The Weigh In

Apologies for not posting last Friday (have you noticed I take weekends off for good behavior?). My decision to betray the media and ignore them has created a firestorm of propaganda that I expect will end abruptly since the Giants advanced to the NFC Championship game. I think their success is more newsworthy than me not talking. But as of Friday, and over the weekend, there was still "controversy" in my decision. In other words, it's a slow time for baseball. What else is there to discuss? It's ironic that all people in baseball circles want to talk about is my decision not to. Friday was especially busy because one person in particular wanted me to pay a visit to her baseball circle: our good owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney.

I don't know if I've weighed in on how much I like Mrs. Delaney. She's been willing to spend money when needed. And she's been kind to my whole family. You should see the size of the fruit cake she had sent to us for Christmas! Yes, she can be a little off-center. Eight cats in her office are about eight too many for someone allergic to cats, which I am not. I just don't like them so I pretend. And her "anti-green" campaign is not especially popular nowadays. But I know in her mind, recycling is more expensive than she likes. I don't think she should encourage turning Staten Island back into a dump for solid waste. That's what the ocean is for, right? (A joke. I was joking. It's okay to laugh at the environment's expense. Much healthier than littering.)

I stepped into Mrs. Delaney's office - just me, no agent or lawyer or entourage of men in black suits - and she asked me to sit. We discussed the weather, my rehab. She said I looked lighter. I told her I was only because I had just sucked on the helium from one of the Get Well Soon! balloons outside her office (Mrs. Delaney recently sprained one of her thumbs on a stairmaster). Then we got down to brass tax, which is a phrase I've never used before, mainly because I have no idea what it means. But if taxes were made of brass, I'd be doing something about it. You can bet on it!

Her main question: Why was I going to forgo the media so that I could have a little Internet folly? I reminded Mrs. Delaney I had made my decision, however swift it was, because:

1. I was mad at players for knowingly hitting on my underage daughter. Their inability to police themselves made me question whether professional athletes, baseball players in particular, thought they (we) were immune to laws of their choosing because they could hit a ball real far or throw it real fast.
2. I was mad that my other daughter found herself in the uncomfortable situation of catching another player, a teammate, literally with his pants down while in the presence of a woman other than his wife.
3. I was mad at my reaction to #2, which was to tell my daughter to pretend it never happened, even though it was obviously a HUGE deal to her. But do I put team before family every time? The way I see it, I have two families - The one that pays me megabucks and the one that loves me (allegedly). Love must come before money, especially when you already have a healthy bank account.
4. I was mad at how the press dumped all over Vanessa for a charity event she and two other wives had planned. Here she is, trying to do something good, and they bash her. It's not like she said anything disrespectful to a reporter, or acted in some fashion as to cause a major celebrity scandal. The way she sees it, she's not a celebrity. Her husband is. If she can raise awareness of key issues and also money for charities because of who I am, then she's going to do her best, something she's been great at for the last 15+ years. For reporters to take sides without coming to her for comment first is not only disrespectful, but it's bad reporting. And I don't want to have anything to do with a group that won't respect my wife's right to defend herself.

Mrs. Delaney nodded and said she empathized with me. Then she explained that our team is one that gets along with the press. Her players need to understand how important the press is to the process of promoting the game and promoting her team in New York (hopefully moreso than the other team in New York, which she doesn't own). She didn't want to mention how she was pushing the city for a new stadium. She did of course. Continuing, she said that players who make rash, unpopular decisions don't help sway public opinion to her side. And she needs public opinion, since their taxes will be footing probably 90% of the bill (making me happy I live in New Jersey).

The publishers of the Post, the News and Newsday had called Mrs. Delaney. They wanted to see if she could publicly weigh in on this issue. She supported me with a No Comment until she could speak to me directly (something the press should have done with Vanessa).

I restated my position which, no doubt, has softened since I made it. Time does that to a man's mind as well as his stomach. But I told her that I can't go back now, not after my big-ass announcement which included capital letters and proper punctuation. If I go back, I look like a man of little character. I want to be a man of big character, especially since I'm 6 foot 4.

Mrs. Delaney nodded as only she can, which means she was upset. But I give her credit for not ordering me, in so many words, to speak to the press. She told me she wants two things, to win and to get that new stadium. She was hoping I'd help her with both. I told her I will, as long as it doesn't cost me anything. She said I may have already spent all the goodwill I had with this city, and maybe this team.

I told her I'd think about it. I owed her that much.

But my final decision was made on the drive home. My dad, "Red" Scott, he who has now become the team's regional sports network's new voice in the TV booth, asked since I wasn't talking to the press, was he included? I thought the unpleasant thought of him following me around all season, his little microphone pack strapped to his belt and cheesy smile glued onto his face with duct tape. I thought of the road trips and the special treatment he was expecting. I thought of how I'd never eat dinner alone again, how he'd somehow end up sleeping in my suite and wearing my bathrobe and eating my breakfast while I showered. "Well?" my dad said, irritation mixed with expectation. I smiled a little, just a little, and said, "No comment."