Baseball Diaries: MLB in Las Vegas

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
September 27th, 2022

A massive storm was brewing Sunday on the Eastern Seaboard. I flew out from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia that morning. The forecast didn’t look promising.

I arrived promptly at noon at Citizens Bank Park, one hour ahead of the scheduled first pitch between the Phillies and the Braves. Principal owner John S. Middleton came down to meet me at will call, accompanied by his son, John Powers Middleton. I asked both the Johns if I could record our conversation as they gave me a tour of the Phillies home field. The two Johns looked at each other, and then gave a simultaneous nod.

[Begin Transcription, 12:07pm Eastern, September 25, 2022]

John S: My son flew out from Hollywood. He really wanted to meet you.

John Powers: Dad…

John S: It’s true! My son is too proud to boast, but he is a very accomplished movie producer. Manchester by the Sea. The Lego Movie. All him!

Arkwright: I loved The Lego Movie. Nice work.

John Powers: Thank you. Technically I was a co-producer on that one…

John S: Same thing! Tell him what you’re working on right now, son.

John Powers: The Minecraft Movie.

Arkwright: Awesome. Can’t wait to see it. My son plays lots of Minecraft. One of the few games he’s allowed to play.

John S: I find that interesting.

Arkwright: How so?

John S: I just figured as the creator of a video game system, your kids would play tons of games.

Arkwright: Your family ran tobacco stores, didn’t they?

John S: They sure did.

Arkwright: Did they let you smoke when you were a kid?

John S: (laughter) Good point.

John Powers: So, Sam… have you ever thought of making movies out of your video game franchises? Maze King is a project I’d love to get behind.

Arkwright: I appreciate the offer. We’re actually in the first steps of starting our own movie studio. But you didn’t hear that from me.

John Powers: That’s great to hear. I’d love to be involved when the time comes.

Arkwright: I’ll definitely keep you in mind.

[End Transcription]

The younger John excused himself from the conversation and left me and his dad to enjoy the game. I offered him an Arkade, but he said he already had one (a true gamer). I told him to find a friend who hadn’t gotten one yet, and he happily accepted.

Instead of taking me to the owner’s box, the older John showed me to the elevator, which we rode all the way up to the 300 Level. The cheap seats. The nose bleeds. My kind of seats. John happily met with fans, asking what they thought of the team and the season. If you know Philly fans, you know they don’t hold back, and they know their baseball.

“Bullpen sucks.” (5.05 ERA since the All-Star Break)

“Thomson is alright.” (Manager Rob Thomson is 61-40 since taking over for the fired Joe Girardi)

“Harper has to get it going.” (Bryce Harper is batting .204 in 93 at bats since coming off the IL.

Middleton nodded and assured fans that their team will do the best they can down the stretch. True to his word, the Phils had built a 3-2 lead by the time by the 5th inning. But then came the rain and a 2-hour rain delay. That was my cue to depart for my next game, weather permitting.

I showed up to Camden Yards in Baltimore in the 7th inning. The Orioles and Astros were riding out a 45-minute rain delay, with the O’s trailing 1-0. The owner’s box was empty when I got there. Just a handwritten note that read, “Enjoy Camden Yards. Sincerely, The Angelos.”

By the looks of things, no one had been in the box all day. The Angelos family has been locked in a nasty legal battle over control of the Orioles. Peter Angelos, 93, is in poor health. His wife Georgia is set to inherit the team, while their son John has served as Peter’s right hand man. But another son, Louis, has recently initiated litigation against his brother and mother to force the sale of the team

So it should be no surprise that Louis himself introduced himself when I left the suite in search of a seat. I got the feeling he wasn’t to be allowed in the owner’s box, but the family couldn’t stop him from entering the park. I didn’t bother to ask if I could record the conversation. It felt like everything he was saying was off the record.

He wanted me to know the team would be up for sale, and soon. He wanted to know if I was interested, and if I would be willing to pay more than $2 billion. I told Louis I just wanted to watch some baseball, and build a VR suite at Camden. He practically snarled at the Arkade console I offered as a gift, and stomped off.

I enjoyed the rest of the game from the 300 Level, with a perfect view of the field and the iconic B&O Warehouse in right field. Rougned Odor tied the game at 1-1 in the 8th after play resumed, and the game eventually went to extra innings. The O’s and Stro’s traded runs in the 10th to make it 2-2, before Houston erupted for 3 more runs in the 11th. That was too much for the Orioles, who fell 6-3.

I still had enough time to squeeze in one last game on Sunday — that’s the beauty of baseball on the East Coast — and flew up to New York to see the Yankees take on the Red Sox.

I got the authentic Bronx experience, taking the cab from LaGuardia across the RFK Bridge to Harlem. From there, I took the Subway to 161st Street — Yankee Stadium.

It was an absolute madhouse when I went upstairs to the surface. The atmosphere is indescribable. You could just feel the electricity in the air. To my left as I got out of the Subway was a souvenir shop. More like a stand. Just a giant wall of jerseys. I saw a #7 jersey. I couldn’t help myself. The vendor said it was $75. I talked him down to $80 for the jersey and a hat.

I was told to meet the owner, Hal Steinbrenner, at the New York Yankees Museum inside the stadium. The entry was roped off. “Private Engagement.” I identified myself to the guard, and he ushered me in. He told me “Mr. Steinbrenner” would see me shortly.

As I waited, I made my way through the museum. A Babe Ruth game-used mitt. Lou Gehrig game-worn jersey. Joe DiMaggio game-used bat. The list goes on and on.

Steinbrenner cleared his throat to get my attention. I immediately started recording with the device in my pocket.

[Begin Transcription, 6:47pm Eastern, September 25, 2022]

Steinbrenner: I see you’re wearing a Mickey Mantle jersey. One of my favorites.

Arkwright: Mine, too.

Steinbrenner: Do you know who signed him?

Arkwright: Not a clue.

Steinbrenner: A gentleman by the name of Tom Greenwade. Found Mickey in Commerce, Oklahoma.

Arkwright: "The Commerce Comet.”

Steinbrenner: Exactly. Interesting story about Greenwade… he used to get game-worn jerseys of all the guys he signed. Mickey. Elston Howard. Bobby Murcer. You know what he did with those jerseys?

Arkwright: Gave them back to the Yankees for this museum?

Steinbrenner: Hell, no. He cut ‘em up. Used ‘em as rugs for his house! True story.

Arkwright: I never knew that.

Steinbrenner: That man was as frugal as they come. His only vice was Cadillacs. Bought one every two years to drive on his scouting trips. But that man died with a bank, a water company, and a farm to his name. You won’t find that in any museum. Not even in this one.

Arkwright: Lots of history in this room.

Steinbrenner: And more to come. In case you haven’t heard, we’re chasing a record tonight.

Arkwright: Might’ve heard something about that.

Steinbrenner: Your timing couldn't be better. Judge might just do it tonight. At Yankee Stadium. Against the Red Sox.

Arkwright: Wouldn’t that be something.

Steinbrenner: Indeed. If the weather holds up...

[End Transcription]

The weather, unfortunately, did not hold up. It was a torrential downpour by the sixth inning. Aaron Judge was the next scheduled batter, sitting on 60 home runs. One away from tying the American League record set by Roger Maris in 1961. Any hopes of Judge hitting #61 that night were dashed when I giant bolt of lightning and accompanying thunder rocked Yankee Stadium. The game was called, and the Yankees were credited with the win, 2-0.

I spent the night in Jersey City on the waterfront. The rain and the clouds were so thick, I couldn’t even see the Manhattan skyline across the Hudson. Mother Nature put on one heck of a show.

The next morning, I was off to Washington, DC. I had never been. I was supposed to go for my Middle School Class Trip, but I was knee-deep in coding a video game that week, so I bailed. I had a friend stand in for me and pretend to be Sam Arkwright for the week. What a lucky kid.

Three decades later, I finally got to see our Nation’s Capitol. The one thing they didn’t have then were electric scooters. I saw a ton. Washington Monument. Lincoln Memorial. The Smithsonian museums. I was sad to cut my sightseeing trip short. But I was in town to watch baseball.

You could not find two teams headed in more opposite directions than the Washington Nationals and the Atlanta Braves. The Braves are coming off a World Series Championship, playing in the second-newest park in all of baseball. The Nats are in the midst of a massive tear down, stripping apart its 2019 World Series team right down to the studs.

It wasn’t hard to get in touch with the Nats ownership team. Back at the start of the season, it was revealed the Lerner family was exploring the process of selling the team. When I started charting my course to see every stadium and meet every owner in this 20-day span, the Lerners were quick to reply. Perhaps because they thought I wanted to talk about the possibility of buying the team. Then, when word got out that I was bidding for the LA Angels (fake news), the Lerners reached out again, confirming that I was still coming to visit on September 26th.

Mark Lerner was waiting for me the moment I arrived at the ballpark. His father, Ted, bought the team in 2006 after the franchise relocated from Montreal. I remember the Expos had some pretty amazing players in the 80’s and 90’s. Gary Carter. Tim Raines. Tim Wallach. Andre Dawson. Larry Walker. Pedro Martinez. Vladimir Guerrero. For the most part, all of their players were home grown. Phenomenal farm system and player development.

Lerner seemed to have no interest in getting to know me. Or why I was in town. Or why I’ve been going to all these stadiums across the country. He was focused on one thing and one thing only: selling the Washington Nationals.

I didn’t bother recording. I knew I wouldn’t get anything noteworthy. Guys like Lerner are only interested in hearing their own voice. He talked about how he never thought this day would come, and how much he would hate to let the Nats go. He talked about how it would be important for the buyer to keep the team in DC, but also hinted that it wouldn’t be a deal breaker.

I waited for him to stop talking, and told him I’d consider making a bid if the Angels bid fell through. He then went on his merry way, and I saw his team get blown out of the Potomac in a 8-0 loss.

I had a good night's sleep in DC last night, and then I did more sightseeing this morning. I went across the Potomac to visit Arlington National Cemetery, Mount Vernon, and finally, the National Air and Space Museum near Dulles. As I write this, I'm staring at a SR-71 Blackbird. I'm debating. Do I fly north to Toronto to see Aaron Judge possibly hit #61, or do I take my chances and go to Fenway Park? Decisions, decisions.

Pictured: Citizens Bank Park, Camden Yards, Yankee Stadium, Nationals Park

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
September 28th, 2022

I decided to stick to my original itinerary and fly to Boston out of DC instead of making a last second trip to Toronto to watch Aaron Judge. Lucky for me, Judge didn’t hit #61, meaning the A.L. home run record still stands. Judge didn’t even register an official at bat, walking in all five plate appearances. Every record chaser from Maris to Bonds has faced a similar situation. No pitcher wants to be known as the guy who gave up the record homer.

While Judge was getting free passes to first, I got a free pass to Fenway Park. John W. Henry is the principal owner of the Red Sox (among other things), and our paths have actually crossed before. We first met in 2003, when I started developing a software program to simulate real-world racing. The program launched the next year under the name “iRacing.” The program and its subscription service remain wildly popular among racing enthusiasts and diehards to this very day. Ironically, I found that the video game simulation just wasn’t enough to fuel my need for speed, and that’s when I got into the world of open wheel racing, first as a driver and eventually as an owner.

Our paths crossed again several years later when I started looking at Victorville, California as a potential site for one of our first franchises in the Red Rock League. John is something of a celebrity in Victor Valley. His parents were soybean farmers, and they moved to Apple Valley from the Midwest when John was 15. He graduated from Victor Valley High a few years later, and then attended Victor Valley College. After that he started trading soybean and corn futures on the market, and later developed a system to follow market trends. The system laid the groundwork for his first business, John W. Henry & Company, in 1981. By 2006, the company’s assets were an estimated $2.6 billion.

Not bad for a farmer’s son.

John got involved with MLB ownership, first with a small stake in the Mets in the early 1990’s, then outright ownership of the Marlins in 1999. He then flipped the Marlins so he could lead the purchase of the Boston Red Sox in 2002. Think about that. He just kept flipping baseball teams, basically turning a Dwight Gooden rookie card into a Honus Wagner T-206. Genius.

John has certainly made his mark in Boston, hiring famed sabermetrics pioneer Bill James to head up his analytics department. The Red Sox have had a renaissance under John Henry’s stewardship, racking up World Series Championships in 2004, 2007, 2013, and, most recently, 2018.

The man is a visionary.

Lucky for me, John knows me well enough that I didn’t have to bother asking him if I could record our conversation when he met me on Landowne Street, in the shadow of the Green Monster.

[Begin Transcription, 5:54pm Eastern, September 27, 2022]

Henry: Long time.

Arkwright: Too long.

Henry: So tell me about this new program you wrote.

Arkwright: Out of the Park Baseball?

Henry: Is that what you’re calling it?

Arkwright: Yeah. What’s the matter? Don’t like it?

Henry: A little long. Needs an acronym.

Arkwright: O.O.T.P.

Henry: Now I definitely don’t like it.

(Laughter)

Henry: What do you have so far?

Arkwright: At this point, just rosters and stats for every Major League and Minor League team. Ballpark dimensions and factors influencing batting average, doubles, triples, home runs for left and right-handed batters, accounting for altitude, prevailing winds, and atmospheric pressure. Historical records dating back to 1876. I’m currently working on data for the Negro Leagues, piecing together some old journals.

Henry: Anything I can help with?

Arkwright: How about raw scouting data for every Major League player and Minor League prospect in the country?

Henry: Oh, is that all?

Arkwright: Asking too much?

Henry: You could say it’s “out of the park.”

Arkwright: …

Henry: Too soon?

Arkwright: Too soon.

Henry: You know, if it was anyone else asking, I’d tell you you’re crazy.

Arkwright: But…

Henry: …but I kind of owe you one. You really did me a solid on iRacing. You put in a ton of work on it. And you never asked for anything in return.

Arkwright: You let me use that as a framework to work on a simulator for my racing team. I consider us square on that.

Henry: You and I both know that’s not true. Do you have any idea what kind of subscription fees my company is pulling in every month?

Arkwright: I don’t want to know.

Henry: I owe you. Seriously. I can’t give you my scouting department’s data, but what I can give you are basic reports pulled from league-wide scouting services.

Arkwright: Majors and Minors?

Henry: The whole shebang.

Arkwright: Much appreciated.

Henry: Don't mention it. So does this mean you’re buying a Major League Baseball team?

Arkwright: That’s the plan.

[End Transcription]

John took me into Fenway as I told him about my grand plan to bring Major League Baseball to Las Vegas. It’s still a work in progress. There are still so many pieces in play. John Fisher. Peter Carlino. Rob Manfred. Major League owners. And a wild card or two.

John and I had so much to catch up on. I told him about the new “Ark Reality” hardware and software I’m developing. About a planned expansion to my theme park in Boulder City. John told me all about the Red Sox. And his soccer team (sorry, football club) in Liverpool. And his NASCAR team.

We did all of this as we watched the game from pretty much every vantage point possible. Even though there were 30,000-plus crammed into the park, we still managed to find our way to every seat imaginable. Perks of hanging out with the owner. We sat the first inning in the perch above the Monster in left. Saw Ryan Mountcastle put the Orioles on the board with an RBI triple. Moved behind home plate in the second to see Triston Casas hit a homer for Boston in the 2nd. Finally, we settled into the front row in right to watch the Red Sox score six runs in the 3rd, and five more in the 4th.

All in all, a perfect night at Fenway. A wild 13-9 win for the Sox. A great time with a good friend. And a thumb drive loaded with scouting reports on every MLB and MiLB player on the planet.

What could possibly top that?

Pictured: Fenway Park

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
September 28th, 2022

It's not every day you go to the ballpark knowing you have a chance to see history. Sure, in the back of your mind, you're always keeping track of hits and baserunners, wondering if this is the day that you finally see a no-hitter or a perfect game. Or maybe a guy hits a couple homers, and you wonder if he can hit two more to join the likes of Bob Horner and Mike Cameron. Or someone gets a homer and a triple, and you're rooting for a single and a double to complete the cycle.

But tonight was different. All 37,008 fans filing into Rogers Centre here in Toronto were hoping to see history. Yankee slugger Aaron Judge entered the night sitting on 60 home runs, one away from tying the American League single season home run record. As luck would have it, the record of 61 was set by Roger Maris 61 years ago in -- you guessed it -- 1961. Maris was a Yankee, of course, and he himself broke the record of 60 set by another Yankee, Babe Ruth, back in 1927.

I had arranged to be in Toronto more than a week ago. I never really expected much, ahem, communication with the Blue Jays front office. The team is owned by Rogers... Communications. It's typically difficult to get in touch with anyone high up when they're in a corporate structure, especially when you're in the US and the corporation you're dealing with is in Canada. Nonetheless, someone in public relations did their best to make me feel welcome, sending me a credential to tonight's game. At the time, they had no idea Aaron Judge would still be sitting on 60 after going homerless in seven straight games.

I was, though, pleasantly surprised to see the vast majority of fans in the Rogers Centre wearing blue in support of the home team. I considered wearing my newly-bought Yankee pinstripes #7, but thought better of it and opted for a t-shirt and jeans instead.

Without a host and without tickets, I was free to move about the stadium. It's a retractable roof stadium. The first of its kind in North America when it was constructed in 1989. It was known as the SkyDome back then, and it remained that way until Rogers bought the stadium and renamed it Rogers Centre in 2005. The stadium has hosted just about every major event imaginable. WrestleMania. The Grey Cup. The MLB All-Star Game.
The Stones. Bruce. U2. GNR. And now, Aaron Judge.

Judge walked (again) in his first at-bat. Then a fly out in the 2nd. A ground out in the 4th. By then I had migrated to a seat out in left field. I had taken a few minutes to make some calculations to see where Judge was most likely to hit a home run. Luckily wind and atmosphere were a non-factor. The roof was closed, and it was 68 degrees. I determined that the first three rows of the seats above the Toronto bullpen were mathematically the likeliest to see -- and perhaps catch -- a Judge home run. Of course, everyone sitting in that section had the same idea, and were hoping to catch a piece of history. Unlike them, though, I didn't actually have a ticket or an assigned seat. I had a credential. That grants me access to anywhere in the stadium IF a seat is available. None were available in this particular section.

So I did what any rational person would do in a position like this. I offered a guy a bunch of money for his seat. It took $500 Canadian, but I finally had my seat. Second row. Left field. Right above the Blue Jay bullpen. The fans were getting especially giddy in my section after the Jays staged a fierce 6th inning rally. Down 3-0 to the Yanks, Danny Jansen led things off with a solo homer to left off to break up Gerrit Cole's perfect game. The home run ball? One row back, about ten seats to my left. A good warm-up of what to expect in case Judge eventually delivered.

The Toronto rally continued with a line single to right by Whit Merrifield. Then a five-pitch walk to Jackie Bradley, Jr. Then, with one out, Bo Bichette knocked in Merrifield on an infield single to make it 3-2. The Jays then tied the game on a sac fly to left by Vladimir Guerrero Jr. to the game at 3-3.

That got the stadium buzzing. And that buzz only grew when Judge strode to the batter's box in the top of the 7th. He had gone 34 plate appearances without a home run since tying Babe Ruth with his 60th homer.

Outside. 1-0.

Second pitch... sinker... swing and a miss. 1-1.

Third pitch... another sinker. Outside. 2-1.

Fourth pitch... fouled straight back. 2-2. The bat was just under the ball. Almost had it.

Fifth pitch... taken low... Groans from the crowd -- some thinking the Jays are pitching around Judge, others believing it should've been called strike three. 3-2.

Sixth pitch... another fastball... another foul. Count still full.

Seventh pitch... fouled back into the stands. Another souvenir. Just not the one we were all waiting for.

Judge then stepped out, taking a walk to clear his mind and re-set. Big, deep breath. Back in.

Eighth pitch from Tim Mayza... drilled deep to left...

The ball seemed to travel in slow motion. It was headed right for me. But the trajectory was too low. Would it clear the wall? Certainly. Would it clear the railing and go into the stands? Or would it bounce below into the bullpen? The fans in front of me were prepared. They lunged and grabbed with all their mite... but it was just out of reach. The bullet off of Judge's bat left the yard... and caromed down below into the 'pen.

The rest, as they say, is history. The Jays bullpen ran an improvised relay, eventually getting the historic ball into the hands of the Yankees. Ultimately, I'm told, it got to Aaron, and finally his mom, Patty, who had been watching the game next to Roger Maris, Jr.

Historic moment. A moment I'll not soon forget.

See ya.

Pictured: Rogers Centre, Aaron Judge

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
September 29th, 2022

Coming off the high of seeing Aaron Judge hit his 61st home run in Toronto, I was prepared for a major letdown today in Minneapolis. I mean seriously, how do you top that? Lucky for me, Minnesota didn't disappoint.

Target Field was built twelve years ago, but in many ways, it feels like it is brand new but at the same it feels like it's been around for a century. It's what I like to call a new classic.

Unlike Rogers Centre and many of the other stadiums I've been visiting as of late, Target Field does not have a retractable roof. The roof was in the plans early on, but it wound up being a budgetary casualty because of its $100 million price tag. That can make for a frigid experience in early April, but no one was complaining this afternoon. The game time temperature was 61 degrees and sunny, with a stiff breeze out to left.

Like many of the previous hosts I've met on this ballpark journey, Jim Pohlad inherited his team from his dad, Carl, who first bought the Minnesota Twins in 1984. It makes me wonder if I'd want to pass down a team to my son one day. First, though, I'd have to own a baseball team to be able to give one away. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. That day isn't today.

Minnesota is a one-party consent state, which means I didn't need permission to record my conversation with Pohlad. So when I arrived at the owner's box, I did what I normally do, which is push record on my transcription device and place it in my pocket. Pohlad gave me an earnest smile and a firm handshake, and we sat down to watch the first pitch as his Twins took on the visiting Chicago White Sox.

[Begin Transcription, 12:15pm Central, September 29, 2022]

Pohlad: Perfect timing. Welcome, Sam. I've been looking forward to meeting you.

Arkwright: Really...

Pohlad: Surprised a guy like me would know who you are?

Arkwright: Yeah. A little, actually.

Pohlad: Well, to be honest, I didn't have a clue, until your name came up in the paper about buying the Angels. So I thought I'd do my homework on you. You know, get to know a little bit about who you are, before you came to my fair city.

Arkwright: And what did you find out?

Pohlad: Not a lot. For a guy who's so prominent in the business community, there's not a lot about your personal life.

Arkwright: I prefer to keep it that way.

Pohlad: As do I. As do I. You'll notice that on my bio page on the Twins website, you'll see a few words about my charity work, my education background, committees I serve on. That's about it.

Arkwright: You're entitled to your privacy.

Pohlad: But like I said, I wanted to get to know more about you.

Arkwright: Well, Jim, what would you like to know?

Pohlad: The stuff that's not in the bio. Like... are you married?

Arkwright: Yes.

Pohlad: Any children?

Arkwright: Yes.

Pohlad: How many?

Arkwright: One.

Pohlad: Education?

Arkwright: Nope.

Pohlad: "Nope?" As in you're not answering, or as in you didn't go to school?

Arkwright: The latter. As in I didn't go to school.

Pohlad: Billionaire video game tycoon, about to buy a Major League Baseball team. How did you pull that off?

Arkwright: Mostly by cheating.

Pohlad: I beg your pardon?

Arkwright: You ever watch Ferris Bueller? I hacked my school's records. Statute of limitations are probably up at this point, so I can tell you.

Pohlad: You seem like a pretty smart guy. Why did you have to cheat?

Arkwright: I was coding my first games before I was a teenager. I kept making more and more games, but there wasn't enough time to do that and go to school at the same time. So I made a choice. I hacked the attendance records so everyone thought I was going to school. My dad was always at the office, so I stayed home and kept coding. I'd read some books when I needed a break, and would test myself.

Pohlad: "Test yourself?"

Arkwright: Yeah. History. Algebra. Spanish. The whole enchilada. Then I'd grade myself, and I'd hack the system and give whatever grade seemed appropriate.

Pohlad: What was your GPA?

Arkwright: 3.2, I think.

Pohlad: You didn't give yourself a 4.0?

Arkwright: I'm a tough grader.

Pohlad: How about college?

Arkwright: Not yet. But I might do the "Back to School" thing Rodney Dangerfield-style some day. You never know. Enough with the 20 Questions. Your Twins are coming up to bat.

[End Transcription]

The Twins wound up scoring two runs on a double from Nick Gordon in the bottom of the 1st to take a 2-0 lead. But their offense stalled out from there. So did the conversation. I got the impression Pohlad was doing a fact-finding mission on me. Maybe he was vetting me for ownership. Don't know. Don't really care.

Minnesota wound up losing, 4-3. Pohlad and I parted ways, and I headed straight for the airport to fly back out West. I have another game to catch tonight on the West Coast.

Pictured: Target Field

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
September 29th, 2022

The temperature was in the low 70’s, which is basically the default temperature for San Diego. Never too hot, never too cold. Always just right.

I’d been looking forward to my trip to Petco Park. For whatever reason, it’s sometimes the forgotten stadium among its generation of ballparks, in the shadow of San Francisco, Pittsburgh, and Seattle. I’ve got a running list of stadium rankings and I’ll have to wait to see Oracle and T-Mobile this weekend, but I can tell you right now I’d put Petco ahead of PNC. You just can’t beat the setting — right in the heart of San Diego in the Gaslamp District, with stunning views of the city skyline.

Perhaps it’s a little unfair that the Dodgers happened to be in town. A possible showdown of the two biggest title contenders in the National League. L.A. has the superior record, but San Diego may just have the superior firepower for the postseason. Owner Peter Seidler has channeled his inner John Hammond from “Jurassic Park.” He signed off on trading for Juan Soto, Josh Bell, and Josh Hader at the deadline. Signed Joe Musgrove to a massive extension. This is just in the last few months. Don’t forget about the trade for Manny Machado in 2018, and then signing him to a $300 million extension. Or signing Fernando Tatis, Jr. to a $340 million extension. Seidler is clearly committed to trying to do the impossible in Southern California: stealing the Dodgers’ shine.

Seidler left box seat tickets for me at Will Call. I had considered picking up TJ on the way back from Minneapolis, but thought better of it after my conversation at Target Field. I have always had a haphazard attitude about school attendance, but now I’m wondering if I should be pulling my son out of school so regularly.

So it was just me when I made my way down to the front row in Section 5, right by the Padres home dugout and the on deck circle.

Seidler arrived just before the first pitch at 6:40pm and sat down next to me, holding a cup of beer and a lemonade. He handed me the lemonade, telling me he heard I don’t drink. He then motioned to the recorder in my hand, and told me I could start recording. The man did his homework.

[Begin Transcription, 6:40pm Pacific, September 29, 2022]

Arkwright: Great seats. Thanks for having me.

Seidler: My pleasure. Figured I could use a break from the suite on a night like this.

Arkwright: Big series for your team.

Seidler: Would love to take the rubber match tonight. Rough one last night.

Arkwright: 1-0 loss.

Seidler: In extra innings. To the Dodgers. To think I used to like those guys.

Arkwright: You were a Dodger fan?

Seidler: My grandpa Walt owned the team. Moved them from Brooklyn to L.A. in the 1950’s. I started going to games in the 70’s. Then he died and my Uncle Peter took over. Saw them win the World Series in ‘81. I was 21 and in college then. Then they won the Series again in ‘88.

Arkwright: Kirk Gibson. The pinch-hit homer off of Eck in Game 1.

Seidler: Good memory.

Arkwright: That’s a hard game to forget. Saw it on TV. That’s right when I really became a baseball fan.

Seidler: Who’s your team?

Arkwright: Don’t really have one these days, but I’d have to say the Padres.

Seidler: Really?

Arkwright: Yeah. I watched the Las Vegas Stars all the time growing up. Sandy Alomar was one of my favorites. Lot of those guys wound up making it to the Bigs with the Pads.

Seidler: Yes! Big swing and a miss!

Arkwright: Mookie Betts. Tough out.

Seidler: So you’re thinking about ownership? The Angels?

Arkwright: Rumors. Just exploring my options. Is it worth it?

Seidler: Owning a Major League Baseball team? If you’re in it for the money, it may not be for you. Tons of overhead. The only teams that turn a real profit year-to-year are the ones that either have no payroll, or the ones with the huge TV contracts. That’s where the money’s at. If not, think of it like a 401k. You dump a lot of money into it and don’t see any coin until you cash out.

Arkwright: When you sell the team?

Seidler: Precisely. Nice play. Two out.

Arkwright: You think you’ll ever sell?

Seidler: I don’t know. It’s kind of a family tradition. There’s part of me that wants to pass it on to the next generation. It would be nice to keep it in the family like my grandpa and uncle did with the Dodgers.

Arkwright: But teams are going for a lot of money these days.

Seidler: I remember when a billion dollars was unheard of. Now these teams are going for two, three, even four billion.

Arkwright: It’s a rich man’s game.

Seidler: Strike three!

Arkwright: Freddie Freeman. Strikes out a lot. Career-high 171 k’s in 2016.

Seidler: I feel like I'm sitting Charlie Babbitt. Did you memorize that?

Arkwright: I believe you're referring to Raymond Babbitt. I never forget a number. It’s a gift and a curse.

Seidler: Let’s see if we can put some numbers on the board on offense.

[End Transcription]

And the Padres did. Jurickson Profar and Juan Soto scored on a Brandon Drury single to center to make it 2-0 in the bottom of the first. But San Diego was kept off the scoreboard after that, losing to the Dodgers 5-2. It was LA’s 108th win this season. A rich man’s game indeed.

Pictured: Petco Park

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
September 30th, 2022

I have timed much of my trip with certain milestones and records in mind. I plan on being in St. Louis for Albert Pujols and his last regular season game at Busch Stadium. And New York for Aaron Judge’s last game of the year, to see if he can tack on one last home run. But some of it has been just pure luck. Like what happened last night in Seattle.

It’s hard to believe the last time the Mariners were in the postseason, I was a 21 year old kid. There was no theme park, zoo, or independent league team in Boulder City. Sol HQ hadn’t even been constructed. My video game studio was in a small office, with just me and a handful of employees.

Baseball in 2001 wasn’t lacking in star power or storylines. Barry Bonds broke Mark McGwire’s single season home run record. The A’s were a powerhouse, riding the bats of Jason Giambi, Miguel Tejada, and Eric Chavez, and the arms of Tim Hudson, Barry Zito, and Mark Mulder. This was just before free agency started gutting their roster, setting the stage for the Moneyball Era. Meanwhile the Yankees were the sentimental favorite as the world rallied around New York City after the September 11th attacks. And somewhere in the middle of all this, the Seattle Mariners were quietly racking up wins at a record pace.

Ken Griffey Jr., Randy Johnson, and Alex Rodriguez were out of town, either by trade or free agency. But future Hall of Famer Edgar Martinez remained. So did a Japanese sensation by the name of Ichiro Suzuki. The Mariners that year won an American League record 116 games (tied with the 1906 Chicago Cubs for the most in MLB history). It felt like the start of something very special. Little did we know, it would be the M’s last playoff season in two decades.

That all changed tonight. The Baltimore Orioles had defeated the New York Yankees earlier in the day, so the Mariners magic number remained at 1 to clinch a Wild Card in the American League playoffs.

I arrived at Sea-Tac (Seattle-Tacoma International Airport) just before 5pm and took the Link Light Rail to the stadium. Seattle traffic is notoriously bad, and I take public transportation whenever I can. I’m glad I did. Several other air travelers were on the Link at the start of the line. Then as we continued the 38-minute ride, more and more Mariner fans would get on board with every stop. Tukwila. Rainier Beach. Mount Baker. Beacon Hill. By the time we reached SoDo, the seats were long gone. It was packed. Chants of “Let’s Go, Mariners!” filled the train. The chants and buzz only grew as we all spilled out at our stop near T-Mobile Park.

It seemed like every single resident of Seattle was wearing a Mariner jersey. Rodriguez #44. France #23. Haniger #17. But most of the jerseys were classics from the late 1990’s and early 2000’s. Ichiro #57. Griffey #24. Martinez #11. They’ve been waiting a long time for this. I got caught up in the playoff fever and stood in line at the Mariners team store. I came back out wearing #44.

Believe it or not, the Mariners were at one point owned by Nintendo. Before we built the Arkade console, we were a video game company. So we made games for PC, PlayStation, Xbox, Sega, and Nintendo. Trips to the Pacific Northwest were frequent for face-to-face meetings with Nintendo of America, based in Redmond. Occasionally the Nintendo executives would wine and dine me, and knowing my love for baseball, they’d take me to what used to be known as Safeco Field.

As generous as Nintendo was a host, they were absolute tyrants when it came to terms of the deal. Nintendo has always been extremely hands-on in its dealings with third-party developers, wanting final say in branding and tone of the game, while giving a very small return in profits. It’s why I ultimately decided to create my own console. I hated having my creative and fiscal independence chipped away by other companies, especially Nintendo.

We still maintained a cordial relationship after I started making the Arkade. That was aided by my decision to continue to make games to be played across all platforms. As far as the baseball team goes, Nintendo sold its controlling interest in the Mariners in 2016, retaining just a 10% stake in the club. Control of the team went to John Stanton, a Seattle billionaire with stakes in wireless companies, Columbia Sportswear, Costco, and Microsoft, and board seats to go with it.

When I told the Mariners that I was interested in visiting their ballpark, they invited me to the owner’s box. Little did any of us know, they would be attempting to make baseball history tonight. The suite was jam-packed when I arrived half an hour before game time. I almost turned right back around and left, until a stranger politely stepped in front of me and introduced himself. His name was Hirayama Yamauchi. The grandson of the late, former President of Nintendo, Hiroshi Yamauchi. He proudly told me how his grandfather saved the Mariners by purchasing the team in the early 1990’s. He also told me how his grandfather never once attended a Mariner game -- talk about an absentee owner. But he also told me how Yamauchi's ownership of the Mariners opened the door to Japanese players coming to America, from Ichiro to Shohei Ohtani.

I asked Hirayama if I could record our conversation, but he politely told me no. He continued on, saying he had come all the way from Japan when he heard I would be at the game. Apparently he’s a mid-level executive now at Nintendo, hoping to keep the Yamauchi name linked to the video game company for at least another generation. He asked me about my company, and he was genuinely amazed to learn that I still do much of the work myself. No board meetings. No corporate red tape. The anti-Nintendo.

By the time our conversation started winding down, Ty France had hit an RBI double in the 1st to give the M’s a 1-0 lead, only to have Shane Langeliers tie it up with a solo homer for the A’s in the 2nd. Yamauchi excused himself shortly after, and I was ready to follow suit until John Stanton himself gave me a firm pat on the back and introduced himself. Unlike Yamauchi, Stanton had no questions for me about video games. He was only interested in hearing about the Angels, and how much I thought they might go for. It’s a recurring theme in the MLB owners fraternity. They want to know what another team is worth, so they know how much they could make by selling their own team someday.

I eventually escaped the owner’s suite, but then saw a familiar face jump on the elevator with me at the last moment. It was A’s President Dave Kaval.

We exchanged pleasantries, but I soon got the distinct impression this meeting wasn’t by chance. Kaval said that the deal to send the A’s to Las Vegas was in danger. He said another anonymous party was moving in, and was jeopardizing the acquisition of the Tropicana property on the Strip. Of course, I already knew all of this. What I didn’t know, though, was that Fisher was now acting erratically, and that Kaval feared he might do something rash. I couldn’t quite tell if Kaval was delivering this news as an ally of Fisher, or as a favor to me. Kaval pleaded with me to meet with Fisher and to try and talk some sense into him. I told him to arrange a meeting with Fisher for Saturday evening.

When Kaval left, I looked for a place the sit. There wasn’t an empty seat to be found. 44,754 fans were on hand. Some young. Some old enough to remember the last time there was a playoff team in this park. I finally found a solitary seat in Section 344 and sat next to a kid named Colin. He couldn’t have been more than 25 years old. Which means he never saw the Mariners in the playoffs. For all the years of Felix Hernandez, Kyle Seager, and Raul Ibanez, those guys never got to experience postseason baseball in Seattle. Colin told me he spent $400 on his upper deck ticket, which was probably about half a work week for him. I bought the kid to some ballpark food — garlic fries, chicken strips, and an overpriced beer.

So there we were, me and Colin, watching what he described as a very Mariner-like game. A 1-1 tie. It remained that way until the bottom of the 9th inning. Cal Raleigh pinch hit for Luis Torrens with two outs. He worked the count full against Oakland reliever Domingo Acevedo. And then he got a hold of one, pulling a pitch to right, hugging the first base line. It kept getting higher and higher... and then... gone. Home run. Mariners win, 2-1. My, oh my.

I looked over to my left. Colin was back in his seat, while everyone else in Seattle was jumping up and down. His face buried in his hands. He was crying. He then stood up and gave out a guttural scream. We’d known each other for only a couple hours, but that didn’t matter. He gave me a big hug, and neither of us could stop smiling.

I did some detective work once I got back to the plane. It may or may not have involved hacking several secondary market ticket sites. But eventually I found the kid’s full name and address, and had an Arkade console overnighted to his apartment.

As for me, I'm overnighting myself to the Bay Area. I’ve got a big day tomorrow in California.

Pictured: T-Mobile Park

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
October 1st, 2022

I got my standard four hours of sleep after flying into SFO late last night from Seattle. After a morning jog down the Embarcadero near the San Francisco waterfront, I caught a cab to the address John Fisher passed along to Dave Kaval that was ultimately passed on to me. The driver let out an audible gasp as we pulled up to the destination. We were in the Pacific Heights neighborhood of San Francisco... the so-called “Billionaires Row.”

I have to admit, I was impressed. The homes — and the views — were stunning. Would I trade my Zion in Boulder City for one of these houses? Absolutely not. But you have to still admire the beauty of it.

I identified myself at the front gate through the intercom, and then came a buzz as the gate lurched open. I walked the brick path up to the front door. Before I could knock, the door opened, and a butler was there to greet me. He showed me in to what must be Fisher’s home office or study. Pictures of him and famous people adorned the walls. Presidents 40, 41, 43, and 45. I had heard a rumor that Fisher and his relatives had funneled a significant amount of funds into a dark money group during the 2012 election. So I guess this is what $10 million gets you. A bunch of 8x10 glossies.

Just as I was eyeballing a photo of a young John Fisher standing proudly next to Ronald Reagan, he entered the room. Fisher remarked that he worked in the mailroom at the RNC out of college, and then as a fundraiser for then-President Reagan and Vice President George H.W. Bush. Not exactly riveting stuff. The kind of humble bragging and name dropping rich men tend to do. But still, it would've been nice to record the conversation. Unfortunately I could not, since California is a two-party consent state. And it felt like it was the kind of dialogue Fisher wanted to keep strictly off the record.

He started fuming about Gaming & Leisure Properties and how they were trying to change the terms of the Tropicana property deal in Las Vegas. He feigned shock and disappointment that G&L would dare want a stake in any gaming revenue coming from the stadium if a new hotel and casino were constructed on-site. That part seemed like a no-brainer to me. Of course G&L would want a piece of the pie. Their name is Gaming and Leisure. That’s what they do. Still, I nodded in sympathy with Fisher and his constant grousing.

He then went off on a rant about G&L saying that if he didn’t like the deal, they had another offer on the table. But he said G&L wouldn’t say who the bidder was, only that it is for significantly more than what Fisher is paying. It would’ve sounded like the ravings of a mad man, if not for the fact that I knew it was true. Not only that, but also knew, of course, the mystery bidder was me.

Again, I nodded along with Fisher, trying to convey support and understanding for him and his predicament.

His tone then changed, suggesting revenge or sabotage might be in order. I cut him off, telling him even the mere mention of those things was dangerous. I tried to tell him it was just part of the negotiations, and that no deal is ever necessarily a done deal in Las Vegas. He wouldn’t have it, and then demanded I go “talk some sense into Carlino,” as in G&L Chairman, President, and CEO Peter M. Carlino.

I didn’t appreciate the tone, but obliged all the same, knowing that it would ultimately benefit me more than Fisher. Not once did he thank me or promise me anything in return. Just the way I wanted it.

I left Billionaires Row with plenty of time before the Giants’ 1:00pm game against the Diamondbacks, and decided to get some steps in by jogging the 3 miles from Pacific Heights to Oracle Park.

It was my first time at the ballpark. I’d seen plenty of pictures and videos, most of them involving Barry Bonds and splash home runs. But this was my first time seeing the stadium in person. It was everything I hoped it would be and more.

From the moment I walked through the turnstiles, I felt like I was in baseball heaven. Brickwork built a formidable wall in right and right center field. An oversized Coke bottle slide and mitt loomed large in left center. They were bookended by rows of palm trees and a giant video board and behemoth light towers. But the main attraction, of course, was what was beyond Levi’s Landing in right field — McCovey Cove.

The San Francisco Bay, and behind that, the Bay Bridge, connecting the City to Oakland and the East Bay. Not a bad backdrop for a ballgame. No wonder the A’s had been hell bent on building a stadium by the waterfront in Alameda County.

“Not bad, huh?” a voice said from behind me. It was none other than former Giants catcher Buster Posey. He told me he would be hosting me today on behalf of the Giants ownership group. He said he recently joined the team the franchise's 31st principal owner, with a seat on the board. I pulled out my transcription device and asked for permission to record. He gave a slightly puzzled look, then shrugged and smiled.

[Begin Transcription, 12:59pm Pacific, October 1, 2022]

Arkwright: Not your first time seeing one of these, I would imagine.

Posey: Tape recorder? Seen a million of those after games in the clubhouse as a player. Is this an interview?

Arkwright: No. I just prefer to archive conversations so I can play it back if I need to remember something. So you’re part of the Giants ownership now? Must be strange owning the team you used to play for.

Posey: It’s definitely different. You see things from a whole new perspective as an owner.

Arkwright: Like what?

Posey: Just all the stuff that goes on behind the scenes that nobody really knows about. P&L’s. B2B. PDC’s.

Arkwright: That’s a lot of acronyms. What’s PDC?

Posey: Player Development Contract. Each Major League team has minor league affiliates, and we have PDC’s with each one for a certain number of years. We have a couple of markets right now that need to upgrade their facilities to MLB standards. Otherwise we may have to pull our PDC.

Arkwright: Do you miss it?

Posey: Playing? Absolutely. I miss the clubhouse. The dugout. The camaraderie. You know what I don’t miss, though? The travel. The grind. It’s a long season.

Arkwright: Especially this year.

Posey: Yeah. I mean, we — I mean, they — won 107 games last year. So naturally we all thought things would be the same this year. But we’re barely keeping our heads above water right now. 5-game winning streak, 10 wins in our last 11 games, and we’re still only one game above .500.

Arkwright: Baseball is strange like that. Must be nice to still be around the game though.

Posey: It is. Just a very different vantage point. I’m not pro-player. And I’m not pro-owner. I think I can see both sides fairly without bias.

Arkwright: Like an umpire.

Posey: But with better eye sight.

(Laughter)

[End Transcription]

As for the game, it was a laugher, too. The Giants surrendered three runs in the 4th and five more in the 8th in an 8-4 defeat. The loss dropped San Francisco to an even 79-79 on the year.

It was one of the rare duds I’ve had on this trip. But I’m expecting fireworks tomorrow in St. Louis.

Pictured: Oracle Park

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
October 2nd, 2022

This was one of the first games I scheduled when I set about my ballpark journey. And I wasn’t alone. A sellout crowd flocked to Busch Stadium in St. Louis to say goodbye to two Cardinal greats — Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina.

Cards fans knew this day was coming. Albert had decided to come back to St. Louis for one last ride with the Cardinals after ten years in Southern California with the Angels and then the Dodgers. But his best seasons were in St. Louis, where he was a 10-time All-Star, winning 3 NL MVP awards and Rookie of the Year honors, and was a two-time World Series champion.

Unlike Pujols, Molina spent his entire 19-year career with the Cardinals, making him one of the most beloved players in St. Louis. When you think all-time Cardinal greats, you have to put Pujols and Molina on the short list with Stan Musial, Bob Gibson, Ozzie Smith, Rogers Hornsby, and Lou Brock.

That’s quite the list.

I arrived early to Busch Stadium so I could watch the pregame ceremonies for Pujols and Yadi. This would be their final regular season games at home, and the Cardinals pulled out all the stops to honor them. A long list of current and former teammates we’re on hand to join them, from Adam Wainwright to Ray Lankford. A Puerto Rican artist was commissioned to paint two custom portraits. The Mayor of St. Louis proclaimed two official days in honor of the two players. Each player was given a custom set of golf clubs as well as a man engraved plate from Tiffany’s.

This is how you honor your all-time greats. I’m taking notes.

With all the hubbub over Yadi and Albert, I kind of slipped through the cracks. Which was completely understandable. I never expected a sit-down with principal owner Bill DeWitt Jr., who has his hands full hosting not one, but two retirement ceremonies. He at least left me a box seat with a note, which read:

Dear Sam,

Please enjoy this very special day, compliments of the St. Louis Cardinals.

Sincerely,

William O. DeWitt, Jr.

After a heartfelt pregame ceremony, it was game time. And all 46,680 fans were on their feet when Albert Pujols strode to the plate with two on in the first inning. Pujols promptly delivered with a double right on the chalk in left to score two. Then, fittingly enough, Pujols scored on a Yadier Molina sacrifice fly. These guys can still play.

And just to further that point, Pujols reminded us all just how special he is in the 3rd inning. The man with the second-most RBI in MLB history, fourth-most home runs, and ninth-most hits gave Cardinals fans one last stamp on his career, with a drive to center and over the wall… his 702nd home run. Simply unbelievable.

The fact the Cards lost to the visiting Pirates 7-5 didn’t matter. Fans got to see Yadi and Pujols one last time. And so did I. What a day.

Pictured: Busch Stadium, Albert Pujols

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
October 3rd, 2022

I'm back where this whole baseball mecca started. It's hard to believe that two and a half weeks ago, I was here in Chicago to see the Cubs play at Wrigley Field. Now this journey to see every Major League stadium is almost over.

Today's stop was at Guaranteed Rate Field on the South Side of Chicago. It's been around since 1991, but has gone through a slew of name changes since then. It was first known as Comiskey Park. Then it was dubbed U.S. Cellular Field in 2003. That changed in 2016, and it's been called Guaranteed Rate ever since. Until, of course, someone else buys the rights to the stadium name and changes yet again. I, for one, wish ballparks would just keep the same name for perpetuity. Can you imagine Fenway Park being called "Kum & Go Field?" Or Yankee Stadium being known as "IHOP Stadium?"

The man behind those name changes is Jerry Reindorf, the owner of the Chicago White Sox. I know enough about Reinsdorf to know he is an anti-union hardliner, and used his considerable political capital to block the sale of the Texas Rangers in the late 1980's, influenced the sale of the Seattle Mariners in the 1990's, and was largely responsible for the ouster of former Commissioner Fay Vincent.

In other words, he's not a man to be trifled with.

When I reached out to the White Sox about stopping by to see their ballpark and meet the owner, Reinsdorf's office sent me a note offering a tour from one of his assistants, and some face time with Jerry "time permitting." His office also left me a ticket at Will Call for Section 536. The upper deck. That would be an insult to most people, but as I have stated previously, I actually prefer the so-called "nosebleed" seats. They give a great view of the ballpark. Guaranteed Rate Field was no exception. I could see the Chicago skyline on one side, and the entire field and the stadium's iconic scoreboard and lights on the other.

I settled into my upper deck seat, with about half capacity for a Monday night game. 22,891 were in the stands to watch the White Sox play the Minnesota Twins. Word had gotten out that Tony LaRussa would not be coming back to manage the team again because of health issues, and that dominated the conversation among the blue collar fans around me. I'd imagine it was the same in the lower levels among the white collars.

The White Sox and Twins traded off 2-run homers in the first two innings. By the time the 5th inning rolled around, I figured Reinsdorf wasn't going to come, and I was growing tired of staying in the same seat. So I went down the ramp in search of better seats -- especially with the stadium only half full. It's one of my tried and true methods. The ushers usually stop checking tickets after the first few innings, which means those lower level seats are typically fair game. To my surprise, there were entry gates to get to different levels, each guarded by security staff who scan your tickets. In other words, if your ticket is for Section 536, you're stuck in the upper deck. Sure enough, when the usher scanned my ticket, she told me I couldn't go to the lower level. Not even for concession stands or other services on the lower levels. So I retreated to the nosebleeds in Section 536.

To my surprise, an usher came to my seat in the 6th inning, and told me, "Mr. Reinsdorf will see you now." It was almost like I was in the dentist's office. Immediately upon entering the owner's suite, I thought I'd rather get my teeth pulled than talk to Reinsdorf. He droned on and on about being the son of a sewing machine salesman, putting himself through college at George Washington University, and then leveraging a scholarship offer to the University of Chicago Law School to get a full ride at the Northwestern University School of Law.

Reinsdorf carried on about how his first job out of Northwestern was a tax delinquency case involving none other than former White Sox owner Bill Veeck. He then went into private practice, specializing in tax shelters for real estate. He eventually sold his business interests and formed Balcor, which raised $650 million to invest in buildings under construction. He amassed enough wealth to purchase the White Sox from Veeck in 1981 for $19 million. What Reinsdorf failed to mention was that he was Veeck's second choice, behind Edward DeBartolo, Sr. DeBartolo lost the bid when enough owners voted against his purchase of the White Sox. I can't help but think about Joe Lacob and his efforts to buy the A's -- it's all about who you know.

Reinsdorf rarely made eye contact with me, usually setting his gaze on the field as he spoke, or looking around the suite, fiddling with a napkin or a plastic fork. I found myself nodding off as he spoke. The man loves the sound of his own voice. I finally snapped out of it when Carlos Perez sent a base hit to left, scoring the go-ahead run from second base. 3-2 White Sox. Reinsdorf gave an approving nod and an awkward fist-bump gesture to me. I reciprocated, and then said he had to get going. Thank goodness for that.

The White Sox wound up winning the game. I couldn't wait to get out and fly out to Texas. History awaits in Arlington.

Pictured: Guaranteed Rate Field

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
October 4th, 2022

My morning started off in Arlington, Texas for a look at the new Rangers ballpark, and a chance to see the Yankees’ Aaron Judge set the A.L. Home Run record. I saw him tie the record in Toronto. I hoped to see him break it in Texas.

I arrived late last night from Chicago, but still had plenty of time to meet owner Ray Davis for lunch. He invited me to a BBQ joint called 225, just a 5-minute drive from the park. I didn’t know until I saw the hours posted outside the restaurant (open only Friday-through-Sunday) that Davis had booked the place for just the two of us on a Tuesday afternoon.
We sat down in a booth, and giant trays of food were promptly served in front of us, one after another. I discretely started recording the conversation with the old man before my hands were covered in brisket and barbecue sauce.

[Begin Transcription, 11:37am Central, October 4, 2022]

Davis: Try the elote. It’s good.

Arkwright: Which one’s that?

Davis: The corn, son. Mexican corn. And that stuff that’s on top of it. That’s chopped brisket and Cheetos.

Arkwright: Dang, that’s hot.

Davis: Too hot for you?

Arkwright: No, just right.

Davis: If you like that, try these Cherry Bombs.

Arkwright: Cherry Bombs?

Davis: Habaneros. Stuffed with brisket, wrapped with bacon. Good, huh?

Arkwright: Real good.

Davis: You won’t find anything like this anywhere else in the world. This here is what Texas is all about, right here in this room. We take the best of everything, and roll it all up into one. You catch my drift?

Arkwright: I think I get the metaphor. You embrace different cultural aspects, Mexican, American, and Texan, and make something better collectively than they would be individually. Just add Cheetos.

Davis: Yeah. Same goes for Baseball. You look at us owners. I worked in the energy industry. You got lawyers. You got finance guys. You got old money. You got new money. You got a little bit of everything.

Arkwright: I’m picking up what you’re putting down.

Davis: Good. So you want to own a team? Be one of us?

Arkwright: Not sure yet. Looking into it.

Davis: Now don’t be shy, son. People are talking about you buying the team in California…

Arkwright: Really? Who’s saying that?

Davis: Everyone. Word travels fast. It’s all over the papers.

Arkwright: The papers? Oh... the Angels... yeah. Nothing official right now. No formal offer yet. Just putting out feelers.

Davis: But you know you’ll have to be approved by us — the other owners — if you want a team, right?

Arkwright: Right.

Davis: So, tell me, what makes you special? Why should you be one of the 30 people lucky enough to call themselves a Major League owner?

Arkwright: I don’t think that’s for me to say. I can tell you I’m not going to fit the mold. I like to call the shots in whatever I do. That’s why I never took Sol public. I like to get input from very smart people, but I don’t like to be told what to do. Especially by people who are ill-informed or have an ulterior motive. But that describes pretty much every owner in major league sports. That doesn’t make me special or unique, does it?

Davis: No, it does not. But it does show that you’re honest. And blunt. That’s getting harder and harder to find these days in these parts.

Arkwright: Trouble in paradise?

Davis: You don’t get to this position in life by doing everything right. Sometimes you’ve got to get a little dirty. Throw in a bunch of guys who have that mentality and give them a trophy to fight for, and it’s every man for himself. I’m in a den of thieves.

Arkwright: I’m sure there are a few owners who are fighting the good fight. From what I can see, there are some good guys out there.

Davis: But that’s where the politics come into play. You’ll get the small market owners forming their own alliance to get shared revenue from the luxury tax teams. You’ll get the big market owners partnering up to push for a higher tax threshold so they can spend more money for a title. And then there’s everyone else caught in the middle.

Arkwright: Is that you?

Davis: I suppose so. We’re not swimming in money from a big TV deal like L.A. or New York. But we can afford to pay a couple of stars, unlike Oakland and Tampa. So about you? Where do you think you fall?

Arkwright: Like I said, I don’t fit the mold.

[End Transcription]

We enjoyed the rest of our food. It was some of the best barbecue I’ve ever had. Boulder City has some pretty solid BBQ at the Fox Smokehouse, but nothing like this.

We shared a ride over to Globe Life Field. I thought it was interesting that the Rangers built a new stadium only two years ago after playing just a block away at the Ballpark in Arlington for barely 25 years. Ray explained to me that the oppressive heat during the summer made for a miserable experience for players and fans, and they needed a retractable roof. They determined it would be easier — and less expensive — to build a new $1 billion stadium than to just add a roof to their old ballpark. Probably something they should’ve thought of back in 1994. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

That was precisely what I was thinking as we watched Aaron Judge stride to the plate to lead off the first inning for the visiting team. The Yankees could’ve locked Judge up to an extension before the season and kept him in pinstripes for life. But they went on the cheap, lowballed him, and let him play out his contract. #99 has been making them pay ever since. The $210 million extension they offered before the season could easily be $300 million for whatever team is willing to back up the Brinks truck and pay Judge his worth.

Of course, I was probably the one of the 38,832 in the stadium thinking about Judge’s next contract. Everyone else in the ballpark was thinking about Judge’s next home run, which would set the American League record.

We didn’t have to wait long.

It came on a high fly ball to left field in the top of the first inning off of Rangers starting pitcher Jesus Tinoco. Though most everyone in the stadium was rooting for the Rangers, we were all Aaron Judge at that moment. #62. The A.L. home run record now belongs to Aaron James Judge. After Judge came out for a curtain call, Ray Davis gave me a knowing wink, understanding I had to fly off to Houston to catch the Astros-Phillies game, that had just gotten underway at Minute Maid Park.
I was grateful for the opportunity to witness history, and Judge did me a favor by wasting no time and hitting his historic homer in the first inning. It gave me plenty of time to get back to my jet and make the hour-long flight from Dallas to Houston.

By the time I got to Minute Maid Park, the game was already in the 5th inning. Team owner Jim Crane was waiting in the owner’s box. He waved me in and I hit record.

[Start Transcription, 7:27pm Central]

Crane: Game’s pretty much over. Better late than never I guess.

Arkwright: Sorry, got held up getting over.

Crane: Traffic?

Arkwright: Judge.

Crane: Legal problems?

Arkwright: Something like that. What’s the score?

Crane: 6-0 us. Not much of a game.

Arkwright: Kind of surprising. The Phillies seemed like they finally got things going. Three-game win streak. Four wins in their last five games. Getting hot at just the right time.

Crane: Sounds like you follow the game pretty closely. I used to play, you know.

Arkwright: Didn’t know that. How high?

Crane: College. Central Missouri State. All-American.

Arkwright: What position?

Crane: Pitcher. 21-8. 2.42 ERA.

Arkwright: Your parents must’ve been very proud.

(silence)

Arkwright: Big at bat here. Two aboard…

Crane: Come on, let’s go Vasquez! We got this guy from the Red Sox a couple months ago.

Arkwright: Christian Vasquez. 2.2 WAR with Boston this year before you got him for two prospects…

Crane: War?

Arkwright: Wins Above Replacement. It calculates the total contributions by a player to a team relative to…

Crane: Don’t get me started on that data analytics bull crap. I had enough of that when I was in the shipping business. When I played it was just baseball. See ball. Hit ball. Beautiful thing.

(Cheering)

Arkwright: Looks like Vasquez was listening. Nice hit.

Crane: 7-0. Stick a fork in these Phillies. They’re deader than disco.

Arkwright: Well, you’re not seeing their everyday lineup. They cliched a playoff spot last night, so they’re resting up for the Wild Card.

Crane: Looks like a team of scrubs to me. Won’t make it out of the first round.

Arkwright: There’s another run. Mauricio Dobon RBI single. 8-0 Astros.

Crane: So you see a lot of baseball on this ballpark tour you’re doing?

Arkwright: Almost 30 games.

Crane: How do we compare?

Arkwright: How does your team compare to the other teams I’ve seen so far? Hard to tell based on one inning, but it looks like Justin Verlander is on his game so far.

Crane: 5 innings. No hits. One walk. Ten strikeouts. I’d say that’s pretty darn good.

Arkwright: Pretty darn good, indeed. But this is the regular season…

Crane: Verlander will be just fine in the playoffs. He’s a thoroughbred. He’s going to carry us to another title. Just you watch.

Arkwright: He’s been good in the postseason, I’ll give you that.

Crane: But?

Arkwright: But… he hasn’t been so sharp in the World Series. When it matters most. 0-2 with a 5.73 ERA in two starts in 2019.

Crane: That was a fluke. He’s normally fantastic in October.

Arkwright: Verlander was 0-1 in two World Series starts in 2017.

Crane: Well, traditionally, Justin has been a rock in the playoffs. That’s a small sample size. Four starts is nothing.

Arkwright: 0-3 in three World Series starts with the Tigers. 18 runs in 15 innings. In analytics, we call that a statistical trend.

Crane: Like I said, I'm not into that analytics stuff. How about we just watch the game.

[End Transcription]

The conversation was pretty sparse after that. I suppose I should’ve let sleeping dogs lie. But I just couldn’t let it go. I gave myself a pat on the back for not bringing up the sign stealing and trash cans.

As for Verlander, he got the hook after the fifth inning despite carrying a no-hitter. The bullpen took it all the way to the 9th before finally surrendering a hit. Still, the Astros managed a 10-0 win to improve to 105-56 on the year.

Only one more game and one more stadium remains on my ballpark tour. New York City, here I come.

Pictured: Aaron Judge, Globe Life Field, Minute Maid Park

[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

[Hendu Style]

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.

[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]

Pictured: Sam Arkwright's 2022 MLB Playoff Simulation:

[GoPedro99]

The suspense!

[Palaaemon]

Welcome back Hendu!

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
December 22nd, 2022

Even I had to admit, the predictive results from my playoff simulation were eerily close to the real thing. Not only had my OOTP engine correctly picked the Houston Astros to win the World Series against Philadelphia Phillies, but it also nailed each and every preceding round. ALCS. NLCS. The Divisional Series. The Wild Card Round. It was uncanny.

The data drive I had sent to Steve Cohen automatically decrypted November 7th, as promised. It revealed the next layer of my sims. I'm still not sure how accurate it's going to be, but considering the results of the 2022 postseason, I feel reasonably confident. As confident as a computer programmer delving into the world of baseball analytics can be.

Though I can't predict what the future holds for baseball in Las Vegas, I can at least try to get a glimpse of what the game might look like by the time we're in full swing on the Strip. Each simulation I ran used November 30th, 2022 as a leaping off point, and I stopped the sim once the calendar rolled to November 30th, 2027. There had to be a certain degree of randomness and limited chaos, so I allowed my patented A.I. to make acquisitions reflective of current ownership and league executives across Major League Baseball.

The first simulation yielded some interesting results. The Astros were once again pegged as World Series champs in 2023. Then a game short to the Dodgers in 2024, who then repeated in 2025. In the words of Yogi Berra, "it's like deja vu all over again." But things started getting interesting the final two years of the sim, when the Cubs clipped the Orioles in Game 7 to win the '26 Series, and then the O's held off the Cardinals in 2027. Interesting.

Also of note, some astounding seasons from Mike Trout in the first sim: A 59 home run campaign in 2023, followed by an astonishing 64 homer output in 2024, coupled with a .325 batting average and 1.112 OPS. Amazingly enough, Trout's 11.0 WAR was only second-best in the American League, behind a just-entering-his-prime Julio Rodriguez. J-Rod put up a .316/.377/,673 slash line with 59 homers and 133 RBI for the Mariners, along with Gold Glove defense in centerfield. Rodriguez's WAR that year? A preposterous 12.3. Clearly I had more simming to do.

My subsequent simulation favored the L.A. Angels. It had the Halos winning two World Series crowns in 2025 and 2027, thanks to banner seasons from Mike Trout (7.6 WAR in 2025, 10.0 WAR in 2026, and 7.9 WAR in 2027). A recurring theme for Trout, no doubt.

But with all due respect to Mr. Trout and Sr. Rodriguez, I wasn't all that interested in the exploits of the Angels and Mariners. I was more focused on the data that Steve Cohen had expressed interest in, specifically Edwin Diaz, Jacob deGrom, Justin Verlander, Aaron Judge, and Carlos Correa.

I had some astronomical projections for the Mets closer and free agent-to-be. Edwin "Sugar" Diaz was saccharine sweet in my sims. Without fail, Diaz would rank among the league's best in saves, but more importantly, he routinely registered strong numbers in ERA (anywhere from 0.95 to 1.61 in any given year), WHIP (0.64 - 0.92), K's per 9 innings (14.4 - 18.3), and WAR (typically at least 4.0). I took special note of those findings.

Next up was Jacob deGrom. Not surprisingly, deGrom proved to be fantastic... when healthy. Almost every simulation predicted he would have a strong if not stellar 2023 season (13-4, 3.69 ERA, 298 K in 207 IP in one sim). But he would be out of baseball within three or four years with some form of an arm or elbow injury.

Veteran ace and free agent Justin Verlander proved to have staying power in my sims, pitching through at least the 2026 season. One simulation proved especially promising, going 20-4 while leading the league in ERA (2.39), WHIP (0.98), HR per 9 innings (0.6), and walks per 9 innings (1.8). And if milestones are a concern, 300 career wins seemed attainable in my simulations.

Speaking of milestones, Mr. 62 himself, Aaron Judge, seemed to be up to the task in my simulations. Most of my projections had the Mets signing the slugger in free agency, and Judge rewarded them with some standout seasons. One particular run saw him lead the league in homers for three consecutive years, hitting 47 in 2024, 63 in 2025, and 47 in 2026.

Interestingly enough in one of my sims, Judge transitioned into more of a contact hitter when his power numbers began to slip. So much for the belief that Judge would fall off a statistical cliff in his mid-30's.

Last, but not least, was Carlos Correa. Outside of Judge, Correa was the prize of the '22 free agent class. Much like the aforementioned deGrom, Correa's success is dependent on health and availability. Correa has only managed to play in at least 150 games only once so far in his big league career, and that was as a 21-year-old in 2016. Though my OOTP engine is unable to detect underlying health conditions, it does at least factor injury history into the equation. Still, the numbers at least reflected a semi-healthy Correa playing solid baseball over the course of my 5-year simulations.

All of the above data points involving potential Mets free agent acquisitions were unlocked and revealed on Cohen's drive just days after the conclusion of the World Series. But all other data, including Trout and Rodriguez, were for my eyes only.

Cohen texted me just once after the data drive was decrypted. The text was simple:

Are these numbers for real?

I answered, "Yes."

That was it. The free agent dominos started to fall. Quicker than a Dwight Gooden fastball, the Mets started making moves, right in line with my simulations.

It started with Diaz signing a 5-year, $102 million contract to remain with the Mets. Then I watched as deGrom left the Big Apple for Texas and a 5-year contract with the Rangers. The Mets responded by inking Justin Verlander to a 2-year contract for $86.7 million. Then, just two days ago, the big domino fell. Judge re-signed with the Yankees on a mammoth 9-year, $360 million deal. A cool $40 mil a year.

And that brings us to Correa, and the reason for this journal entry. In the majority of my simulations, he signed with the Dodgers. But in reality, just yesterday, the Mets announced they had signed Correa to a 12-year contract. This came after the Giants had apparently signed Correa to a similar deal, only to have it blow up in their face when he flunked the physical. I wasn't surprised when Cohen's caller ID lit up my cell phone.

[Begin Transcription, 11:18 am Pacific, 12/22/22]

Cohen: We need to talk.

Arkwright: Is this about Correa?

Cohen: Yeah. Thanks, by the way. I signed all the guys you suggested.

Arkwright: I didn't suggest you sign the guys you signed. I merely showed you the data.

Cohen: Don't be so modest. Everyone is talking about how we crushed it in free agency. We came out with a giant f---ing stick and hit it out of the f---ing park.

Arkwright: Almost...

Cohen: Yeah, no #99. I backed up the Brinks truck for Judge, but he was hell-bent on wearing pinstripes. F---ing Yankees. Had to make a big splash to take the sting out of that one. So we got the next best thing.

Arkwright: And so here we are.

(silence)

Arkwright: Getting cold feet on Correa?

Cohen: Freezing. Like "cut both my legs off now from hypothermia" kind of cold feet. Everything you heard about the Giants... the physical... the medical records. It's true. All of it. This stays strictly between us. Carlos's leg is a hot mess.

Arkwright: How bad?

Cohen: Our doc says the ankle is the worst he's ever seen.

Arkwright: So scrap the deal.

Cohen: Not that easy, my friend. I pretty much told the New York Post it was a done deal yesterday.

Arkwright: Why would you do that?

Cohen: Momentary lapse in judgment. A few too many Mai Tais here in Hawaii. Sue me.

Arkwright: So how can I help?

Cohen: I want to know how much Correa is worth. With a bum ankle.

Arkwright: Hold for a sec...

(pause)

Cohen: What are you doing?

Arkwright: I'm tweaking some things...

(pause)

Arkwright: You said it was an ankle, right?

Cohen: Yeah. Why?

Arkwright: Hang on...

Cohen: Jesus, are you running this simulation right now?

Arkwright: And... done.

Cohen: Already? Don't you want to cook the hamburger a little bit before serving it?

Arkwright: Half.

Cohen: Half? Half what?

Arkwright: Half the production. If your doctor is right about that ankle, my simulations predict Correa will see his offensive and defensive production will be effectively cut in half at some point during the life of a long-term contract. According to my calculations, that should come somewhere around year 3. Or 4. That's when he'll lose his range and mobility. He'll be useless to you as a shortstop. You'll be forced to DH him, or at the very least plant him over at first base. But his offensive numbers won't warrant putting him in the lineup in the first place. Whatever kind of output you're expecting over the course of a 12-year contract, you can slash it in half.

(pause)

Arkwright: You still there?

Cohen: Yeah. I'm here. I owe you one.

Arkwright: Yes. Yes, you do.

[End Transcription]

Postscript: The New York Post later reported the Mets cut their contract offer to Carlos Correa to six guaranteed years, half of the original twelve-year offer. Correa and his agent, Scott Boras, refused. Two and a half weeks later, Correa instead inked a six-year deal with the Minnesota Twins.


Pictured: Projections for Edwin Diaz, Jacob deGrom, Carlos Correa, Justin Verlander, and Aaron Judge:

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
January 23rd, 2023

The following entry is heavily redacted for security reasons.

I'm still waiting for the right moment to cash in my favor from Steve Cohen. His time will come. In the meantime, my focus -- baseball wise, at least -- is back on the Vegas stadium site. The A's have been losing traction on building a new stadium in the Bay Area, and John Fisher and G&L Properties are presumably still going back and forth about the Tropicana site on the Strip. The latest setback came just this week. There's scuttlebutt that the federal money Oakland and the A's were counting on is, in fact, no longer coming through.

That means either the City is going to have to pony up more money, or it's going to come out of Fisher's pocket. Neither is likely. If things keep going the way they are going, Vegas seems like the logical landing spot for the A's. So I need to continue to position myself between Fisher and Las Vegas.

Luckily, Fisher put me right back in the mix. Between meetings, just as I was reading about the A's latest stadium setback, my phone rang. It was none other than John Fisher.

[Begin Transcription, 3:03 pm China Time Zone, 1/23/2023]

Fisher: You're up late. Did I wake you?

Arkwright: It's in the middle of the day here right now.

Fisher: Where are you?

Arkwright: Shenzhen.

Fisher: China. Damn. That's no good. For how long?

Arkwright: I'm on the road for another three weeks. Can it wait? Or do you want to talk now?

Fisher: Can't talk on the phone. This has to be in person. When are you stateside?

Arkwright: I'm back in one month. February 21st.

Fisher: Great. We can meet then. We'll be in touch.

[End Transcription]

Fisher is smart. Whatever he wants to say, he knows it's not safe to say over the phone. Especially here in China. I also know that whatever he's got his mind, it's going to be worth recording.

Unfortunately, all of this is happening as I'm laying the groundwork for a new project. First, China, so I can [redacted]. Then it's onto [redacted] to [redacted]. If everything goes according to plan, we'll have everything ready to start shipping to [redacted]. But this is going to take time and considerable resources. Which means I have to call the last person on this planet I want to talk to.

My sister.

[Galeg]

Glad to see this is still going.

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
February 14th, 2023

I cut my business trip short. What I needed to do couldn’t be done on Zoom or a phone call. This had to be in-person. I left China to get to Boulder City one week before my meeting with John Fisher.

I would’ve preferred anyone else. But this assignment requires a certain level of skill and discretion. And Rita is the best at what she does. Almost too good.

I may be a Boulder City resident, but I don’t eat out often in town. So I got a chuckle out of the two replica shotguns used for handles at the front door of the Dillinger Food & Drinkery. It was a little too on the nose for a restaurant named after a Depression Era gangster, but I appreciated the nice touch.

My sister was already at the restaurant when I arrived, and I was fifteen minutes early. Rita is nothing if not punctual. She was wearing her typical rigid pressed pantsuit, with a tightly wound bun of black hair. Black rimmed glasses framed her laser focused eyes. She gave me a sharply raised eyebrow as I sunk into the seat across from her.

“This must be important if you need me,” she started, with a 50/50 blend of curiosity and judgment. “On Valentine’s Day, of all days.”

I absentmindedly let loose a chuckle, knowing full well my sister had zero capacity for love or a love interest. She pretended not to notice, turning her attention to an arrangement of sugar packets in front of her. They had a strange order and perfection to them. It was… familiar.

“What you got going on there?” I asked, nodding to the rows of Equal, Splenda, and Sweet’N Low.

“This?” she responded. “This… is us. Our table. This is where you’ll sit.”

“For what?” I replied before I could stop myself.

“Don’t be coy,” she said drolly. “Not with me.”

Rita pointed at the packets, and then the corresponding tables and key points around the restaurant, explaining the ideal positions to place cameras and recording devices.

“Now,” she asked, “who’s the target?”

I told her. She wrote down nothing. Just like me, Rita has a photographic memory.

“First name,” she continued, “with or without an ‘H?’“

“With.”

“And the last?”

“No ‘C,’” I answered.

She asked me if I owned the restaurant, but I figured she already knew the answer. She probably already pulled the Clark County tax records and had a blueprint of the Dillinger Food & Drinkery. She suggested I put in a cash offer to purchase the place outright, today. The sooner I had the deed, the sooner she could get to work.

Rita never asked me why I needed it done. The less she knew, the better. For both of us. Her background in surveillance and security necessitates an absurd amount of detail. But when you operate in the shadows like she does, sometimes it’s best not to know everything.

I asked her how much it would cost. She didn’t answer. Which was the worst possible outcome.

“You owe me,” she said, and got up from the booth and left.

[GoPedro99]

Loving it! excited for the future

[Hendu Style]

Sam Arkwright Diary
February 21st, 2023

John Fisher was already sitting at the table when I arrived. The hostess asked if I had a reservation, oblivious to the fact that I was the new owner of The Dillinger. I told her I was part of the Fisher party. John stood up from his seat to greet me.

“No recordings today,” he said before I could even ask.

I nodded in understanding, knowing there were at least a dozen lipstick-sized cameras and microphones covering each and every conceivable angle throughout the restaurant. Even at our table. Especially at our table. They had all been meticulously placed by Rita and her crew unbeknownst to the restaurant staff the week before.

Fisher wasted little time getting down and dirty.

He bragged how he was reaping millions of dollars in revenue sharing by positioning his A’s as a destitute franchise with no income. He smugly told me his team made more in profits than all but four other Major League ball clubs.

I tried my best to not show my disdain for a man who probably loathed government handouts, yet had no problem being on the MLB dole.

Then he laid out his plan to sabotage Gaming and Leisure, the investment group that owned the Las Vegas property where he wanted to build. He told me he wanted me to bring a thumb drive to the G&L corporate offices in Pennsylvania, so he could plant ransomware in their system.

Every single moment, every single word was recorded for posterity.

Fisher then told me how he had hired investigators to dig up dirt on Peter Carlino and several of his Board Members. It was juicy. And very damaging. The kind of stuff that can destroy families and careers.

I looked around the restaurant as Fisher spilled the beans, giving me more and more rope for the noose I was about to hang him with. I noticed all the gangster-era photos and memorabilia on the walls, paying homage to the infamous gangster, John Dillinger. As far as I know, he never made it out to Las Vegas, much less Boulder City. He earned his reputation during the Great Depression by robbing two dozen banks and police stations in the Midwest, just as concrete was being poured out West at what would later become known as Hoover Dam. FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover — no relation to Herbert Hoover, for whom the Dam is named — made it his mission to bring down Dillinger, who had courted publicity and openly defied the law, even escaping prison on two separate occasions.

I began to think about the lengths that Hoover went to, even assembling a group of special agents assigned to investigating and apprehending Dillinger. All that painstaking detail and effort, committed to taking down just one guy. Hoover finally succeeded in 1934, when the notorious gangster was gunned down outside a Chicago movie theater after a showing of Murder in Trinidad.

I thought about all the resources Hoover had at his disposal, and how there must have been times he was questioned for neglecting other cases and other causes in the name of one man. I saw how it paralleled my own life, neglecting my family and my business. I caught myself physically shoeing the thought aside with my hand as I told myself it had to be done.

“Something wrong?” Fisher asked, interrupting my train of thought.

I looked down at my menu. I owned the restaurant, but didn’t have a clue what this place served. The menu was chock full with mob-inspired names, including burgers ranging from “The Dillinger” to “The Capone.”

I started thinking about the so-called “St. Valentine’s Day Massacre,” a notorious gangster shooting, which happened nearly 100 years ago. It made Al Capone a national celebrity. But it also made him public enemy number one of the FBI.

Capone, one could argue, was wise to take out his rivals consolidate control by eliminating his rivals in bootlegging, gambling, and prostitution. In doing so on that fateful day in 1929, he took total control of the Chicago gang lands. But he also got the unwanted attention of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Sometimes it’s best to quietly take out a target without taking credit or responsibility. Capone had an airtight alibi and was never charged, but everyone from the FBI to the general public knew the blood was on his hands. That proved to be his downfall.

Just then, the server came to take our order. Fisher ordered a steak salad. I ordered the burger with grilled onions, Jack cheese, and Thousand Island dressing in grilled sourdough.

The Executioner.