Sam Arkwright Diary
October 6th, 2022
I showed up to MLB Headquarters in New York City this morning at 8 o'clock sharp, almost precisely twelve hours after the Mets season finale wrapped up last night. It hit me afterward as I was trying to get some shut-eye in my hotel room in midtown that I've been flying around the country like a Deadhead following the Grateful Dead. But without the stoner's hangover. It started with a matinee game at Wrigley Field in Chicago. It ended with a rain-delayed night game at Citi Field in New York. I had a Dodger Dog in L.A., Garlic Fries in San Francisco, Chicken & Waffles in Atlanta, and a Cuban Sandwich in Tampa.
But I didn't see those games for the ballpark food.
I needed to drum up support from other owners to approve my eventual ownership of a Major League Baseball team. And I wanted to see what works in the fan-team experience, and what doesn't. Most of all, I desperately needed to get away after the grind of putting out the Arkade video game console. Call it a reboot.
Before I could put a tidy bow on this baseball mecca, I was going to pay a visit to the guy who basically set this whole thing in motion in the first place. The Commissioner, Rob Manfred.
The Commissioner's Office wasn't far from my hotel, and I hoofed it up 6th Avenue to 51st Street. After checking in at the front desk, I was ushered to the sitting area outside of the Commissioner's Office on the 42nd floor of the Rockefeller Center west expansion. Manfred's secretary, Deb, assured me the Commissioner would be with me shortly. But after speed-reading through the latest issues of
Baseball Digest,
Sports Illustrated,
People, and
The New Yorker, I grew restless and bored. So I pulled out my laptop and started coding a new program that I first started thinking about the night before. It took sixty-seven simulations before I finally felt things were at a reliable state. I chuckled to myself when I noted the final results. Deb looked up from her computer screen and gave a judging shake of her head.
Then I ploughed ahead, stretching the simulations out by another five years. I only needed twelve sims this time to get consensus on trends I was looking for regarding certain players and teams. I had what I needed for my little project. Just as I stood up to stretch, the secretary's phone chimed, and she told me, "Mr. Manfred will see you now."
I walked into the Commissioner's Office, which resembled something between Cooperstown and the Oval Office. Baseball memorabilia adorned the walls and bookcases, as did framed pictures of commissioners past, along with the sitting commish, posing with Presidents, Popes, celebrities, and dignitaries.
Manfred rose from his desk and apologized for the long wait. He said he was putting out several end-of-season fires, specifically mentioning access for TV broadcasts in the upcoming playoffs. He mentioned the rule changes that would go into effect starting in Spring Training next year, and how the shift ban and pitch clock would markedly improve the game. Then he segued into the stadium situations for the A's and Rays. He wasted no time probing me about my experiences with John Fisher.
I asked if I could start recording, to which Manfred sternly declined. It was clear he wanted this particular conversation off the record.
I told Manfred that a property purchase in Las Vegas appeared to be imminent, but that the property's owners were getting cold feet with Fisher. I told him that Fisher was becoming increasingly petty and erratic. Manfred simply nodded along, as if he wasn't surprised. Then I told him about Fisher's veiled threats against the Vegas Strip property holders.
Manfred said that wouldn't be enough to oust Fisher from ownership. In his words, Major League Baseball needs "clear cut, indisputable evidence of impropriety and malfeasance." He is such a lawyer.
Then I asked Manfred if I were to obtain such evidence, would that suffice in removing Fisher as owner of the Oakland Athletics. His reply: "I'm not saying that. But I'm not
not saying that." Again, such a lawyer.
I've been in enough business relationships to*know that possession is nine-tenths of the law. It's going to take a lot to prove John Fisher is unfit to own the Oakland A's. It's going to take even more to wrest the team away from his grip. And Manfred looked like he didn't want to be caught between Fisher and the A's if it came down to a legal battle.
Hell hath no fury like a billionaire owner scorned.
As I sat across from Manfred, I thought about the other dealings that must have taken place in the Commissioner's Office. Members of the Houston Astros brass were probably sitting where I sat, stating their case in the sign stealing scandal. Perhaps Pete Rose had come to the Commissioner's Office at one point, begging to be reinstated into Major League Baseball and thus eligible for the Hall of Fame.
At that moment, I came to the stark realization that the Commissioner always wins. Seriously. The Commish has got to be batting pretty dang near a thousand when it comes to any decisions that come out of this office. Sure, the Player's Union may get the occasional win, but that's the union we're talking about. Anytime it's one-on-one, the Commish is the one holding the stick. And the poor guy sitting where I was sitting is the one who gets whacked.
I knew that whatever I wanted to accomplish wouldn't come by talking to, or negotiating with, Rob Manfred. Not in the Commissioner's Office. Not on his home turf. I knew what I had to do.
We shook hands, and Manfred told me to keep him apprised of any developments with the A's. I nodded, and saw myself out. On my way back home to Nevada, I made a pitstop in Stamford, Connecticut. I left a thumb drive with the lady at the front desk, with a Post-It Note, addressed to Steve Cohen.
It read:
"Steve,
Don't Open Until After the World Series.
-Sam"
I was barely an hour into my 2,500 mile cross country flight from Stamford to Boulder City when my phone rang. It was an unknown phone number with a (212) area code. It was Steve Cohen. I was sure of it.
I looked at the monitor in the air cabin to check the flight progress tracker. Our plane icon was hovering over the great state of Ohio, about to cross into Indiana. Both Ohio and Indiana are one-party consent states. I started recording.
Quote:
[Begin Transcription, 11:41 am Eastern, 10/6/22]
Cohen: You son of a b----.
Arkwright: You opened it, didn't you?
Cohen: You're damn right I did. I had my I.T. team hack this thumb drive open the moment it arrived on my desk.
Arkwright: I take it you don't like your gift?
Cohen: My Mets losing in the first round? Yeah, I guess you could say it pissed me off a little bit. What is this, some kind of joke?
Arkwright: It's not a joke. It's a simulation.
Cohen: A simulation?
Arkwright: Correct. A simulation of the 2022 MLB Playoffs. And your team loses. Sorry about that.
Cohen: Why are you telling me this?
Arkwright: When we met, you told me you wanted to see the future. This is the crystal ball you asked for.
Cohen: What is this, Back to the Future II? I'm supposed to be Biff Tannen?
Arkwright: Do you remember Old Biff gives the Grays Sports Almanac to Young Biff? And then Old Biff proves the authenticity of the Almanac when UCLA beats Washington. Do you remember that?
Cohen: Yeah, and then he makes a s---load of money. I get it.
Arkwright: No. You don't get it. That's not what happens. Even after UCLA kicks the field goal with 18 seconds to win it, Young Biff is still too stupid to realize he's sitting on a gold mine. Then he listens to the radio later that day, and one-by-one, each score proves to be true.
"UCLA narrowly defeated Washington, 19-17. Michigan State crushed Minnesota, 42-14. Ohio State beat Iowa, 20-10. Michigan blank Indiana, 30-0. Notre Dame over North Carolina... Oklahoma ripped Iowa State, 52-0. West Virginia lost to Pittsburgh, 26-7. Texas A&M over Rice, 20-10. Maryland defeated Clemson, 25-12... and it was Texas Christian over 47-20."
Cohen: You remember the whole movie, word for word?
Arkwright: Photographic memory. It's a blessing and a curse. I always thought that 25-12 score was weird. Then I looked it up, and it was true...
Cohen: So what's your point?
Arkwright: My point, Biff, is we're in the UCLA vs. Washington stage of our relationship. I know you're not going to believe me, even after I get that first game right. But by the end, if my simulation holds true, you'll finally trust me.
Cohen: And then what?
Arkwright: I'll give you something more. It's on the thumb drive.
Cohen: What's to stop my I.T. guys from opening it right now?
Arkwright: I put some extra sauce on that thing, so they won't be able to open it until November 7th.
Cohen: What happens November 7th?
Arkwright: You'll see.
[End Transcription]
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Pictured: Sam Arkwright's 2022 MLB Playoff Simulation: