright: I have my own motives, and it's not just to see a Mets game and tour the clubhouse.

Cohen: This much I know. Let me guess: You want want me to put up one of those VR Suites in the concourse, right? You've been doing the same song and dance at every stadium you've been to so far.

Arkwright: That's not why I'm here.

Cohen: Well, please, elaborate.

Arkwright: You've obviously done your homework on me. You've spent the last twenty minutes or so pitching me on going public with Sol.

Cohen: I have. So what?

Arkwright: So you must know that I'm going to need some capital investment for my next project.

Cohen: Which is?

Arkwright: Buying a Major League Baseball team.

Cohen: You're telling me this like I don't already know. You're trying to buy the Angels. It's all over the news. Come on, man.

Arkwright: That's not why I'm here. I... need your help.

Cohen: You need my help? With what? Money? I'm sure you've got four or five bil laying around somewhere. Have you tried your couch cushions? There's probably a billion or two there.

Arkwright: Money's the one thing I've got. But what I don't have is something else.

Cohen: Ahhh. You need my vote.

Arkwright: 23 votes, to be exact. 75% of Major League owners need to approve a prospective owner before it becomes official.

Cohen: So you want me to drum up support for you among these d-bag owners? I got news for you, pal. They're not exactly in love with me. I'm Public Enemy Number One right now.

Arkwright: I know. That's why I'm coming to you. I've got to know. How?

Cohen: How what?

Arkwright: How the most hated billionaire on the planet convinced every other billionaire in baseball to let them into their little club?

[End Transcription]

Cohen motioned for me to kill the recording. But even after he polished off a fifth of Old Rip and was at the end of his Montecristo, Cohen still managed to keep his cards close to his vest. He intimated that it took some unsavory work to get the votes, but he wouldn't say how exactly. I got the feeling he wanted something in return. But I wasn't going to give up control of my video game empire to get what I wanted. I'm going to have to find something else.

The conversation ran its course, but Cohen didn't run me out of the stadium. He had Wiels show me up to the owner's box, where I watched the Mets beat the Nationals, 9-2. It was the Mets' 101st win of the season. With Max Scherzer and Jacob deGrom waiting in the wings for the postseason, I can't help but wonder if Cohen will be smoking that cigar sooner rather than later.

Pictured: Citi Field