You probably saw in the notes section of your paper today that Mike Murphy, who was signed to a 4-year deal 3 years ago and has pitched in 27 games (he was projected to have started 90+) suffered another setback yesterday. After showering, Mike used his hair dryer (I wish I still had the need for one) on high. Apparently, he was talking to someone and lost track of time. By holding the dryer with his right (pitching) arm cocked in place for too long, as if he was holding a gun, his hand and elbow stiffened up on him. Apparently, they had to pry the still-running dryer (couldn't anybody find the off switch?) out of his hand with, no joke, a pair of pliers and a screwdriver. His hand turned out to have a minor cramp, but his elbow - connected to his arm which is connected to his two-time surgically repaired shoulder - suffered severe swelling. After an MRI came back, it was announced that Mike had torn his UCL and would miss the entire season.
I feel horrible for the guy, who wanted to live up to his $56 million contract in the worst way. He'll never throw another pitch for us. It's a shame.
Mike is an example of all that has gone wrong for this team since we last won a championship in 2000. Terrible injuries (his, mine), age (me again), male pattern baldness (not valid for this discussion, but me again), underperforming superstars (I won't raise my hand for fear of damaging a shoulder), rookies out of their league, poor management... Across the board, we have made mistake after mistake while suffering from more than our fair share of bad luck.
I could tell the mood around here wasn't that of a winning, optimistic atmosphere after the latest Mike Murphy injury. Even our new high-ceiling guys - Kai Goto, Lyman Gaye - showed concern. This is part superstition, yes. But when superstition crawls into your psyche, it's damn hard to shed it and play as well as you're capable of playing.
There's not a lot a person can do to combat superstition. Manager, and my new buddy in detente, Rick Churches, has since banned hair dryers from the clubhouse, which will probably negatively affect GE stock for the next 12 months.
But there's superstition and there's also just bad, or in Mike's case, dumb luck. The worst injury of this sort that I know of happened to Yancy Breckman about ten years ago. That off season, he was dating a deaf girl and desperate to take things (you know what I mean) as far as they could go in the relationship. He tried to teach himself sign language and, in a bout of enthusiasm, poked himself in his right eye, damaging his cornea. The (then) lifetime .300 hitter didn't ever play a full season again and never hit higher than .220.
If manager back then, I wonder if Rick would have banned fingers from the clubhouse.
As for me, I'm scheduled to throw off a mound tomorrow for the first time. Nothing crazy. I'm not throwing all of my pitches yet. But my core and lower body feel great; honestly, better than they've felt in years. I've pulled back from three-a-day workouts to two-a-days. Our strength & conditioning coach Will Twain wants me to think full season now. He's concerned that I'll be exhausted in August.
We're 0 and 2 so far this spring, which doesn't mean anything. However, our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, is scheduled to be here this weekend. I just hope she's careful on her plane. We don't want her to strain her back getting up out of her seat.
Rick would probably ban air travel from the clubhouse for the rest of the season.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Cosa Nostra Sit-Down
Since I beat the team through arbitration in my grievance with them on Monday, I had zero contact with anyone in management since - until today. I read the things Alvin said in the paper, which wasn't much since he was just coming back from his, what turned out to be, self-imposed suspension after the allegations against him of sexual assault. Reporters beat him down with questions about that (to which he could only answer a scant few) before someone brought up our grievance proceeding. I give him credit for using his sense of optimism. "If the worst news for me this year is Jimmy Scott playing for this team at half of who he used to be, I'll be having a pretty good year."
It was nice to hear him say something like that. Neither he nor Rick Churches have supported me very much since last season ended. I think part of that had to do with the way last season ended, with the controversy around (former) manager Larry Picketts and his criticism of the organization (peppered with some unprintable language - unprintable in any language). Spring training always brings hope for a new season. Maybe Alvin caught of whiff of hope and felt like spreading some goodwill toward his men.
Rick's another story. His first year at the helm here, and first year out of the broadcast booth in the last 18, Rick is trying to be part Marine drill sergeant and part teddy bear with everyone down here. His approach varies depending upon the situation, and I laud him for being flexible. The only person he hasn't been flexible with is...me.
I don't really know why.
Last week, in a rare moment of us being in the same room together for longer than it takes to sneeze, I asked him if he was upset that my father replaced him in the TV booth and now he had two different Scotts in two different forums available to skewer him when he makes a mistake. I meant it as a joke. My father, "Red" Scott, doesn't criticize from the TV booth. Like Alvin in spring training, "Red," when on the air, finds a piece of good in almost every event pertaining to a baseball game. There's virtually nothing Rick can do to face the wrath of "Red" Scott. And it's not my place here to openly Monday Morning Quarterback his every move.
He didn't think my joke was funny.
So when I beat the team on Monday, nothing from him. Nothing Tuesday or Wednesday. A couple of unnamed teammates (they have names, we all do, but I am just choosing here not to release them to the public without accepting monetary bribes first) told me, peppered with Larry Picketts-style bad language, that I should do something to fix this standoff. Rick's Marine drill sergeant act was wearing thin and they would soon take their frustration out on me (unless I offered them monetary bribes first).
So I called super agent Jack Perry and asked him to set up a meeting, an old fashioned, mob-style, Cosa Nostra sit-down, between Rick, Alvin and me at Morton's, a steakhouse in Ft. Pierce not far from our complex. No agent present. No assistant GMs jockeying for a seat closest to Alvin. No cameras or reporters.
They had one objection. They claimed I'm a reporter. What the f*ck, I said to Jack. I'm no more reporter than they are Marines. "Then stop blogging," Jack said. I conceded the point for the sake of team unity. They could invite one reporter to attend. But he had to be objective, I said. I'm sure they laughed at that one. An objective baseball columnist is as common as a four leaf clover in Baghdad. They chose Steve Guttman from the New York Independent.
I like Steve as a person. He's written some nice things about me in the past. In the more recent past, he hasn't. But his agenda is readership. Not skewership.
As I'm not talking to the media, I told Steve when we all sat down that everything I said was off the record. Immediately, Rick and Alvin objected. They said I couldn't post anything they said then. Our sit-down had become a standoff.
Steve suggested he call his editor, Mark Patton, who has covered the NY sports scene for almost 40 years. "Mark's seen everything," Steve said. "Let him reconcile this."
After arguing whose cell phone to use (nobody wanted to pay for the long-distance call), Steve said he'd use his. He put it on speaker and talked. Mark laughed for about 90 seconds before he told us how ridiculous we all were. Rick intervened and said we called for advice, not an intervention. Mark apologized through what sounded like a wide smile and said I should allow Steve to print my comments, as long as he slanted the comments in terms of a conversation he heard, not a direct interview with me. That kind of made sense, although I knew Mark's allegiance was to his paper and Steve before it was to me and my "cause." His suggestion was as slanted as his viewpoint. I quick-called super agent Jack Perry for his counsel and he told me to just do it and to stop calling him so he could do some work. I disagreed with everyone but knew I was outmanned and had been outflanked. I realized I should have thought about the issue before agreeing to having a reporter present. But, as Vanessa, my lovely and occasionally encouraging wife, knows I'm not one to think things through before acting. Case in point: This blog.
Steve took out a recorder and put it on the table. I told him to turn it off. Notes only. My voice would not be recorded. "Stealing your soul, Jimmy?" Rick said. I smiled and said no. I just didn't want him to get his fat hands on it to play for the world in a press conference the next day. Steve pulled it away and began writing furiously.
Alvin asked if we could start. I agreed and called over the waiter. It was time to order. Rick complained he hadn't had time to look at the menu. I told him we were at Morton's. They served steak. Order a f*cking steak. Steve wrote furiously, breaking the tip off of his pen and looking for a sharpener. Alvin patted Rick on the shoulder and told him to settle down. I asked for the NY sirloin, medium rare, and a water.
We all ordered, Steve got a new pen, and had our privacy back (we were in a meeting room, not the general dining room which was filled with early birds having dinner at 2:30 in the afternoon). The words began to fly from Alvin.
Alvin's a good man. Allegations aside, I know when it comes to baseball and our team, he wants us to win. He's willing to deal with the 25 personalities on a ballclub, as well as the personalities of the coaching staff, the front office staff, ownership, and the other 29 GMs trying to beat him. It's a tough job that I would never want to attempt, even for a day.
He spoke eloquently about the problems we've had with each other, going back to November. He addressed some miscommunication between his staff and my agent. He addressed their frustration at my "duplicitous" nature - allegedly agreeing to retire, then not, then turning toward this public forum and turning away from traditional media. He explained that, at the time, they believed their tact of using a second opinion from a doctor who never even examined me to force me to retire was the right move, even though, yes, it came back to embarrass the team. And he apologized for Rick's stubbornness throughout the entire affair.
In my rebuttal, I explained I was upset the moment they approached me about not invoking my personal option to play this year, about pushing their "youth movement" stance that led to them signing 3 free agents older than 33. I said that if any party had been "duplicitous," it had been them; that their "miscommunication" with my super agent was what led them to believe I was "duplicitous," and since he admitted to a "miscommunication" with Jack, in turn, Alvin should also admit that I had not been "duplicitous" at all.
"We're getting caught up in tiny details," Alvin said. "Let's move on."
"Sure," I said. "As long as you stop bringing up tiny details."
He didn't say anything. I turned to Rick, my new field manager, the man at the table who, going forward, really held the power. I had my roster spot. I was going to play this year. Alvin was committed to my being on the team at some point. But Rick - he was the one who either would or would not put me in the game. And he knew this. That's why he was sitting up straighter than anyone else, wearing the smirk he bought in the off season to show off to me.
"You hate me," I said to him, hoping to jump start a dialog.
Rick said nothing. Steve stopped taking notes and watched. Then, there was this exchange:
Alvin: Rick doesn't hate you.
Me: Yes he does.
Alvin: No he doesn't.
Waiter: How is everything?
Rick: Get the f*ck out of here.
Me: See? He's not a happy man when I'm around. Alvin, you'll have to leave an extra-large tip because of Rick's outburst. He's already cost you a loss in my arbitration. If he keeps this up all year, the team won't be able to afford to pay for its dry cleaning bill.
Rick: I don't hate you.
It was strange. At that moment, I could tell that he didn't hate me. At that moment, maybe he didn't. But moments pass, replaced by new ones. I stayed on my toes in case a bad moment was around the corner.
Rick: I despise you. I loathe you. I can't stand you. But I don't hate you.
Me: You getting this, Steve? He can repeat it if you need him to.
Steve: I get the gist.
Me: We just don't want you to misquote him.
Steve: As long as you don't.
Me: I'm wired. We're cool.
It was right about here that Rick flipped out. The moment had definitely passed.
Rick jumped up from the table and approached me very quickly, yelling about how I probably was wired and the whole tape recorder discussion half an hour before was a sham, how everything about me was a sham, how my whole career had been a scam.
I commented on the rhythm of his rhyme scheme while Alvin stood between us. Then I said I wasn't wired. He be better off if he didn't listen to conversations other people wee having.
Alvin told me it was okay to climb out of the fetal position I had coiled into under the table. We all sat back down and tried to have a civilized conversation.
Rick: Don't undermine me. That's all I ask.
Me: Why would I do that?
Rick: Because you hate me back.
Me: You realize you just admitted that you hated me.
Rick: I do now.
The moment really had passed.
Me: No, I don't want to undermine you.
Alvin: No breaking news before we release a statement. No comments on personnel without running it through me. No criticisms of anyone sitting at the table.
Me: Should I ask Congress to revoke the entire first amendment?
Rick: Don't be a wise ass all the time.
Me: Don't try to control something you have no control over.
Rick: You have no idea the pressure a manager is under.
Me: I don't.
Rick: Just cut me some slack.
Me: Promise you won't try to hit me?
Rick: No.
Me: You have to leave your paranoia at your bungalow before coming to the ballpark each day. I'm not out to get you. I'm not out to get Alvin, or Steve, or anyone else. I want to get healthy, play baseball, and have a little control over my life.
Rick: You're talking from both sides. You complain that we're too controlling then you claim you want control.
Me: Yes. I'm a control freak. I'm due back at the circus in ten minutes, so let's wrap this up.
One of my problems is my nervous energy. If I don't have a baseball in my hand, I don't deal with the my internal goings-on too well. I sound like a wise ass. Unlikable. Unfriendly. Deep down, or not so deep, I know I'm just as insecure as Rick. I've just won more games than him, that's all.
I apologized then. A flat out, straight-from-the-heart, truly sincere apology. No sarcasm. No witty remarks. I said I was sorry. I told Rick that he did have a high-pressure job. And even though neither one of us, obviously, believed either one of us should be in the shoes we stand in, we should each step back and try to start fresh. I promised to be objective in my comments about team management. No, I wouldn't submit my posts to Alvin's office for editing. But I'd do a responsible job of self-editing. I wouldn't break news unless it applied to me, because, frankly, the team had a pretty lousy track record of late when it came to making announcements about me. I said I'd be more open with them about my rehab progress, but they had to be more open with me (through super agent Jack Perry, of course) about their feelings.
Then the strangest thing happened. Rick offered to shake my hand. I never thought I'd see it. This man, who admitted to hating me, reached out to me. At that moment, he was a better man than me. I shook it, knowing that moments pass into the next. Tomorrow, he may change his mind again. Maybe even sooner. But I promise it won't be because of me. For now on, if somebody's going to hate me, I'm going to have nothing to do with it.
It was nice to hear him say something like that. Neither he nor Rick Churches have supported me very much since last season ended. I think part of that had to do with the way last season ended, with the controversy around (former) manager Larry Picketts and his criticism of the organization (peppered with some unprintable language - unprintable in any language). Spring training always brings hope for a new season. Maybe Alvin caught of whiff of hope and felt like spreading some goodwill toward his men.
Rick's another story. His first year at the helm here, and first year out of the broadcast booth in the last 18, Rick is trying to be part Marine drill sergeant and part teddy bear with everyone down here. His approach varies depending upon the situation, and I laud him for being flexible. The only person he hasn't been flexible with is...me.
I don't really know why.
Last week, in a rare moment of us being in the same room together for longer than it takes to sneeze, I asked him if he was upset that my father replaced him in the TV booth and now he had two different Scotts in two different forums available to skewer him when he makes a mistake. I meant it as a joke. My father, "Red" Scott, doesn't criticize from the TV booth. Like Alvin in spring training, "Red," when on the air, finds a piece of good in almost every event pertaining to a baseball game. There's virtually nothing Rick can do to face the wrath of "Red" Scott. And it's not my place here to openly Monday Morning Quarterback his every move.
He didn't think my joke was funny.
So when I beat the team on Monday, nothing from him. Nothing Tuesday or Wednesday. A couple of unnamed teammates (they have names, we all do, but I am just choosing here not to release them to the public without accepting monetary bribes first) told me, peppered with Larry Picketts-style bad language, that I should do something to fix this standoff. Rick's Marine drill sergeant act was wearing thin and they would soon take their frustration out on me (unless I offered them monetary bribes first).
So I called super agent Jack Perry and asked him to set up a meeting, an old fashioned, mob-style, Cosa Nostra sit-down, between Rick, Alvin and me at Morton's, a steakhouse in Ft. Pierce not far from our complex. No agent present. No assistant GMs jockeying for a seat closest to Alvin. No cameras or reporters.
They had one objection. They claimed I'm a reporter. What the f*ck, I said to Jack. I'm no more reporter than they are Marines. "Then stop blogging," Jack said. I conceded the point for the sake of team unity. They could invite one reporter to attend. But he had to be objective, I said. I'm sure they laughed at that one. An objective baseball columnist is as common as a four leaf clover in Baghdad. They chose Steve Guttman from the New York Independent.
I like Steve as a person. He's written some nice things about me in the past. In the more recent past, he hasn't. But his agenda is readership. Not skewership.
As I'm not talking to the media, I told Steve when we all sat down that everything I said was off the record. Immediately, Rick and Alvin objected. They said I couldn't post anything they said then. Our sit-down had become a standoff.
Steve suggested he call his editor, Mark Patton, who has covered the NY sports scene for almost 40 years. "Mark's seen everything," Steve said. "Let him reconcile this."
After arguing whose cell phone to use (nobody wanted to pay for the long-distance call), Steve said he'd use his. He put it on speaker and talked. Mark laughed for about 90 seconds before he told us how ridiculous we all were. Rick intervened and said we called for advice, not an intervention. Mark apologized through what sounded like a wide smile and said I should allow Steve to print my comments, as long as he slanted the comments in terms of a conversation he heard, not a direct interview with me. That kind of made sense, although I knew Mark's allegiance was to his paper and Steve before it was to me and my "cause." His suggestion was as slanted as his viewpoint. I quick-called super agent Jack Perry for his counsel and he told me to just do it and to stop calling him so he could do some work. I disagreed with everyone but knew I was outmanned and had been outflanked. I realized I should have thought about the issue before agreeing to having a reporter present. But, as Vanessa, my lovely and occasionally encouraging wife, knows I'm not one to think things through before acting. Case in point: This blog.
Steve took out a recorder and put it on the table. I told him to turn it off. Notes only. My voice would not be recorded. "Stealing your soul, Jimmy?" Rick said. I smiled and said no. I just didn't want him to get his fat hands on it to play for the world in a press conference the next day. Steve pulled it away and began writing furiously.
Alvin asked if we could start. I agreed and called over the waiter. It was time to order. Rick complained he hadn't had time to look at the menu. I told him we were at Morton's. They served steak. Order a f*cking steak. Steve wrote furiously, breaking the tip off of his pen and looking for a sharpener. Alvin patted Rick on the shoulder and told him to settle down. I asked for the NY sirloin, medium rare, and a water.
We all ordered, Steve got a new pen, and had our privacy back (we were in a meeting room, not the general dining room which was filled with early birds having dinner at 2:30 in the afternoon). The words began to fly from Alvin.
Alvin's a good man. Allegations aside, I know when it comes to baseball and our team, he wants us to win. He's willing to deal with the 25 personalities on a ballclub, as well as the personalities of the coaching staff, the front office staff, ownership, and the other 29 GMs trying to beat him. It's a tough job that I would never want to attempt, even for a day.
He spoke eloquently about the problems we've had with each other, going back to November. He addressed some miscommunication between his staff and my agent. He addressed their frustration at my "duplicitous" nature - allegedly agreeing to retire, then not, then turning toward this public forum and turning away from traditional media. He explained that, at the time, they believed their tact of using a second opinion from a doctor who never even examined me to force me to retire was the right move, even though, yes, it came back to embarrass the team. And he apologized for Rick's stubbornness throughout the entire affair.
In my rebuttal, I explained I was upset the moment they approached me about not invoking my personal option to play this year, about pushing their "youth movement" stance that led to them signing 3 free agents older than 33. I said that if any party had been "duplicitous," it had been them; that their "miscommunication" with my super agent was what led them to believe I was "duplicitous," and since he admitted to a "miscommunication" with Jack, in turn, Alvin should also admit that I had not been "duplicitous" at all.
"We're getting caught up in tiny details," Alvin said. "Let's move on."
"Sure," I said. "As long as you stop bringing up tiny details."
He didn't say anything. I turned to Rick, my new field manager, the man at the table who, going forward, really held the power. I had my roster spot. I was going to play this year. Alvin was committed to my being on the team at some point. But Rick - he was the one who either would or would not put me in the game. And he knew this. That's why he was sitting up straighter than anyone else, wearing the smirk he bought in the off season to show off to me.
"You hate me," I said to him, hoping to jump start a dialog.
Rick said nothing. Steve stopped taking notes and watched. Then, there was this exchange:
Alvin: Rick doesn't hate you.
Me: Yes he does.
Alvin: No he doesn't.
Waiter: How is everything?
Rick: Get the f*ck out of here.
Me: See? He's not a happy man when I'm around. Alvin, you'll have to leave an extra-large tip because of Rick's outburst. He's already cost you a loss in my arbitration. If he keeps this up all year, the team won't be able to afford to pay for its dry cleaning bill.
Rick: I don't hate you.
It was strange. At that moment, I could tell that he didn't hate me. At that moment, maybe he didn't. But moments pass, replaced by new ones. I stayed on my toes in case a bad moment was around the corner.
Rick: I despise you. I loathe you. I can't stand you. But I don't hate you.
Me: You getting this, Steve? He can repeat it if you need him to.
Steve: I get the gist.
Me: We just don't want you to misquote him.
Steve: As long as you don't.
Me: I'm wired. We're cool.
It was right about here that Rick flipped out. The moment had definitely passed.
Rick jumped up from the table and approached me very quickly, yelling about how I probably was wired and the whole tape recorder discussion half an hour before was a sham, how everything about me was a sham, how my whole career had been a scam.
I commented on the rhythm of his rhyme scheme while Alvin stood between us. Then I said I wasn't wired. He be better off if he didn't listen to conversations other people wee having.
Alvin told me it was okay to climb out of the fetal position I had coiled into under the table. We all sat back down and tried to have a civilized conversation.
Rick: Don't undermine me. That's all I ask.
Me: Why would I do that?
Rick: Because you hate me back.
Me: You realize you just admitted that you hated me.
Rick: I do now.
The moment really had passed.
Me: No, I don't want to undermine you.
Alvin: No breaking news before we release a statement. No comments on personnel without running it through me. No criticisms of anyone sitting at the table.
Me: Should I ask Congress to revoke the entire first amendment?
Rick: Don't be a wise ass all the time.
Me: Don't try to control something you have no control over.
Rick: You have no idea the pressure a manager is under.
Me: I don't.
Rick: Just cut me some slack.
Me: Promise you won't try to hit me?
Rick: No.
Me: You have to leave your paranoia at your bungalow before coming to the ballpark each day. I'm not out to get you. I'm not out to get Alvin, or Steve, or anyone else. I want to get healthy, play baseball, and have a little control over my life.
Rick: You're talking from both sides. You complain that we're too controlling then you claim you want control.
Me: Yes. I'm a control freak. I'm due back at the circus in ten minutes, so let's wrap this up.
One of my problems is my nervous energy. If I don't have a baseball in my hand, I don't deal with the my internal goings-on too well. I sound like a wise ass. Unlikable. Unfriendly. Deep down, or not so deep, I know I'm just as insecure as Rick. I've just won more games than him, that's all.
I apologized then. A flat out, straight-from-the-heart, truly sincere apology. No sarcasm. No witty remarks. I said I was sorry. I told Rick that he did have a high-pressure job. And even though neither one of us, obviously, believed either one of us should be in the shoes we stand in, we should each step back and try to start fresh. I promised to be objective in my comments about team management. No, I wouldn't submit my posts to Alvin's office for editing. But I'd do a responsible job of self-editing. I wouldn't break news unless it applied to me, because, frankly, the team had a pretty lousy track record of late when it came to making announcements about me. I said I'd be more open with them about my rehab progress, but they had to be more open with me (through super agent Jack Perry, of course) about their feelings.
Then the strangest thing happened. Rick offered to shake my hand. I never thought I'd see it. This man, who admitted to hating me, reached out to me. At that moment, he was a better man than me. I shook it, knowing that moments pass into the next. Tomorrow, he may change his mind again. Maybe even sooner. But I promise it won't be because of me. For now on, if somebody's going to hate me, I'm going to have nothing to do with it.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Back To School
Our first game against a team other than ourselves is this afternoon. We play the Riptide, who are trying to make all 3 of their fans call them The Tide. The game is in West Palm Beach, about an hour's drive from Ft. Pierce, and most of the regulars will stay behind with most of the coaches. It's not worth it yet to do the bus thing - the whole travel thing - when timing is still off, muscles are still being acclimated, and minds are still soft from an off season of Wii.
I'd be staying behind anyway, since I'm not as far along as many of my teammates. I've been throwing off of flat ground for a couple of weeks now and will throw a bullpen session to live batters (it's hard to find dead ones who can swing away) over the weekend.
Coming off of a major injury like mine takes a lot of patience and lots of hard work. I admittedly didn't rehab as hard as I should have right after my surgery last April 5th. If I had, there would have been a decent chance that I could have gone north with the team and been able to pitch that first week of the season. Instead, the plan is for me to be available by May 1 to contribute to the team.
So it's been me and Mike Murphy, who had a second shoulder surgery last June (he might be back by September, although no one is sure since he only threw 3 innings last year and 37 in 2006), kind of tossing the ball to each other like babies and listening to Bobby Spencer, our pitching coach, who's trying to teach us new ways to throw that will relieve stress on our surgically repaired parts.
How does it feel to re-learn how to pitch? It's weird. If you're right handed, take a baseball in your left hand, go into your motion, and see how it feels to throw your fastball. Awkward, huh? When I throw lefty, I throw like a girl (no offense, you dames). Throwing with my newer motion on my natural right side is kind of like me throwing like a lefty girl. Not as awkward, but just awkward enough to feel a little weird. Bobby says with repetition, I should get a good feel soon. He also says I should be able to reclaim a few miles an hour on my fastball, which was topping off around 88 right before my UCL and me got into that very public, and violent, argument. If I could get into the low 90s, and still have the movement I used to have, I could be pretty good. Maybe 2008 wouldn't have to be my last year...
That's what goes through your head during this process. You keep looking forward to the future because the present is so tough and, let's face it, boring. That means I have to not only re-learn how to pitch, I have to re-learn the old "Take it one day at a time, one game at a time, one inning at a time" line of thinking. That's a different kind of discipline. Being that most big leaguers are just big babies, and big babies want everything NOW, it's very difficult to teach us patience. But I'm working hard on that part of my game as well.
The rest of the coaching staff is doing the same with not only the other players coming off injury or off season "procedures," i.e. cleaning out a knee, but with the guys who are trying to improve off of last season, which on our team is most everyone.
It is a strange sight to see Chazz Waters back in camp. I know - and he knows, and the press knows, and you know - he wasn't Rick's first choice to be bench coach, but he's got a pedigree here. Two World Championship Series rings with us (1996, 2000) is nothing to sniff at (I don't know what that phrase means). And since we haven't been very competitive since left in 2002, maybe a little of his past will rub off on some of the guys here. And Rick, who can probably learn a thing or two from Chazz, especially since this is Rick's first camp as a manager.
Gums Murphy, our resident octogenarian who managed us for two "glorious" (his word) weeks at the end of last season (the team went 2 and 11 under his helm), is teaching bunting to anyone who will listen. He's also got lots of stories about the days when players took trains between cities and the farthest west anyone would go was St. Louis. Very different from today. But so is Gums.
By the way, Willie Fernandez, who we all remember as our third baseman who caught the last out of the 2000 Series team, is here as our new infield and third base coach. Willie's in great shape and could probably still hit a few home runs off the bench if he had wanted. But for him, coaching is less stressful on his knees. I haven't had five surgeries on mine, so I can't make too much fun of him for hanging up his spikes and waving other guys around third base to score. I can still make a little fun of him. It's more fun that way.
Home game tomorrow against the Sky that will be broadcast on NYS. That will be my dad's first game on the air for us. Listen in and see what he says about me. I'll be in the dugout watching the action. Who knows, maybe I'll learn a thing or two as well.
I'd be staying behind anyway, since I'm not as far along as many of my teammates. I've been throwing off of flat ground for a couple of weeks now and will throw a bullpen session to live batters (it's hard to find dead ones who can swing away) over the weekend.
Coming off of a major injury like mine takes a lot of patience and lots of hard work. I admittedly didn't rehab as hard as I should have right after my surgery last April 5th. If I had, there would have been a decent chance that I could have gone north with the team and been able to pitch that first week of the season. Instead, the plan is for me to be available by May 1 to contribute to the team.
So it's been me and Mike Murphy, who had a second shoulder surgery last June (he might be back by September, although no one is sure since he only threw 3 innings last year and 37 in 2006), kind of tossing the ball to each other like babies and listening to Bobby Spencer, our pitching coach, who's trying to teach us new ways to throw that will relieve stress on our surgically repaired parts.
How does it feel to re-learn how to pitch? It's weird. If you're right handed, take a baseball in your left hand, go into your motion, and see how it feels to throw your fastball. Awkward, huh? When I throw lefty, I throw like a girl (no offense, you dames). Throwing with my newer motion on my natural right side is kind of like me throwing like a lefty girl. Not as awkward, but just awkward enough to feel a little weird. Bobby says with repetition, I should get a good feel soon. He also says I should be able to reclaim a few miles an hour on my fastball, which was topping off around 88 right before my UCL and me got into that very public, and violent, argument. If I could get into the low 90s, and still have the movement I used to have, I could be pretty good. Maybe 2008 wouldn't have to be my last year...
That's what goes through your head during this process. You keep looking forward to the future because the present is so tough and, let's face it, boring. That means I have to not only re-learn how to pitch, I have to re-learn the old "Take it one day at a time, one game at a time, one inning at a time" line of thinking. That's a different kind of discipline. Being that most big leaguers are just big babies, and big babies want everything NOW, it's very difficult to teach us patience. But I'm working hard on that part of my game as well.
The rest of the coaching staff is doing the same with not only the other players coming off injury or off season "procedures," i.e. cleaning out a knee, but with the guys who are trying to improve off of last season, which on our team is most everyone.
It is a strange sight to see Chazz Waters back in camp. I know - and he knows, and the press knows, and you know - he wasn't Rick's first choice to be bench coach, but he's got a pedigree here. Two World Championship Series rings with us (1996, 2000) is nothing to sniff at (I don't know what that phrase means). And since we haven't been very competitive since left in 2002, maybe a little of his past will rub off on some of the guys here. And Rick, who can probably learn a thing or two from Chazz, especially since this is Rick's first camp as a manager.
Gums Murphy, our resident octogenarian who managed us for two "glorious" (his word) weeks at the end of last season (the team went 2 and 11 under his helm), is teaching bunting to anyone who will listen. He's also got lots of stories about the days when players took trains between cities and the farthest west anyone would go was St. Louis. Very different from today. But so is Gums.
By the way, Willie Fernandez, who we all remember as our third baseman who caught the last out of the 2000 Series team, is here as our new infield and third base coach. Willie's in great shape and could probably still hit a few home runs off the bench if he had wanted. But for him, coaching is less stressful on his knees. I haven't had five surgeries on mine, so I can't make too much fun of him for hanging up his spikes and waving other guys around third base to score. I can still make a little fun of him. It's more fun that way.
Home game tomorrow against the Sky that will be broadcast on NYS. That will be my dad's first game on the air for us. Listen in and see what he says about me. I'll be in the dugout watching the action. Who knows, maybe I'll learn a thing or two as well.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Zookeepers
They got me. I promised, back in January, that I wouldn't speak with the media this season. I pretty much didn't even when Diane Sawyer came to our home a week later and have been able to keep that promise to myself since.
Until this morning.
I was in the clubhouse this morning around 7:15. One of our trainers, Bing Levine, was working on my elbow, kneading it like bread dough, when I got a call on my cell phone. As I was one-handed, and it was very early, I picked up, assuming it was Vanessa. Instead, it was "Ted from Accounting" who wanted to go over my last paycheck to make sure they took out the right amount of FICA.
"Ted" had a deep, professional kind of voice. And he kept asking personal questions that had nothing to do with FICA, like if I spent my money wisely, did I use it to pay for the logo at the top of this page, would I consider donating some to his "charity for reformed former virgins."
It was around then that I realized "Ted" was either a crazy fan who somehow got my number, some other blogger or a person trying out his snarkiness. I was close. It was a Z-100 radio phone scam. After he revealed himself, I offered an embarrassed laugh and asked where they got my number. The DJ guy (I don't listen to the station) said he couldn't reveal his sources. Ha ha.
He asked me if I realized he was a member of the media and I'd broken my "sacred vow" to never speak with the media again. I responded that it was a season-long vow with an option to renew and I didn't consider a Morning Zoo disc jockey to be the media. "You're more like the cousin nobody wants around but has to put up with because you exist."
He then asked me if I'd appear on their show every week, since they weren't really The Media. I said no. They couldn't afford me. Then I told them it was time to wrap it up. I was having arm transplant surgery in an hour and the cadaver had just arrived. Right before I hung up, I heard one of the other Zookeepers mention it must have been a gorilla cadaver. Another hearty ha ha.
So they got me. They scammed me. I was punk'd. I was on Candid Camera (phone).
Bing asked who had called and I looked at him while he wrapped a steaming hot towel around my multi-million dollar elbow. "Just my cousin. I'm not talking to him anymore."
"Must've been a bad call," Bing said.
"He works in a zoo," I replied. "I hope they never let him out."
Until this morning.
I was in the clubhouse this morning around 7:15. One of our trainers, Bing Levine, was working on my elbow, kneading it like bread dough, when I got a call on my cell phone. As I was one-handed, and it was very early, I picked up, assuming it was Vanessa. Instead, it was "Ted from Accounting" who wanted to go over my last paycheck to make sure they took out the right amount of FICA.
"Ted" had a deep, professional kind of voice. And he kept asking personal questions that had nothing to do with FICA, like if I spent my money wisely, did I use it to pay for the logo at the top of this page, would I consider donating some to his "charity for reformed former virgins."
It was around then that I realized "Ted" was either a crazy fan who somehow got my number, some other blogger or a person trying out his snarkiness. I was close. It was a Z-100 radio phone scam. After he revealed himself, I offered an embarrassed laugh and asked where they got my number. The DJ guy (I don't listen to the station) said he couldn't reveal his sources. Ha ha.
He asked me if I realized he was a member of the media and I'd broken my "sacred vow" to never speak with the media again. I responded that it was a season-long vow with an option to renew and I didn't consider a Morning Zoo disc jockey to be the media. "You're more like the cousin nobody wants around but has to put up with because you exist."
He then asked me if I'd appear on their show every week, since they weren't really The Media. I said no. They couldn't afford me. Then I told them it was time to wrap it up. I was having arm transplant surgery in an hour and the cadaver had just arrived. Right before I hung up, I heard one of the other Zookeepers mention it must have been a gorilla cadaver. Another hearty ha ha.
So they got me. They scammed me. I was punk'd. I was on Candid Camera (phone).
Bing asked who had called and I looked at him while he wrapped a steaming hot towel around my multi-million dollar elbow. "Just my cousin. I'm not talking to him anymore."
"Must've been a bad call," Bing said.
"He works in a zoo," I replied. "I hope they never let him out."
Monday, February 25, 2008
And The Winner Is...
Me. Just got word that the arbitrator, Benezir Sutton, ruled in favor of me in my grievance against the team. I don't owe them the $500,000 fine for writing this blog ("conduct detrimental to the team, its stakeholders and fans") for the month of November (plus an additional $100,000 per month for December, January and February). And I can now participate 100% in all drills with the team, since they can't force me to retire and they can't force me to sit on the sidelines so they can collect on the insurance.
The team, of course, said they would try to work something out anyway with the insurance company, but that makes no sense to me since I'll be playing baseball this season. Not sure what they expect the men in suits to do for them. But Nick Curtis, Assistant GM, has been running the team for the last two weeks and he said that to the press. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, because not two hours after we get word of our victory, we heard that the team reinstated GM Alvin Kirby. The sexual assault charges against him are pending, but these things take months, sometimes a year or two, to get resolved. I guess the team thought there's no harm in letting somebody who's qualified work for them rather than sit on his ass and watch cartoons all day.
So, in effect, the team made two transactions today: 1) Jimmy Scott (me in the third person) is back (and not being forced to sit on my ass and watch cartoons all day) and 2) Alvin Kirby is back. I've requested a slumber party to celebrate, but I don't think Alvin would be interested in hanging out with me right now. Although I do think a pillow fight may have been a better way for us to work out our differences than going to a full arbitration panel.
With that behind me, I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. That burden is gone. I can just concentrate on playing baseball now and am truly excited.
Now if I could just get over this cold I caught from one of our clubhouse guys. Then I wouldn't have to worry about sneezing on all of the hands that I want to shake and be able to hold my head up high as a winner.
The team, of course, said they would try to work something out anyway with the insurance company, but that makes no sense to me since I'll be playing baseball this season. Not sure what they expect the men in suits to do for them. But Nick Curtis, Assistant GM, has been running the team for the last two weeks and he said that to the press. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, because not two hours after we get word of our victory, we heard that the team reinstated GM Alvin Kirby. The sexual assault charges against him are pending, but these things take months, sometimes a year or two, to get resolved. I guess the team thought there's no harm in letting somebody who's qualified work for them rather than sit on his ass and watch cartoons all day.
So, in effect, the team made two transactions today: 1) Jimmy Scott (me in the third person) is back (and not being forced to sit on my ass and watch cartoons all day) and 2) Alvin Kirby is back. I've requested a slumber party to celebrate, but I don't think Alvin would be interested in hanging out with me right now. Although I do think a pillow fight may have been a better way for us to work out our differences than going to a full arbitration panel.
With that behind me, I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. That burden is gone. I can just concentrate on playing baseball now and am truly excited.
Now if I could just get over this cold I caught from one of our clubhouse guys. Then I wouldn't have to worry about sneezing on all of the hands that I want to shake and be able to hold my head up high as a winner.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Motivationally Speaking
Our new esteemed manager Rick Churches spoke to the full team yesterday. With nearly every man on the roster now reported to camp, this was Rick's first opportunity to get everybody in one room to hear him philosophize.
I'll give him one thing - the man can speak. There's a reason why he was in our TV booth for the last eight years (replaced by my father, "Red" Scott). It's his voice. He's got a golden throat. If Obama needs a VP who has similar oratory skills as himself, he should turn to Rick Churches.
These speeches are generally closed-off from the media. The purpose from Day 1 down here is Team. We win as a team, we lose as a team, etc. You've heard it before. Having this one team meeting, with just us, helps the spiritual bond between players and each other, as well as players and management. Imagine if every discussion between you and your significant other was held in front of a gaggle of reporters, all wearing identical khakis and collared polo shirts, each asking you to hurry up so they could meet a deadline or update their blog. It's important to have some private time so we can be ourselves, so we can feel inspired or motivated by our leader and reflect personally or with each other without 3rd party interference.
As you know, Rick chose yesterday's team forum to be a public affair. I'm not certain why he went this route, although I have my opinions which I'll share with you now. Well, it's not really opinions, with an s. I have one opinion - the man knows he has a fabulous voice and wants others to share in its fabulousness whenever it's put to good use. That said, the inspiration and motivation we, or at least I, was supposed to feel did not happen.
Blah. That's how I felt when he was done. (53 minutes! He lost me at mile marker 10.) Yes, he and I are on different personal wavelengths. There's been more than a little animosity between the two of us this off season. But I didn't go in there to criticize him. I went in there to be impressed. I wanted to be moved. I wasn't.
As he spoke, I thought back to last year's speech that former manager Larry Picketts (he of the YouTube tirade now viewed over 850,000 times) gave. I wasn't moved then. So I thought back some more. 2004-2006 was all Larry. Nope. I didn't feel anything. 2003 with Vance Dunn? Nothing. Our most recent championship was in 2002, Gum Wilson's last year on the job, allegedly, before coming back to be Rick's bench coach this season at GM Alvin Kirby's behest (does that mean the bench is a hot seat?). Gum definitely didn't inspire with his words. Not of much use for them, he led by letting us play. He could push buttons like any of today's best videogame fiends. He motivated us by letting us win. His spring training state of the union addresses? Terrible. Five minutes and out. I felt nothing.
As I drove to my afternoon session with Andy, my personal trainer, I wondered if it's not the speaker that has the problem; maybe the problem lies with me. Not one to admit anything could in any way be wrong with me, I quickly dialed Dr. Henry Cochegans, team psychiatrist (or is he a psychologist? Not sure the difference and always forget to ask.) to have a quick cellular session.
Luckily, Dr. Cochegans could speak with me for a few moments. After he reminded me of the non-disclosure agreement I signed, what you see below is just my input in the conversation. The NDA does not allow me to quote Dr. Cochegans in this forum. "For my own protection," he always says. Oops.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Getting stronger each day, in both mind, body and spirit.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Okay. Yes, I am aware "both" signifies two and I spoke of three characteristics. You going to analyze or criticize today?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Sorry I snapped at you. You probably get that all the time from the other guys on the team who speak to you, huh? What do they say? Be specific. Do they talk about me? They all hate me, right?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: I'm not paranoid. I'm paranormal.
Dr. Cohegans: (Ed. note: I couldn't hear what he said here. I hit a bad cell area.)
Me: I need to talk about my lack of inspiration when I hear my managers speak.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: You're saying it shouldn't matter what they say? It only matters how I feel inside?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Are you reading from a pamphlet or something? It takes me five minutes to tell you what I want to talk about and you give me your diagnosis in one sentence without letting me whine.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Okay. I'll listen to my heart, my soul, and find it within myself to succeed. I'll be an individual. Sounds like I never should have quit Boy Scouts.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Whatever.
I don't need to elaborate any further because, as Dr. Cohegans said, it's self-explanatory. Part of my problems with Rick have been because of me. I'm looking for something from him, as a manager, as a man, that he can't, or doesn't need to give. I need to look at myself and solve whatever riddles my subconscious is querying me about. No more relying on others to make me feel something. It's up to me to feel it on my own.
I talked to Andy, my very large personal trainer, about the previous paragraph (I practically recited it to him, word for word), and he said I was already motivating myself.
Andy: Why are you here?
Me: On earth? I guess all humans -
He turned the treadmill I was running on from high hill to Everest mountain.
Andy: No, dummy, why are you in this gymnasium working out? Why are you asking Dr. whatever his name is -
Me: Cohegans. It's really not that hard to say after some practice.
Andy: May I finish?
Me: (sulking and sweating a lot, my few hairs matted onto my scalp like wet string on the underside of a garbage can lid)
Andy: We've been doing two-a-days and three-a-days for months. I rarely have to raise my voice and egg you on. You're plenty motivated.
Me: (breathing very hard, unable to speak)
Andy: I always like these parts of our sessions. You can't get the last word in.
When I got back to the house Vanessa, the kids and I are renting down here, I told Vanessa all about my mentally (and physically) stimulating day. I told her how much Rick likes to hear himself talk, how I haven't really paid attention to what anyone in authority has said to me for at least 6 years, and how I will never scale Mt. Everest without the aid of a helicopter.
She smiled and told me we should celebrate by taking tomorrow afternoon off and going with the kids to Disney World. I told her I couldn't. I'm down here to work, even when practice is over, even on weekends, even when I'm about to drop from exhaustion. I'm down here to work. She smiled some more and told me she liked my answer. To her, it was inspiring. "Sounds to me like you should've been the one giving the speech to the team today."
I gave her a kiss and a long, tight hug. It felt good to hear her say that. And it felt even better to be able to respond without the glare of the media standing three feet away, khakis and polo shirts ready to pounce. Sometimes, the best motivation happens in the privacy of our own homes, in our own minds, in our own time.
I'll give him one thing - the man can speak. There's a reason why he was in our TV booth for the last eight years (replaced by my father, "Red" Scott). It's his voice. He's got a golden throat. If Obama needs a VP who has similar oratory skills as himself, he should turn to Rick Churches.
These speeches are generally closed-off from the media. The purpose from Day 1 down here is Team. We win as a team, we lose as a team, etc. You've heard it before. Having this one team meeting, with just us, helps the spiritual bond between players and each other, as well as players and management. Imagine if every discussion between you and your significant other was held in front of a gaggle of reporters, all wearing identical khakis and collared polo shirts, each asking you to hurry up so they could meet a deadline or update their blog. It's important to have some private time so we can be ourselves, so we can feel inspired or motivated by our leader and reflect personally or with each other without 3rd party interference.
As you know, Rick chose yesterday's team forum to be a public affair. I'm not certain why he went this route, although I have my opinions which I'll share with you now. Well, it's not really opinions, with an s. I have one opinion - the man knows he has a fabulous voice and wants others to share in its fabulousness whenever it's put to good use. That said, the inspiration and motivation we, or at least I, was supposed to feel did not happen.
Blah. That's how I felt when he was done. (53 minutes! He lost me at mile marker 10.) Yes, he and I are on different personal wavelengths. There's been more than a little animosity between the two of us this off season. But I didn't go in there to criticize him. I went in there to be impressed. I wanted to be moved. I wasn't.
As he spoke, I thought back to last year's speech that former manager Larry Picketts (he of the YouTube tirade now viewed over 850,000 times) gave. I wasn't moved then. So I thought back some more. 2004-2006 was all Larry. Nope. I didn't feel anything. 2003 with Vance Dunn? Nothing. Our most recent championship was in 2002, Gum Wilson's last year on the job, allegedly, before coming back to be Rick's bench coach this season at GM Alvin Kirby's behest (does that mean the bench is a hot seat?). Gum definitely didn't inspire with his words. Not of much use for them, he led by letting us play. He could push buttons like any of today's best videogame fiends. He motivated us by letting us win. His spring training state of the union addresses? Terrible. Five minutes and out. I felt nothing.
As I drove to my afternoon session with Andy, my personal trainer, I wondered if it's not the speaker that has the problem; maybe the problem lies with me. Not one to admit anything could in any way be wrong with me, I quickly dialed Dr. Henry Cochegans, team psychiatrist (or is he a psychologist? Not sure the difference and always forget to ask.) to have a quick cellular session.
Luckily, Dr. Cochegans could speak with me for a few moments. After he reminded me of the non-disclosure agreement I signed, what you see below is just my input in the conversation. The NDA does not allow me to quote Dr. Cochegans in this forum. "For my own protection," he always says. Oops.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Getting stronger each day, in both mind, body and spirit.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Okay. Yes, I am aware "both" signifies two and I spoke of three characteristics. You going to analyze or criticize today?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Sorry I snapped at you. You probably get that all the time from the other guys on the team who speak to you, huh? What do they say? Be specific. Do they talk about me? They all hate me, right?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: I'm not paranoid. I'm paranormal.
Dr. Cohegans: (Ed. note: I couldn't hear what he said here. I hit a bad cell area.)
Me: I need to talk about my lack of inspiration when I hear my managers speak.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: You're saying it shouldn't matter what they say? It only matters how I feel inside?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Are you reading from a pamphlet or something? It takes me five minutes to tell you what I want to talk about and you give me your diagnosis in one sentence without letting me whine.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Okay. I'll listen to my heart, my soul, and find it within myself to succeed. I'll be an individual. Sounds like I never should have quit Boy Scouts.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Whatever.
I don't need to elaborate any further because, as Dr. Cohegans said, it's self-explanatory. Part of my problems with Rick have been because of me. I'm looking for something from him, as a manager, as a man, that he can't, or doesn't need to give. I need to look at myself and solve whatever riddles my subconscious is querying me about. No more relying on others to make me feel something. It's up to me to feel it on my own.
I talked to Andy, my very large personal trainer, about the previous paragraph (I practically recited it to him, word for word), and he said I was already motivating myself.
Andy: Why are you here?
Me: On earth? I guess all humans -
He turned the treadmill I was running on from high hill to Everest mountain.
Andy: No, dummy, why are you in this gymnasium working out? Why are you asking Dr. whatever his name is -
Me: Cohegans. It's really not that hard to say after some practice.
Andy: May I finish?
Me: (sulking and sweating a lot, my few hairs matted onto my scalp like wet string on the underside of a garbage can lid)
Andy: We've been doing two-a-days and three-a-days for months. I rarely have to raise my voice and egg you on. You're plenty motivated.
Me: (breathing very hard, unable to speak)
Andy: I always like these parts of our sessions. You can't get the last word in.
When I got back to the house Vanessa, the kids and I are renting down here, I told Vanessa all about my mentally (and physically) stimulating day. I told her how much Rick likes to hear himself talk, how I haven't really paid attention to what anyone in authority has said to me for at least 6 years, and how I will never scale Mt. Everest without the aid of a helicopter.
She smiled and told me we should celebrate by taking tomorrow afternoon off and going with the kids to Disney World. I told her I couldn't. I'm down here to work, even when practice is over, even on weekends, even when I'm about to drop from exhaustion. I'm down here to work. She smiled some more and told me she liked my answer. To her, it was inspiring. "Sounds to me like you should've been the one giving the speech to the team today."
I gave her a kiss and a long, tight hug. It felt good to hear her say that. And it felt even better to be able to respond without the glare of the media standing three feet away, khakis and polo shirts ready to pounce. Sometimes, the best motivation happens in the privacy of our own homes, in our own minds, in our own time.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
You Don't Have These Problems With MasterCard
Most of us are here now, but not everyone. There are always one or two guys who have visa problems and can't get into the United States for the start of camp, which always makes me wonder when they applied for their visas. Didn't they know they were supposed to be here by now? Couldn't they/their agents have timed it better and built delays into their timelines?
It bugs me because I consider being late irresponsible. This is your job. If you were late for your middle management job at a service company or your paid-by-the-hour union job at an auto plant, you'd get docked pay and also warned not to do it again. But even then, you were probably late by 15 minutes or, at worst, an hour. These guys will miss days. I was here one day early, which worked out because if I'd tried to arrive on time I would've been late because we had a snowstorm back home, cancelling flights.
Felipe Castro isn't here yet, but that's excusable. His mother was kidnapped more than two months ago and he's doing what he can back home in Venezuela to help. I understand the team is trying to tow the line between being understanding and demanding one of their star players just come up and let the authorities down there deal with the situation. But even if they forced him up here before his mother was found, I doubt he'd be any good. My opinion is he'd be so worried about her and mad at himself for being here that he'd be too guilty to be effective on the ballfield. I'm sure the team is thinking he'd probably like to be here to get his mind on something else. I don't know the answer. You'd have to speak to the man directly to find out what's best, and that's not something I have done (nor been asked to do). I'm sure Rick would like me to keep out of it. Okay then, I'm keeping out.
Another surprising sight here is the number of guys who show up out of shape. This isn't 1955 where the guys have to take winter jobs to pay the bills and there's no time to work out. We get paid plenty - even the rookies get a minimum of over $300,000 for the year (on top of their signing bonuses). There's no reason why we can't show up at the proper weight and with the proper attitude. Now, it's true that in November my resume had the word "fat" in front of "and balding," but that was two months ago. I got my act in gear and came to camp at the weight I needed to be at. My elbow isn't where it should be, but the rest of me is. I'm resigned to the fact that I'll probably start the season in AAA Nashville, and that's okay. By May I should be up with the club and winning games for them, just like the old days.
Because of who I am, there's discussion between my super agent, Jack Perry, and the team about my living and travel arrangements with Nashville. If I'm pitching once every five days, Jack says, I should be able to spend the other three to four days in New York, sleeping in my own bed and working out at the stadium in front of trained team eyes. The team wants me to live in Nashville and come to New York when they call. Since they don't even want me in camp to begin with (I'm told we'll have a judgement on my grievance next Monday) so insurance can pay my salary, they don't want me in New York anytime soon. They'd like me to stay in Nashville full time and help their AAA guys, many of whom are guys who've spent time in the big leagues and don't want my help to begin with. Anyway, that's just one more negotiation Jack has had to perform on my behalf with the team over the last few months. I'm hoping it's the last.
Jack's other clients (a couple are my teammates) are getting aggravated at the amount of time he's spending on me vs. time for them. Add to that negative feeling more negative feelings by teammates about my blogging so openly. You should be able to sense I've come across a little bit of quiet hostility from various corners of the locker room. I haven't really ragged on anybody here by name (just Corey Belle, and that was in response to public comments he made about me), but there is concern that I will. There is concern that I am, or soon will, break the sanctity of the clubhouse; that I'll spill the beans; that I'll snitch to the principal that Tommy stole Gary's milk money. I saw it! He did it! I swear!
Quite frankly, most of the guys haven't spent more than two seconds thinking about what I'm doing here. My pals in the media think about it a lot and let their feelings be known to more than just each other. Osmosis isn't always my friend. In this case, various reporters are influencing opinions about my goals with this forum. I'm not here to tell the warden there's going to be a breakout. But I will describe how the breakout went down after it happens. Why not? This ain't national security we're talking about. It's baseball. Show up and play. That's all anybody asks. And that's all I really ever wanted to do.
It bugs me because I consider being late irresponsible. This is your job. If you were late for your middle management job at a service company or your paid-by-the-hour union job at an auto plant, you'd get docked pay and also warned not to do it again. But even then, you were probably late by 15 minutes or, at worst, an hour. These guys will miss days. I was here one day early, which worked out because if I'd tried to arrive on time I would've been late because we had a snowstorm back home, cancelling flights.
Felipe Castro isn't here yet, but that's excusable. His mother was kidnapped more than two months ago and he's doing what he can back home in Venezuela to help. I understand the team is trying to tow the line between being understanding and demanding one of their star players just come up and let the authorities down there deal with the situation. But even if they forced him up here before his mother was found, I doubt he'd be any good. My opinion is he'd be so worried about her and mad at himself for being here that he'd be too guilty to be effective on the ballfield. I'm sure the team is thinking he'd probably like to be here to get his mind on something else. I don't know the answer. You'd have to speak to the man directly to find out what's best, and that's not something I have done (nor been asked to do). I'm sure Rick would like me to keep out of it. Okay then, I'm keeping out.
Another surprising sight here is the number of guys who show up out of shape. This isn't 1955 where the guys have to take winter jobs to pay the bills and there's no time to work out. We get paid plenty - even the rookies get a minimum of over $300,000 for the year (on top of their signing bonuses). There's no reason why we can't show up at the proper weight and with the proper attitude. Now, it's true that in November my resume had the word "fat" in front of "and balding," but that was two months ago. I got my act in gear and came to camp at the weight I needed to be at. My elbow isn't where it should be, but the rest of me is. I'm resigned to the fact that I'll probably start the season in AAA Nashville, and that's okay. By May I should be up with the club and winning games for them, just like the old days.
Because of who I am, there's discussion between my super agent, Jack Perry, and the team about my living and travel arrangements with Nashville. If I'm pitching once every five days, Jack says, I should be able to spend the other three to four days in New York, sleeping in my own bed and working out at the stadium in front of trained team eyes. The team wants me to live in Nashville and come to New York when they call. Since they don't even want me in camp to begin with (I'm told we'll have a judgement on my grievance next Monday) so insurance can pay my salary, they don't want me in New York anytime soon. They'd like me to stay in Nashville full time and help their AAA guys, many of whom are guys who've spent time in the big leagues and don't want my help to begin with. Anyway, that's just one more negotiation Jack has had to perform on my behalf with the team over the last few months. I'm hoping it's the last.
Jack's other clients (a couple are my teammates) are getting aggravated at the amount of time he's spending on me vs. time for them. Add to that negative feeling more negative feelings by teammates about my blogging so openly. You should be able to sense I've come across a little bit of quiet hostility from various corners of the locker room. I haven't really ragged on anybody here by name (just Corey Belle, and that was in response to public comments he made about me), but there is concern that I will. There is concern that I am, or soon will, break the sanctity of the clubhouse; that I'll spill the beans; that I'll snitch to the principal that Tommy stole Gary's milk money. I saw it! He did it! I swear!
Quite frankly, most of the guys haven't spent more than two seconds thinking about what I'm doing here. My pals in the media think about it a lot and let their feelings be known to more than just each other. Osmosis isn't always my friend. In this case, various reporters are influencing opinions about my goals with this forum. I'm not here to tell the warden there's going to be a breakout. But I will describe how the breakout went down after it happens. Why not? This ain't national security we're talking about. It's baseball. Show up and play. That's all anybody asks. And that's all I really ever wanted to do.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Fathers & Sons
My dad, "Red" Scott, is already down here at camp. Since he's a broadcaster on the TV side, which means he won't have any games to broadcast for another two weeks, he doesn't need to be here. You're not going to see anyone from the networks who do games down here until maybe 2 days before their first one. Why? There's nothing to see right now. We're just doing drills, taking BP, throwing off a mound, running, running and running. Even the fans think it's boring. I'm serious. I signed an autograph for a kid yesterday, he's maybe 9 years old, and I asked if he had fun watching us. "I guess so," he said. "But why'd you did it for so long?"
You could say my dad's down here because this will be his first year on the team's network and he wants to make a good impression by knowing everything there is to know about our ballclub. If someone's timing is off, he'll know. If someone's lost a little something on his fastball, he'll know. If someone's quietly impressing the coaching staff, he'll know.
But he won't.
How do I know? First, he's my dad. He loves to say "Can of corn" for ground balls. That's his trademark line, "Can of corn." I read his book of the same name a few years ago. Yes, I was the one. Let's just say I'm glad I got my copy at 30% off retail. No, "Red" (quotation marks his) is down here for one thing - to break his son into talking on the record to the media. Who's his son? Me. Who's the media? Him.
There are a few reasons why "Red" took this job. New York is the top market (not the highest-paying, however, if you're a TV guy working for a regional sports network) for viewers. Ego is big with the men in my family. The more people who hear what we say (or in my case read), the better we feel about ourselves (and in my case the easier I can accept slowly, but surely, going bald). If we have something really great to say, like "I have an exclusive Jimmy Scott interview," then the viewership numbers grow in line with the ego, since Jimmy Scott (me) isn't speaking to the media. Of course, there's pride too. "Red" never played in New York. It's probably the one market he never had anything to do with as a player or broadcaster. Now he can take it off of his life's To Do list.
But pride is related to ego, and in my dad's case, they're both related to someone he's related to: me. Again, how do I know? I've been down here 6 days now. "Red" has been down here for 3. Who's been at my locker at the end of every workout with a microphone and camera crew? You guessed it. Who hasn't read the sign I hung from my locker ("No interviews today - especially any with "Red" Scott")? Who didn't listen to Ted Feldman, the team's overworked P.R. guy, and get the lowdown on my dealings with the press this season (which will be none; it's a short lowdown conversation)?
Athletes, especially famous ones who've won lots of championships, are heavily desired meal tickets. If you can get through to us, you're usually halfway there. I can't tell you how many "deals" people have offered me, deals that benefit the dealmaker much more than me. I can't tell you how much money I would have lost over the years if I'd listened. You always hear and see how the young, big, strong athletes have their posses with them, their hangers-on, their yes crowd. But you know who's worse than any high school pal who shows up on a famous athlete's doorstep after zero contact for 22 years? Family. I'm serious. There are more moms and dads out there who have ripped off their athlete sons and daughters than you can imagine. You don't think that because it's a job of a parent to help, not hinder. Just remember parents are people too. They make mistakes and they try to rape and pillage, just like the rest of us. Only I do it on a baseball diamond (when my elbow allows it). The bad parents do it in the comfort of the homes their rich and famous athlete offspring were guilted into buying for them.
"Red" hasn't gotten his scoop yet. But I did tell him to watch the Perez family very closely. Reggie Perez is competing against his son, Reggie Perez Jr., for an outfield job on the team. Reggie senior is 40 years old and, as you saw last August after he came over in the trade with Cincinnati, he can still hit. Reggie Jr. can hit, field, run, throw... Reggie Jr. will pretty much do anything his dad ever did and more.
I watch them stand near each other in the outfield, shagging balls in BP, and see a resemblance between "Red" and me in situations. "Red" was a pitcher who played for 11 teams in 8 seasons and won 49 games. I've played for 2 teams in 19 seasons and won 289 games.
There's a commonality in situations between the Perez family and the Scott family, only my dad was long retired by the time I got drafted. Reggie Sr. will have plenty of chances to play together in the same outfield with his son, which most people think will be pretty special. How special, I wonder, and to whom will this be special?
While "Red" loiters at my locker, I tell him to watch Reggie Sr. and Reggie Jr., then I remind him that my personal services contract with the team, which takes effect either next year or in 2010, means I will be sitting right next to him in the broadcast booth, chattering away about this guy's value to the team or some other guy's repeated mistakes. I ask "Red" to think about how he, now the broadcasting veteran of 20 years, will feel sitting next to his son, who has all the potential in the world but none of the experience. Will there be pride? Or will there be concern? There are only 25 spots on a team. The two Reggies, father and son, are together, yet competing against one another. "Red," I say, "do you think we'll be any different from them? There's your story. It's much more interesting than anything I have to say."
He scratches his full-haired head, looks at his camera man, and looks back at me. "Can you ask me that again, but this time with the mic turned on?"
Father and son. Don't take it at face value. You're probably wrong.
You could say my dad's down here because this will be his first year on the team's network and he wants to make a good impression by knowing everything there is to know about our ballclub. If someone's timing is off, he'll know. If someone's lost a little something on his fastball, he'll know. If someone's quietly impressing the coaching staff, he'll know.
But he won't.
How do I know? First, he's my dad. He loves to say "Can of corn" for ground balls. That's his trademark line, "Can of corn." I read his book of the same name a few years ago. Yes, I was the one. Let's just say I'm glad I got my copy at 30% off retail. No, "Red" (quotation marks his) is down here for one thing - to break his son into talking on the record to the media. Who's his son? Me. Who's the media? Him.
There are a few reasons why "Red" took this job. New York is the top market (not the highest-paying, however, if you're a TV guy working for a regional sports network) for viewers. Ego is big with the men in my family. The more people who hear what we say (or in my case read), the better we feel about ourselves (and in my case the easier I can accept slowly, but surely, going bald). If we have something really great to say, like "I have an exclusive Jimmy Scott interview," then the viewership numbers grow in line with the ego, since Jimmy Scott (me) isn't speaking to the media. Of course, there's pride too. "Red" never played in New York. It's probably the one market he never had anything to do with as a player or broadcaster. Now he can take it off of his life's To Do list.
But pride is related to ego, and in my dad's case, they're both related to someone he's related to: me. Again, how do I know? I've been down here 6 days now. "Red" has been down here for 3. Who's been at my locker at the end of every workout with a microphone and camera crew? You guessed it. Who hasn't read the sign I hung from my locker ("No interviews today - especially any with "Red" Scott")? Who didn't listen to Ted Feldman, the team's overworked P.R. guy, and get the lowdown on my dealings with the press this season (which will be none; it's a short lowdown conversation)?
Athletes, especially famous ones who've won lots of championships, are heavily desired meal tickets. If you can get through to us, you're usually halfway there. I can't tell you how many "deals" people have offered me, deals that benefit the dealmaker much more than me. I can't tell you how much money I would have lost over the years if I'd listened. You always hear and see how the young, big, strong athletes have their posses with them, their hangers-on, their yes crowd. But you know who's worse than any high school pal who shows up on a famous athlete's doorstep after zero contact for 22 years? Family. I'm serious. There are more moms and dads out there who have ripped off their athlete sons and daughters than you can imagine. You don't think that because it's a job of a parent to help, not hinder. Just remember parents are people too. They make mistakes and they try to rape and pillage, just like the rest of us. Only I do it on a baseball diamond (when my elbow allows it). The bad parents do it in the comfort of the homes their rich and famous athlete offspring were guilted into buying for them.
"Red" hasn't gotten his scoop yet. But I did tell him to watch the Perez family very closely. Reggie Perez is competing against his son, Reggie Perez Jr., for an outfield job on the team. Reggie senior is 40 years old and, as you saw last August after he came over in the trade with Cincinnati, he can still hit. Reggie Jr. can hit, field, run, throw... Reggie Jr. will pretty much do anything his dad ever did and more.
I watch them stand near each other in the outfield, shagging balls in BP, and see a resemblance between "Red" and me in situations. "Red" was a pitcher who played for 11 teams in 8 seasons and won 49 games. I've played for 2 teams in 19 seasons and won 289 games.
There's a commonality in situations between the Perez family and the Scott family, only my dad was long retired by the time I got drafted. Reggie Sr. will have plenty of chances to play together in the same outfield with his son, which most people think will be pretty special. How special, I wonder, and to whom will this be special?
While "Red" loiters at my locker, I tell him to watch Reggie Sr. and Reggie Jr., then I remind him that my personal services contract with the team, which takes effect either next year or in 2010, means I will be sitting right next to him in the broadcast booth, chattering away about this guy's value to the team or some other guy's repeated mistakes. I ask "Red" to think about how he, now the broadcasting veteran of 20 years, will feel sitting next to his son, who has all the potential in the world but none of the experience. Will there be pride? Or will there be concern? There are only 25 spots on a team. The two Reggies, father and son, are together, yet competing against one another. "Red," I say, "do you think we'll be any different from them? There's your story. It's much more interesting than anything I have to say."
He scratches his full-haired head, looks at his camera man, and looks back at me. "Can you ask me that again, but this time with the mic turned on?"
Father and son. Don't take it at face value. You're probably wrong.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Trading Places
Just a weird weekend. That's all I can say. The story in the Newark Star Ledger about how the team was close to trading me and three prospects to Cincinnati threw us all for a loop. That rumor spread to all the papers, the websites, SportsCenter... I got phone calls and text messages from other players (including one of the three guys I was allegedly going to be traded for), some emails. It is hard to describe the personal mayhem that original story created.
My kids literally freaked out. First, they said, I moved them down to Florida for 6 weeks when they could be home in New Jersey with their friends going to school and learning...stuff (they never tell me what they're learning). Now, I'm going to move them to America's heartland because I've been a jerk to my bosses (in baseball, those people are my manager and GM) and I keep writing a blog instead of speaking to the papers, websites, SportsCenter and telephones.
My wife Vanessa - my rock in stormy seas, my life coach, my crutch when I tweak a hamstring, my oxygen when I cannot breathe because a small piece of hot dog has found itself lodged in my throat - took it in stride like the veteran wife that she is by offering to drive me to a hotel after kicking me out of the house for doing all of the things my two adorable high school twin daughters described above.
I did what I do best in these situations. I called my superagent Jack Perry to find out the truth. After insuring me that yes, I do have a full no-trade clause to any American baseball team, I asked if it was possible that I could be traded to an American team in another sport, like the New York Knicks. I'd hate that. The Knicks stink. Jack said my value to teams in other sports was at an all time low. No need to concern myself with making the Bengals as their third-string punter for the '08-'09 season (NFL contracts aren't guaranteed like in baseball. I'd never earn a dime.).
What about Japan? Could I be traded to Japan? Jack said no. I could not be traded to Japan. I could be sold to Japan, however.
Oh my God, I thought, and said, and thought some more. I don't like sushi. I was doomed.
No need for any dooming, Jack said. After one call to the front office, he received confirmation that the rumor was just that, a rumor. I wasn't going anywhere. No Cincinnati chili in my or my daughters' near future. No highway hotel drive for Vanessa to make that night. I wiped the sweat off my brow and pretended I'd never been nervous in the first place.
Trade rumors are terrible, if you pay attention. I was traded once, back in 1994. That trade had been coming for about 6 months, and that was half a year that I'll never get back. The constant wondering about mine and my family's future. The worry about whether new fans will like me and cheer as much as the ones did in Chicago. Will I get along with my new teammates? My new manager? And on the flip side, the ballplayer isn't the only one being traded. When I was traded, Vanessa was traded too, along with twin baby girls. At least it was during the off season so I could help with the move. But talk to any player's wife and she'll tell you that when her husband is traded, or sent down to the minors, or sent up to the majors, her life is turned upside down just as much as her husband's. It's rarely fun. But it does work out. I've gotten two championships in New York since that trade and I'm still here. I'd say it was a good one.
So where do the rumors start? In this case, it could have been somebody, within earshot of the Star Ledger reporter, just threw out a suggestion. It could have been our assistant GM checking out the landscape and listening to another GM's suggestion. It could have been all b.s. as well, just a writer looking to make a name for himself, looking to draw attention to himself, looking to make the pot a little hotter for me because he's mad I'm not speaking to him on the record like I used to.
Whatever the reason, a rumor like this is one reason why I no longer speak to the press. You're not going to get something like this started from me. And if you want to know what I think, you'll have to come hear and read exactly what I wrote. You can't misquote me because I'm not talking and you can take anything you want out of context while knowing anyone who wants to can come here and see for themselves what's real and what isn't. This is a more accurate way for me to say how I feel about something than the old telephone game of me telling a reporter, him writing it out, his editor screwing around with it, someone else writing the headline, and then other media outlets reporting the final, inaccurate version as the truth. I don't blame reporters for this situation. I blame the system.
So next time you see a rumor about this guy going someplace for somebody else, keep in mind that what you're reading can't be any farther from the truth. And then come back here and ask me what I think. Your Uncle Jimmy will take care of you real nice. Real nice.
My kids literally freaked out. First, they said, I moved them down to Florida for 6 weeks when they could be home in New Jersey with their friends going to school and learning...stuff (they never tell me what they're learning). Now, I'm going to move them to America's heartland because I've been a jerk to my bosses (in baseball, those people are my manager and GM) and I keep writing a blog instead of speaking to the papers, websites, SportsCenter and telephones.
My wife Vanessa - my rock in stormy seas, my life coach, my crutch when I tweak a hamstring, my oxygen when I cannot breathe because a small piece of hot dog has found itself lodged in my throat - took it in stride like the veteran wife that she is by offering to drive me to a hotel after kicking me out of the house for doing all of the things my two adorable high school twin daughters described above.
I did what I do best in these situations. I called my superagent Jack Perry to find out the truth. After insuring me that yes, I do have a full no-trade clause to any American baseball team, I asked if it was possible that I could be traded to an American team in another sport, like the New York Knicks. I'd hate that. The Knicks stink. Jack said my value to teams in other sports was at an all time low. No need to concern myself with making the Bengals as their third-string punter for the '08-'09 season (NFL contracts aren't guaranteed like in baseball. I'd never earn a dime.).
What about Japan? Could I be traded to Japan? Jack said no. I could not be traded to Japan. I could be sold to Japan, however.
Oh my God, I thought, and said, and thought some more. I don't like sushi. I was doomed.
No need for any dooming, Jack said. After one call to the front office, he received confirmation that the rumor was just that, a rumor. I wasn't going anywhere. No Cincinnati chili in my or my daughters' near future. No highway hotel drive for Vanessa to make that night. I wiped the sweat off my brow and pretended I'd never been nervous in the first place.
Trade rumors are terrible, if you pay attention. I was traded once, back in 1994. That trade had been coming for about 6 months, and that was half a year that I'll never get back. The constant wondering about mine and my family's future. The worry about whether new fans will like me and cheer as much as the ones did in Chicago. Will I get along with my new teammates? My new manager? And on the flip side, the ballplayer isn't the only one being traded. When I was traded, Vanessa was traded too, along with twin baby girls. At least it was during the off season so I could help with the move. But talk to any player's wife and she'll tell you that when her husband is traded, or sent down to the minors, or sent up to the majors, her life is turned upside down just as much as her husband's. It's rarely fun. But it does work out. I've gotten two championships in New York since that trade and I'm still here. I'd say it was a good one.
So where do the rumors start? In this case, it could have been somebody, within earshot of the Star Ledger reporter, just threw out a suggestion. It could have been our assistant GM checking out the landscape and listening to another GM's suggestion. It could have been all b.s. as well, just a writer looking to make a name for himself, looking to draw attention to himself, looking to make the pot a little hotter for me because he's mad I'm not speaking to him on the record like I used to.
Whatever the reason, a rumor like this is one reason why I no longer speak to the press. You're not going to get something like this started from me. And if you want to know what I think, you'll have to come hear and read exactly what I wrote. You can't misquote me because I'm not talking and you can take anything you want out of context while knowing anyone who wants to can come here and see for themselves what's real and what isn't. This is a more accurate way for me to say how I feel about something than the old telephone game of me telling a reporter, him writing it out, his editor screwing around with it, someone else writing the headline, and then other media outlets reporting the final, inaccurate version as the truth. I don't blame reporters for this situation. I blame the system.
So next time you see a rumor about this guy going someplace for somebody else, keep in mind that what you're reading can't be any farther from the truth. And then come back here and ask me what I think. Your Uncle Jimmy will take care of you real nice. Real nice.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Pitchers & Catchers
I paid a visit to camp today for Day #1 of spring training. I'll admit that I was more than a little nervous. The clubhouse was jammed with reporters all looking for comments from me about Alvin Kirby's arrest or my grievance with the team or the "feud" between Corey Belle and me that lasted about 24 hours. They know I'm no longer speaking with them. I shook their hands, said hello and cordially said some things off the record (How are your kids? You sound like you have a cold... stuff like that). They wanted more. I need to get some practice in not giving it. They took lots of pictures of me shaking hands with other guys, me rummaging through my locker (I couldn't find a comb, not that I need one anymore), pictures of the scar on my elbow, of me doing push ups to prove to them I can do push ups... It was kind of fun but if I'm not going to speak to them, I should probably keep my distance. It's hard to do because I've always been so open to the media. But I shut the door in the off season and I can't let them slip through.
It was great to see Kai Goto, the me of Japan. We'd met once in the off season after the press conference surrounding his $10 billion, 100-year deal. I repeated my joke that when I go play in Japan next year after they run me out of town here, they'll call me the "Kai Goto of America." He repeated his fake laughter (he laughs with a Japanese accent). We'll get along fine.
I didn't do much more than suit up, have another physical and tour the facility, saying hello to people I hadn't seen in a long time. Keep in mind I didn't play from April 1st until the end of the season. My time with the team after the injury was limited to a few appearances. In a way, I felt like a rookie walking in and seeing a whole new team.
Here are things/people I did not see:
It was great to see Kai Goto, the me of Japan. We'd met once in the off season after the press conference surrounding his $10 billion, 100-year deal. I repeated my joke that when I go play in Japan next year after they run me out of town here, they'll call me the "Kai Goto of America." He repeated his fake laughter (he laughs with a Japanese accent). We'll get along fine.
I didn't do much more than suit up, have another physical and tour the facility, saying hello to people I hadn't seen in a long time. Keep in mind I didn't play from April 1st until the end of the season. My time with the team after the injury was limited to a few appearances. In a way, I felt like a rookie walking in and seeing a whole new team.
Here are things/people I did not see:
- I did not see my manager Rick Churches. He was around. I heard his voice cackle away. But he and I did not make eye contact.
- I did not see Alvin Kirby, our beleaguered GM. From what I understand, he's sequestered in his home in Westchester trying to save his marriage, his job and his freedom.
- I did not see Corey Belle. Position players don't need to show up until next week. I'm sure he'll show up at the very last possible moment.
- I did not see anybody shooting anybody else up with HgH, heroin, chocolate milk, or anything else. I never have before either, in case you're asking.
Tomorrow, Saturday, I start some more workouts with the team. Mostly light throwing for me since I'm way behind lots of these guys. My rehab started late but I feel good. I'm going to take it slowly so I don't have any setbacks like the scar tissue problem I had a few weeks ago. I realize I most likely won't be with the team when they head north at the end of March. Maybe I'll just play in April for AAA Nashville. It's warmer there than New York at that time of year. Probably better for my elbow than 40 degrees and rain.
My off season personal trainer, Andy, is down here. My plan is to spend mornings with the team doing drills and light workouts. In the afternoons I'll meet up with Andy at a local Fort Pierce gymnasium and go through a heavy 2-hour core and lower body workout. The goal is to be done each day by 3:00 so I can get home and be there before Alyssa and Grace return from their temporary high school, just so I can say, "I told you so." They think I'm going to blow them off for the next six weeks. I won't. Burn on them.
I'll post again over the weekend if I get the chance. Otherwise, this is the Jimmy Scott of Fort Pierce Florida signing off.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
What I Did On My Winter Vacation
Today is my last day off before the start of spring training. The report date for pitchers and catchers is tomorrow. The family flies down to Orlando today around noon and then we take the drive to Fort Pierce. The girls are still furious that they're going to spend the next six weeks in Florida schools instead of at home, but them's the breaks when your dad loves you.
It's been one of the more eventful off seasons I can remember in which my team did not win a world championship. The last big one like this in a bad team year was after the 1994 season, when I was traded from Chicago to New York and then I signed that huge (at the time) 5 year, $30 million contract. While the money is gone, long ago spent on products to stop my premature balding, I'm still with New York, about to start my 14th spring training with the team.
I met with team psychiatrist Henry Cochegans yesterday to talk about this busy off season. It was our seventh meeting since December. Due to the nature of the non-disclosure agreement he forced me to sign (not at gunpoint; rather, he threatened to make me blame all my problems on myself instead of my parents), I cannot reveal anything he said during our meeting. I can, however, let you know what I said.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: There's no thread that connects all the stuff that happened to me this off season.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Say that to my face.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: I know, I was just kidding. But seriously, the only, uh, controversial stuff that happened was my contract dispute with the team, my occasional flareup with my brand new favorite manager Rick Churches...
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Yes, I was being facetious. May I continue?
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: You're funny when you're sarcastic. But getting back to me, there wasn't much more controversy than what I just said. Oh, maybe the stuff that happened that made me not speak with the media anymore and just blog instead. And...Um... Also when the team fined me $500,000 for the content of those blogs. Oh! There was my bad, then good, then bad again rehabilitation from the elbow injury. Uh, I had a little tiff with teammate Corey Belle before his arrest. And our home was vandalized three times.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Nope. The bad people are still on the loose.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: How do you think that makes me feel? I'm happy for them.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: You're funny when you're sarcastic. Back to me, redux. I guess the last two issues from the off season were my dad, "Red" Scott coming back into my life to be one of the team's TV broadcasters and then, I guess, needing an arbitrator to settle another dispute I had with the team. I'm going to win that, by the way.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Whatever. Is there a conflict of interest here, since team management wants me gone, you work for the team, and I tell you all of my personal, most innermost thoughts?
Dr. Cohegans:
Quite frankly, I spaced out during the doctor's response. He went on and on about professional courtesy, patient/doctor privacy issues, etc. When I awoke, he asked me again if my off season issues had any common thread.
Me: Bitter, angry conflict with authority figures?
He rang a big bell with a large metal pipe, which made me think I was right. But then I remembered that was his way of telling patients their sessions are over.
Is there a common thread? Was I right? I don't know. It doesn't matter. Those conflicts happened. I can't take any of them back. If I could, I don't know if I'd want to. It would have been a pretty boring New Jersey off season if all I did was watch Scooby Doo reruns morning, noon, and night. No, this was the way to end it. My final off season, my final winter vacation. Starting next October, I'll probably be done for good. Then, every day will be a vacation.
I just hope it comes with a little less conflict.
It's been one of the more eventful off seasons I can remember in which my team did not win a world championship. The last big one like this in a bad team year was after the 1994 season, when I was traded from Chicago to New York and then I signed that huge (at the time) 5 year, $30 million contract. While the money is gone, long ago spent on products to stop my premature balding, I'm still with New York, about to start my 14th spring training with the team.
I met with team psychiatrist Henry Cochegans yesterday to talk about this busy off season. It was our seventh meeting since December. Due to the nature of the non-disclosure agreement he forced me to sign (not at gunpoint; rather, he threatened to make me blame all my problems on myself instead of my parents), I cannot reveal anything he said during our meeting. I can, however, let you know what I said.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: There's no thread that connects all the stuff that happened to me this off season.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Say that to my face.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: I know, I was just kidding. But seriously, the only, uh, controversial stuff that happened was my contract dispute with the team, my occasional flareup with my brand new favorite manager Rick Churches...
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Yes, I was being facetious. May I continue?
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: You're funny when you're sarcastic. But getting back to me, there wasn't much more controversy than what I just said. Oh, maybe the stuff that happened that made me not speak with the media anymore and just blog instead. And...Um... Also when the team fined me $500,000 for the content of those blogs. Oh! There was my bad, then good, then bad again rehabilitation from the elbow injury. Uh, I had a little tiff with teammate Corey Belle before his arrest. And our home was vandalized three times.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Nope. The bad people are still on the loose.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: How do you think that makes me feel? I'm happy for them.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: You're funny when you're sarcastic. Back to me, redux. I guess the last two issues from the off season were my dad, "Red" Scott coming back into my life to be one of the team's TV broadcasters and then, I guess, needing an arbitrator to settle another dispute I had with the team. I'm going to win that, by the way.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Whatever. Is there a conflict of interest here, since team management wants me gone, you work for the team, and I tell you all of my personal, most innermost thoughts?
Dr. Cohegans:
Quite frankly, I spaced out during the doctor's response. He went on and on about professional courtesy, patient/doctor privacy issues, etc. When I awoke, he asked me again if my off season issues had any common thread.
Me: Bitter, angry conflict with authority figures?
He rang a big bell with a large metal pipe, which made me think I was right. But then I remembered that was his way of telling patients their sessions are over.
Is there a common thread? Was I right? I don't know. It doesn't matter. Those conflicts happened. I can't take any of them back. If I could, I don't know if I'd want to. It would have been a pretty boring New Jersey off season if all I did was watch Scooby Doo reruns morning, noon, and night. No, this was the way to end it. My final off season, my final winter vacation. Starting next October, I'll probably be done for good. Then, every day will be a vacation.
I just hope it comes with a little less conflict.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Day 3
Because we completed my arbitration hearing today, and because of leaks, arbitrator Benazir Sutton told me the gag order was lifted. I can now fill you in, from my perspective, on what happened on Days 2 and 3 of my arbitration hearing.
Remember this all boils down to one thing: Money. The team was upset when I opted to accept my contractual player option for the 2008 season. We almost had a lawsuit in November over some sticky he said/he said points. We renegotiated my contract to lower the burden on the team's salary structure for this year while guaranteeing me a little more money over the next five. Win/Win people in the business world call it.
But since then, this forum you are reading has bothered (now suspended) GM Alvin Kirby and manager Rick Churches to no end. Thus, they fined me $500,000 last month (which I did not report) and said they'd fine me $100,000 for every month I continued to do this. We tried to handle the fine behind closed doors.
But then...
They told me three weeks ago that my elbow would not ever be in playing shape again and that I should retire. I had just come from a doctor's appointment, one in which the doctor cleared me for spring training. They claimed a second opinion (one I had no knowledge of) told them I was done. Kaput. Finito. Chop off the arm and count the rings to see how old I really am. In this case, they want to collect insurance on my contract and not pay me out of the team's own pocket.
They just don't want to pay me. It's as simple as that. And in the case of this High & Tight blog, they want me to pay them.
Not gonna happen.
Alvin's Assistant GM Nick Curtis filled in yesterday (since Alvin was holed up with his lawyer all day fighting the sexual assault charges brought against him Monday night.) Nick is a good man and really didn't have much to do as, on Day 2, Alvin attacked me (bad choice of words considering the charges against him). Alvin presented his case against me on Day 2. Day 3 was super agent Jack Perry's turn to refute all allegations and turn the tables. I thought he did a great job.
Bottom line: We're fighting for the right for me to play this year on the active roster. I did push ups for the board and Jack showed video of me throwing to Andy, my personal trainer. I'm up to the low-80s on the radar gun. We proved it. The team had said I'd never even pick up a ball again.
If the glove fits, you must acquit. I wore a nice new leather Rawlings. It slipped onto my hand like egg whites.
Arbitrator Sutton said she'd give her decision in 2 to 3 weeks. In the meantime, I am to report to Spring Training and proceed as if nothing was going on. The team thought that wasn't fair. What if I injured myself? She laughed and said, since they said I was already injured beyond repair, what's it matter? As I said, Nick is a good guy, but, like me, probably should keep his mouth shut more often than not.
Thursday is packing day and we fly down first thing Friday morning. You can bet I'm bringing my new glove along for the ride.
Remember this all boils down to one thing: Money. The team was upset when I opted to accept my contractual player option for the 2008 season. We almost had a lawsuit in November over some sticky he said/he said points. We renegotiated my contract to lower the burden on the team's salary structure for this year while guaranteeing me a little more money over the next five. Win/Win people in the business world call it.
But since then, this forum you are reading has bothered (now suspended) GM Alvin Kirby and manager Rick Churches to no end. Thus, they fined me $500,000 last month (which I did not report) and said they'd fine me $100,000 for every month I continued to do this. We tried to handle the fine behind closed doors.
But then...
They told me three weeks ago that my elbow would not ever be in playing shape again and that I should retire. I had just come from a doctor's appointment, one in which the doctor cleared me for spring training. They claimed a second opinion (one I had no knowledge of) told them I was done. Kaput. Finito. Chop off the arm and count the rings to see how old I really am. In this case, they want to collect insurance on my contract and not pay me out of the team's own pocket.
They just don't want to pay me. It's as simple as that. And in the case of this High & Tight blog, they want me to pay them.
Not gonna happen.
Alvin's Assistant GM Nick Curtis filled in yesterday (since Alvin was holed up with his lawyer all day fighting the sexual assault charges brought against him Monday night.) Nick is a good man and really didn't have much to do as, on Day 2, Alvin attacked me (bad choice of words considering the charges against him). Alvin presented his case against me on Day 2. Day 3 was super agent Jack Perry's turn to refute all allegations and turn the tables. I thought he did a great job.
Bottom line: We're fighting for the right for me to play this year on the active roster. I did push ups for the board and Jack showed video of me throwing to Andy, my personal trainer. I'm up to the low-80s on the radar gun. We proved it. The team had said I'd never even pick up a ball again.
If the glove fits, you must acquit. I wore a nice new leather Rawlings. It slipped onto my hand like egg whites.
Arbitrator Sutton said she'd give her decision in 2 to 3 weeks. In the meantime, I am to report to Spring Training and proceed as if nothing was going on. The team thought that wasn't fair. What if I injured myself? She laughed and said, since they said I was already injured beyond repair, what's it matter? As I said, Nick is a good guy, but, like me, probably should keep his mouth shut more often than not.
Thursday is packing day and we fly down first thing Friday morning. You can bet I'm bringing my new glove along for the ride.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A Bizarre Turn of Events
Yesterday was Day 2 of my arbitration hearing with the team. They want me to retire or sit on the disabled list all year so they can collect on insurance to pay my contract. I tell them I can play, and will play, this year. While I still haven't been given the go-ahead to discuss what happened between the two parties (it was no party when I was being "deposed," I'll tell you that) during the hearing, nobody said I couldn't comment on the news that broke after we left the building.
You probably saw it or heard about it on Sports Radio 810 - The Team! last night. Alvin Kirby, the GM who was verbally assaulting me all afternoon, was suspended by the team pending a police investigation into a breaking and entering and sexual assault claim by a woman Alvin allegedly conducted a 5-year affair with.
By no means am I gloating. While I believe Alvin is making a mistake with the actions he's followed against me, in the long run I wanted everything else he did to be perfect. Why? Because then the team wins. For me, winning is what I want. I have more money than you can shake a stick at (I don't know what that means). I've won 3 championships already, but a fourth would be even sweeter. I want Alvin to be a great general manager. I want his handpicked field manager, Rick Churches, to be a superior leader. I want my team to win.
I had no idea, nor, apparently, did Alvin's wife, of the affair he had going on. I don't know what happened that night 2 weeks ago when he allegedly broke into the woman's house (He smashed a door down with his shoulder? He's a small man. I didn't think he was that strong.) and attacked her. You can read the rest of the alleged sordid details on The Smoking Gun if you like. All I know is that yesterday morning and afternoon, Alvin's mind was not on any pending litigation against him. Just the litigation against me.
What does this mean for the team and me? Not sure. I know my super agent Jack Perry talked to Mrs. Delaney, my owner, last night and was going to talk to her again this morning to try to settle everything. We did not go in for Day 3 today since Alvin can't function with the team right now. The team needs to figure out what it's going to do in terms of my arbitration hearing and on the day-to-day.
I offer my best wishes to Alvin Kirby. I hope this turn of events unfolds fairly for both sides and gets settled amicably (don't ask me how). With spring training just days away, I think we all can agree this is one hit the team never expected to face.
You probably saw it or heard about it on Sports Radio 810 - The Team! last night. Alvin Kirby, the GM who was verbally assaulting me all afternoon, was suspended by the team pending a police investigation into a breaking and entering and sexual assault claim by a woman Alvin allegedly conducted a 5-year affair with.
By no means am I gloating. While I believe Alvin is making a mistake with the actions he's followed against me, in the long run I wanted everything else he did to be perfect. Why? Because then the team wins. For me, winning is what I want. I have more money than you can shake a stick at (I don't know what that means). I've won 3 championships already, but a fourth would be even sweeter. I want Alvin to be a great general manager. I want his handpicked field manager, Rick Churches, to be a superior leader. I want my team to win.
I had no idea, nor, apparently, did Alvin's wife, of the affair he had going on. I don't know what happened that night 2 weeks ago when he allegedly broke into the woman's house (He smashed a door down with his shoulder? He's a small man. I didn't think he was that strong.) and attacked her. You can read the rest of the alleged sordid details on The Smoking Gun if you like. All I know is that yesterday morning and afternoon, Alvin's mind was not on any pending litigation against him. Just the litigation against me.
What does this mean for the team and me? Not sure. I know my super agent Jack Perry talked to Mrs. Delaney, my owner, last night and was going to talk to her again this morning to try to settle everything. We did not go in for Day 3 today since Alvin can't function with the team right now. The team needs to figure out what it's going to do in terms of my arbitration hearing and on the day-to-day.
I offer my best wishes to Alvin Kirby. I hope this turn of events unfolds fairly for both sides and gets settled amicably (don't ask me how). With spring training just days away, I think we all can agree this is one hit the team never expected to face.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Spring In The Sunshine State
Friday is spring training day. Even though my team had told me not to appear, that I was on "disciplinary suspension," the arbitrator at the grievance hearing suspended the team's suspension, pending her ruling. Thus, I can go down to Florida, work hard, get into a full-season mindset, and know my team's management does not want me anywhere near them. It's going to be great.
Sparks were flying at my house this weekend. When the girls were younger, up to about fifth or sixth grade, Vanessa would take them to spring training for the duration. We'd rent a nice little house and spend six weeks in Arizona, when I played for Chicago, and then Florida, after the trade to New York. By the time the Alyssa and Grace were in middle school, I'd leave them behind. Not by my choosing. It's just the girls were older and could put up a better fight. They didn't want to leave their friends from mid-February until April 1st. They didn't want to make new ones at a school in The Sunshine State, only to drop them to travel back north. And Vanessa wasn't so hot on all the packing. She has moved us all, by her estimation, 37 times since we got married. One more and she'd lose her seat on the board of the local Couch Potato Club.
So keeping in mind I am about to head down to a hostile situation in Florida and my wife and kids have all the reason in the world to want to stay at home, I asked them nicely to spend the next 46 days with me below the Mason Dixon line, where it's warm - 10 degrees in NJ this morning, wind chill below zero. Unfortunately, I asked them on Saturday when it was 45 degrees. Unfortunately, Alyssa is running into some problems in AP physics class. Unfortunately, Vanessa wasn't sure if she wanted the kids, and her, to get more involved with what's going on between the team and myself. Unfortunately, Grace didn't want to go.
Here's an excerpt of our lively discussion:
Me: Did I mention it's The Sunshine State?
Alyssa: Like five times.
Me: It's a valid sales point.
Vanessa: I'd have so much to do in the next seven days.
Me: Six, actually.
Alyssa: They still get frost in Florida.
Me: But it's the warm kind.
Grace: I'm not going.
Me: Why?
Grace: Work.
Me: You don't have a job. It's just for a short time. It'll build character for you girls. It's make men out of you; put hair on your chests.
Alyssa: Then I'm definitely not going.
Vanessa: One more place to shave.
Me: I'm going to miss you. I'm going to be lonely.
Grace: You're going to play golf all afternoon.
Me: You know I don't play golf.
Grace: Then why do you always bring your clubs with you?
Me: Peer pressure. Like the kind I'm putting on you now.
Alyssa: That's not peer pressure. You're our father.
Me: Oh. Then I'm ordering you to go. Case closed. What do we have next, Rusty?
Rusty: A young fan who wants you to autograph his Nintendo joystick.
Me: Sounds disgusting.
Alyssa: Who's the old guy in the police uniform?
All right, the Rusty part didn't happen. Because the girls ran upstairs to their rooms after I gave my orders. Vanessa stayed put because she's mature and, as my wife, knew her place was beside me.
Vanessa: You handled that all wrong.
Me: It takes a real man to know that.
Vanessa: What's that make you?
By dinner Sunday night, the girls had considered forgiving me. I found this out from super agent Jack Perry, who called me asking why Alyssa and Grace had tried to engage him to be their representative during this sensitive negotiation. He didn't take them on because they balked at his fee, but his concern was valid.
Jack: I don't have the capacity to be IMing teenage girls while I'm in the middle of your arbitration hearing.
Me: What did they say to that?
Jack: They told me to drop you as a client.
Me: What did you say to that?
Jack: It was under strong consideration.
No respect. No love. Spring training report date is the day after Valentine's Day. I don't think my family will be giving me any cards this year. No hugs or chocolate either. But I think they'll like their stay in Florida. It is The Sunshine State after all.
Sparks were flying at my house this weekend. When the girls were younger, up to about fifth or sixth grade, Vanessa would take them to spring training for the duration. We'd rent a nice little house and spend six weeks in Arizona, when I played for Chicago, and then Florida, after the trade to New York. By the time the Alyssa and Grace were in middle school, I'd leave them behind. Not by my choosing. It's just the girls were older and could put up a better fight. They didn't want to leave their friends from mid-February until April 1st. They didn't want to make new ones at a school in The Sunshine State, only to drop them to travel back north. And Vanessa wasn't so hot on all the packing. She has moved us all, by her estimation, 37 times since we got married. One more and she'd lose her seat on the board of the local Couch Potato Club.
So keeping in mind I am about to head down to a hostile situation in Florida and my wife and kids have all the reason in the world to want to stay at home, I asked them nicely to spend the next 46 days with me below the Mason Dixon line, where it's warm - 10 degrees in NJ this morning, wind chill below zero. Unfortunately, I asked them on Saturday when it was 45 degrees. Unfortunately, Alyssa is running into some problems in AP physics class. Unfortunately, Vanessa wasn't sure if she wanted the kids, and her, to get more involved with what's going on between the team and myself. Unfortunately, Grace didn't want to go.
Here's an excerpt of our lively discussion:
Me: Did I mention it's The Sunshine State?
Alyssa: Like five times.
Me: It's a valid sales point.
Vanessa: I'd have so much to do in the next seven days.
Me: Six, actually.
Alyssa: They still get frost in Florida.
Me: But it's the warm kind.
Grace: I'm not going.
Me: Why?
Grace: Work.
Me: You don't have a job. It's just for a short time. It'll build character for you girls. It's make men out of you; put hair on your chests.
Alyssa: Then I'm definitely not going.
Vanessa: One more place to shave.
Me: I'm going to miss you. I'm going to be lonely.
Grace: You're going to play golf all afternoon.
Me: You know I don't play golf.
Grace: Then why do you always bring your clubs with you?
Me: Peer pressure. Like the kind I'm putting on you now.
Alyssa: That's not peer pressure. You're our father.
Me: Oh. Then I'm ordering you to go. Case closed. What do we have next, Rusty?
Rusty: A young fan who wants you to autograph his Nintendo joystick.
Me: Sounds disgusting.
Alyssa: Who's the old guy in the police uniform?
All right, the Rusty part didn't happen. Because the girls ran upstairs to their rooms after I gave my orders. Vanessa stayed put because she's mature and, as my wife, knew her place was beside me.
Vanessa: You handled that all wrong.
Me: It takes a real man to know that.
Vanessa: What's that make you?
By dinner Sunday night, the girls had considered forgiving me. I found this out from super agent Jack Perry, who called me asking why Alyssa and Grace had tried to engage him to be their representative during this sensitive negotiation. He didn't take them on because they balked at his fee, but his concern was valid.
Jack: I don't have the capacity to be IMing teenage girls while I'm in the middle of your arbitration hearing.
Me: What did they say to that?
Jack: They told me to drop you as a client.
Me: What did you say to that?
Jack: It was under strong consideration.
No respect. No love. Spring training report date is the day after Valentine's Day. I don't think my family will be giving me any cards this year. No hugs or chocolate either. But I think they'll like their stay in Florida. It is The Sunshine State after all.
Friday, February 8, 2008
A Time Of Grieving
The first day of testimony between the team and I began this morning. As we all know by now, the team is looking to void my contract because of an injury that took place last season. In addition, and this went unreported by them and me, I was fined $500,000 for this blog, the writing of which is considered "conduct detrimental to the team." My grievance states they can't void my contract and the fine should be voided too.
The grievance process is interesting if you're not one of the parties involved:
The grievance process is interesting if you're not one of the parties involved:
- There's me, who attended Day 1 along with Jack Perry, my super agent, and two "witnesses," former players who can state good things about me. We make up the cool party. Stop on by for some good music and pigs in blankets.
- There's the team, which was represented by GM Alvin Kirby and Rick Churches, my esteemed manager.
- There's the arbitration board, on which sat commissioner Elliott Pollock, Players Association head Howard Phillips, and an independent arbitrator, Benazir Sutton.
The "prosecution" began with Alvin Kirby's opening remarks, which explained last year's injury, my poor rehabbing schedule until the fall, my going back on a verbal agreement to accept a "lucrative" buyout offer of my contract from the team, and the "heinous, slanderous remarks" I have written on this blog about him, Mr. Churches and Mrs. Joan Delaney, our owner. Alvin said he'd provide medical witnesses who will prove my right arm will never be usable again on a professional level.
Jack gave the defense argument, that coming back for the 2008 season was my decision (a player option that I, as player, contractually enjoyed) and that I, the player, never signed or stated to the team an acceptance of their buyout offer. He admitted to my poor rehab "attitude" but stated a psychiatrist would testify that I was depressed, that professional athletes go through periods of inner emptiness after major injuries. But, he said, I did recover mentally and for the last three months have gone through the most rigorous workout program of my entire amateur and professional career. My personal trainer Andy, employed by the team, is set to testify in my favor (Unless he turns on me because of economic pressure from the team - meaning they'll fire him if he so much as shows up. I can see that movie before it's even made.)
In terms of this blog, Jack talked about my second amendment rights, until I corrected him and said the second amendment was the right to bear arms. The first amendment is freedom of speech. Jack broke up the room (my side and Mrs. Sutton, at least) stating the mistake was on purpose. This whole problem is based upon my arm and I have the right to use it on a mound this season. He's a shrewd fellow, that Jack Perry.
We broke for lunch. A two-hour lunch. I was done after fifteen minutes and walked around midtown Manhattan. Lots of Jimmy Scott fans out there. I used my cell phone to make a video of fans telling me they were on my side. Maybe I'd use it in court. Or just show it to Vanessa next time she gets mad at me.
After lunch, Mrs. Sutton asked Jack and Alvin to meet with her in private to try to mediate the dispute before spending any more time dragging each other through the dirt. I was wearing my overalls, so I was fully prepared for a good old fashioned dirt dragging. But Jack agreed, as did Alvin, and they disappeared for 45 minutes.
Union head Howard and commissioner Pollock spent that 45 minutes arguing about something in the back of the room, which was not a courtroom with mahogany walls and microphones, jury box and a bailiff named Rusty. We were in a 28th floor conference room with no windows. My chair could swivel 360 degrees, so I passed the time getting dizzy. Rick watched me with disgust and occasionally shook his head. He's no fun at all.
When Jack, Alvin and Mrs. Sutton returned, she said we were through for the day. It was just about 3:00 and we didn't have time to press ahead into the seriousness of "these matters" on a Friday afternoon. We adjourned until Monday.
You're dying to know what Jack, Alvin and Mrs. Sutton did/said behind those closed doors, aren't you? I was too. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to tell you right now. This is called a "gag order." In other words, I can't write publicly about the hearing until it's over. Jack thinks team management is afraid public pressure, caused by what you're reading, will be too strong for them to lay out their case with impunity. I just nodded, not know what "impunity" meant. I'll look it up tonight after lying in bed for three hours and not falling asleep. After this posting is done, I'll write about other stuff until the gag order is lifted.
We reconvene Monday at 9:00 AM sharp. Mrs. Sutton told us to plan for two days of testimony. Her ruling will probably come within two weeks after we wrap up.
Ironic reminder: Single-game tickets go on sale Sunday morning at 9:30. I should be back in May, so I suggest you start there with your purchases. Don't listen to Rick and Alvin. They're just jealous they didn't think up this blog thing first.
See you in May!
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Fan Fest, Day 2
I didn't plan on attending Fan Fest for a second day, especially after the problems I had on Day 1. But super agent Jack Perry told me Pepsi had a booth there and asked me to stop by and say hello. Apparently, I'm Pepsi's new golden boy, standing up against media, management and the culture in today's sportsworld of either getting arrested or speaking only in cliches. So I drove back into NYC and paid my $65 (if you didn't buy a combined Day 1/Day2 ticket for $50, you had to pay $65 for Day 2 only). I waited in line with some fans who couldn't believe I was 1) waiting in line with them and 2) actually buying a ticket. I told them I didn't think Rick would let me in unless I paid. And besides, Pepsi was going to reimburse me for parking and gas. What's one more $65 expense?
Got inside and enjoyed the swarm of fans who swarmed around me. No interns for "security." No agent or agent's wife to hold my hand and lead me through the little people who spent $65 for the priviledge of buying wet $5 hot dogs served on soft, cold buns. I felt like the Pied Piper as I made my way to the Pepsi booth, which was not where I was told it would be. 20 minutes, 200 fans and one frankfurter later I found it. It was set up so kids, or older fans, could stand at a home plate and hit hard plastic balls shot through a hole in a screen that showed video of me, Kai Goto and the rest of the team's pitchers go through our motions and fire away. I had a blast when it was my turn to bat against myself. I struck myself out on 3 pitches.
But Jimmy, what about your elbow?
It doesn't hurt when I bat. Weird. Truthfully, it doesn't hurt at all anymore. It's been a week since the scar tissue was discovered and I was told to take it easy. So my three-a-days were scaled back a bit. I will start throwing again tomorrow.
By the way, it's only 8 days until spring training. Normally, I'd be excited to go. But this stuff with my manager and GM, occassionally supplemented by interference from our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, has soured me a bit. But as sour as I was, standing in and around so many fans today was incredible. The support I got, the pats on the back (a few hurt because the guys patting my back were like 10 feet tall Sumo wrestlers or something), the handshakes and shouts of "Go, Jimmy, go!" were pretty cool. It kind of wiped the slate clean for me and made me feel good again. So thanks to all of you.
As an aside, I did not see Rick there. I understand he was counseling the custodial staff on the proper way to use their brooms. I hope the man is as intense about whether or not to double-switch for me in the 8th inning come September. I have a feeling he doesn't think I'll be on a mound then, at least for him. But I've made a deal with myself to make it happen. I'm going to be a factor for the team this year. I'm going to make those fans who supported me today proud.
And maybe next year I can play for free. There's got to be a way to lower the price of a ballpark hot dog. I'll do my part. You keep doing yours.
Got inside and enjoyed the swarm of fans who swarmed around me. No interns for "security." No agent or agent's wife to hold my hand and lead me through the little people who spent $65 for the priviledge of buying wet $5 hot dogs served on soft, cold buns. I felt like the Pied Piper as I made my way to the Pepsi booth, which was not where I was told it would be. 20 minutes, 200 fans and one frankfurter later I found it. It was set up so kids, or older fans, could stand at a home plate and hit hard plastic balls shot through a hole in a screen that showed video of me, Kai Goto and the rest of the team's pitchers go through our motions and fire away. I had a blast when it was my turn to bat against myself. I struck myself out on 3 pitches.
But Jimmy, what about your elbow?
It doesn't hurt when I bat. Weird. Truthfully, it doesn't hurt at all anymore. It's been a week since the scar tissue was discovered and I was told to take it easy. So my three-a-days were scaled back a bit. I will start throwing again tomorrow.
By the way, it's only 8 days until spring training. Normally, I'd be excited to go. But this stuff with my manager and GM, occassionally supplemented by interference from our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, has soured me a bit. But as sour as I was, standing in and around so many fans today was incredible. The support I got, the pats on the back (a few hurt because the guys patting my back were like 10 feet tall Sumo wrestlers or something), the handshakes and shouts of "Go, Jimmy, go!" were pretty cool. It kind of wiped the slate clean for me and made me feel good again. So thanks to all of you.
As an aside, I did not see Rick there. I understand he was counseling the custodial staff on the proper way to use their brooms. I hope the man is as intense about whether or not to double-switch for me in the 8th inning come September. I have a feeling he doesn't think I'll be on a mound then, at least for him. But I've made a deal with myself to make it happen. I'm going to be a factor for the team this year. I'm going to make those fans who supported me today proud.
And maybe next year I can play for free. There's got to be a way to lower the price of a ballpark hot dog. I'll do my part. You keep doing yours.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Fanatic Festival...
...or Fan Fest, as most call it. We've held it every year for the past seven. I think they took two or three years off before that and the fanatics went fanatical, so they reinstated this New York Mardis Gras for baseball fans. Held at the Jacob Javits Center, it's impossible to get to. Parking stinks. No subway. Right on 11th Avenue, which is a busy street. And I hear the City wants to spend something like a billion dollars to expand the place. I wonder where the common sense goes once somebody gets elected into office...
...or is named manager of a professional baseball team. Rick Churches, our leader, is supposed to direct our on-field activities. Yes, he's in charge of the clubhouse too. But Fan Fest? He ran the show, so to speak. One person related to the team (an intern - my team leads the league in interns) said Rick arrived at Fan Fest yesterday just after 5AM to make sure everything was in its proper place. Later, on WTEM's "Jock & Jam Show," Rick would say he had to vacuum the carpets, which had lots of dirt. He made it sound like a joke. Still...
...it's hard to imagine the manager of a baseball team, who's earning a million dollars this year, arriving so early just to make sure the team signs weren't cockeyed. Anyway, my writing these past days has turned quite sour due to my "issues" with Rick and his boss, GM Alvin Kirby. Unfortunately, we had a face-to-face meeting today. I'm still sour. Thank goodness this little get together was behind a curtain in an area where the players (the ones who showed up) could relax and get away from the fanatics who paid upwards of $50 for a day of standing in line for autographs, paying more money to buy memorabilia, and eating "stadium style" concessions (which meant they overpaid for hot dogs too). But my meeting with Rick & Alvin...
...no Chipmunks jokes. Although Alvin does have a pretty high-pitched voice. Enough. My super agent, Jack Perry, couldn't attend Fan Fest because, well, I'm not his only client. Arbitration hearings are coming up soon and he overprepares. I had requested Jack send someone very tall and thick in his place to keep Alvin & Rick, or Rick & Alvin, away from me. Jack sent Tina. His wife. Tina is 5 foot 4 and about 97 pounds. She's sweet as hell and beautiful. Not what I had in mind, however. I wasn't on the showfloor for more than 5 minutes before the "altercation" (what the papers have described it) occurred. It went something like this...
...I was shaking hands with new third base coach Willie Fernandez when a third hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. It sure as hell wasn't Tina's hand. The following exchange took place:
Rick: Cut the sh*t, a**hole!
Me: Huh?
Rick: You heard me you piece of sh*t! Cut the sh*t!
Me: If I'm a piece of shi*t and you want me to cut the sh*t, that means you want me to harm myself. My contract won't pay me if I do that. It says so on page -
Rick: Get out of here!
Alvin: Jimmy, we'd like you to leave.
Me: (here's where I showed them) Why?
Alvin: You're on suspension.
Me: Why?
Rick: For being an a**hole!
Alvin: That's not the reason.
Me: Thank you.
Alvin: A number of comments you've made on your blog that have criticized the organization were uncalled for. Comments about me. Your manager. We're suspending you without pay for two weeks.
Me: It's the off season. You're not paying me yet.
Tina: Should I call Jack?
Rick: Yeah. You can tell that piece of sh*t that I said -
Me: Rick, lay off her.
Rick: (pushing me) What are you gonna do about it, a**hole?
Alvin: Excuse us, Jimmy.
I didn't see them again. Alvin literally pulled Rick away from me and that was it. I didn't leave. Tina called Jack who called Mrs. Delaney, who asked that I post an apology to the fans. I'm not sure what I did to bother the fans yesterday, besides decline an invitation to appear on the "Jock & Jam Show." But I like Mrs. Delaney. I'm a proud athlete but, ask Vanessa, have no problem telling people when I'm wrong in my personal life. I still don't think I did anything wrong here. I certainly didn't push my manager, nor did I stand "in a confrontational style" as one paper put it. But, Mrs. Delaney asked, and I'm not above saying I'm sorry. So to all of our fans, I apologize. Please accept this.
Oh, I'm not suspended, by the way. Mrs. Delaney overrode Alvin's decision (thanks to Jack for his input there as well).
I'm waiting for Rick to apologize to me now. He has my number. He knows where I live. A basket of fresh fruit would be nice. Or cookies. I love cookies. Just no hot dogs. They're too expensive. He should know that. I think he's showing up early today for Day 2 of Fan Fest. I hear he's going to be cooking.
...or is named manager of a professional baseball team. Rick Churches, our leader, is supposed to direct our on-field activities. Yes, he's in charge of the clubhouse too. But Fan Fest? He ran the show, so to speak. One person related to the team (an intern - my team leads the league in interns) said Rick arrived at Fan Fest yesterday just after 5AM to make sure everything was in its proper place. Later, on WTEM's "Jock & Jam Show," Rick would say he had to vacuum the carpets, which had lots of dirt. He made it sound like a joke. Still...
...it's hard to imagine the manager of a baseball team, who's earning a million dollars this year, arriving so early just to make sure the team signs weren't cockeyed. Anyway, my writing these past days has turned quite sour due to my "issues" with Rick and his boss, GM Alvin Kirby. Unfortunately, we had a face-to-face meeting today. I'm still sour. Thank goodness this little get together was behind a curtain in an area where the players (the ones who showed up) could relax and get away from the fanatics who paid upwards of $50 for a day of standing in line for autographs, paying more money to buy memorabilia, and eating "stadium style" concessions (which meant they overpaid for hot dogs too). But my meeting with Rick & Alvin...
...no Chipmunks jokes. Although Alvin does have a pretty high-pitched voice. Enough. My super agent, Jack Perry, couldn't attend Fan Fest because, well, I'm not his only client. Arbitration hearings are coming up soon and he overprepares. I had requested Jack send someone very tall and thick in his place to keep Alvin & Rick, or Rick & Alvin, away from me. Jack sent Tina. His wife. Tina is 5 foot 4 and about 97 pounds. She's sweet as hell and beautiful. Not what I had in mind, however. I wasn't on the showfloor for more than 5 minutes before the "altercation" (what the papers have described it) occurred. It went something like this...
...I was shaking hands with new third base coach Willie Fernandez when a third hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. It sure as hell wasn't Tina's hand. The following exchange took place:
Rick: Cut the sh*t, a**hole!
Me: Huh?
Rick: You heard me you piece of sh*t! Cut the sh*t!
Me: If I'm a piece of shi*t and you want me to cut the sh*t, that means you want me to harm myself. My contract won't pay me if I do that. It says so on page -
Rick: Get out of here!
Alvin: Jimmy, we'd like you to leave.
Me: (here's where I showed them) Why?
Alvin: You're on suspension.
Me: Why?
Rick: For being an a**hole!
Alvin: That's not the reason.
Me: Thank you.
Alvin: A number of comments you've made on your blog that have criticized the organization were uncalled for. Comments about me. Your manager. We're suspending you without pay for two weeks.
Me: It's the off season. You're not paying me yet.
Tina: Should I call Jack?
Rick: Yeah. You can tell that piece of sh*t that I said -
Me: Rick, lay off her.
Rick: (pushing me) What are you gonna do about it, a**hole?
Alvin: Excuse us, Jimmy.
I didn't see them again. Alvin literally pulled Rick away from me and that was it. I didn't leave. Tina called Jack who called Mrs. Delaney, who asked that I post an apology to the fans. I'm not sure what I did to bother the fans yesterday, besides decline an invitation to appear on the "Jock & Jam Show." But I like Mrs. Delaney. I'm a proud athlete but, ask Vanessa, have no problem telling people when I'm wrong in my personal life. I still don't think I did anything wrong here. I certainly didn't push my manager, nor did I stand "in a confrontational style" as one paper put it. But, Mrs. Delaney asked, and I'm not above saying I'm sorry. So to all of our fans, I apologize. Please accept this.
Oh, I'm not suspended, by the way. Mrs. Delaney overrode Alvin's decision (thanks to Jack for his input there as well).
I'm waiting for Rick to apologize to me now. He has my number. He knows where I live. A basket of fresh fruit would be nice. Or cookies. I love cookies. Just no hot dogs. They're too expensive. He should know that. I think he's showing up early today for Day 2 of Fan Fest. I hear he's going to be cooking.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
If I May Butt In With My Rebuttal...
It appears that my manager, Rick Churches, and I don't see things eye-to-eye. Not sure where this all started. When he was one of our TV guys, he was a nice enough person. We never went out for beers, probably because I don't drink, but we never argued or bickered or had any problems. When he wanted to interview me, we'd have a nice chat in front of the camera and then part ways.
He became our manager in early-October and was given a very generous three-year deal. Want to know the first thing he said to me when I saw him after he signed? I was shaking his hand and had just congratulated him. Here's his quote: "Who's got the longer deal now, Jimmy?" I was unsure who was being compared, but assumed he meant he and I. But again, I was unsure why he'd want to compare our length of contracts. Vanessa would say it's a guy thing. But if that was so, he would have dropped his pants and asked to compare something else. No, this was specific to me. I know because when I asked another player about his experience with Rick, the player said Rick hugged him and gushed about how he now had his "dream job."
I don't want to sound paranoid, but I think my manager doesn't like me. I think he thinks I'm ruining his self-described "dream job" somehow. And I don't know why.
Here's proof. He was interviewed on Monday and talked about how the Giants had that great come-from-behind victory in the Super Bowl and how Peyton Manning kept his composure and led the team to victory. When asked to compare the Giants to our team, he said there were some "gamers" in our locker room, but also some guys "on notice." When asked to be specific, he said he wouldn't say, especially since one of these alleged non-gamers isn't talking either. I get it. That means me. I am on notice with my manager because of my non-gamerness.
It got interesting then, because after he said he wouldn't name names, he did. He went on about how Felipe Castro is going to have to come to camp prepared, even though his mother is still held against her will somewhere in Venezuela and Felipe is going through a hell none of us can imagine. He said Cory Belle is welcome in the clubhouse as long as he keeps his "demons" on a leash until the end of October. He said he felt the Kai Goto acquisition was the key to the team's off season. Another quote: "It's important to have the Jimmy Scott of Japan on this team, especially if we don't know if the Jimmy Scott of America even exists anymore."
Ouch. Still, I do exist. I'm right here.
I think Rick's trying to be the master motivator. He wants to be very vocal in the press. He wants "his" players to know where they stand before we show up in 10 days for spring training. He wants us to know who's boss. From what I heard, the clubhouse was a mess last year. Since I wasn't around much at all due to my injury, I can't confirm or deny. It was the main reason why Rick's predecessor got fired. He wants to restore order. Anybody can respect that. It's just hard to respect the way he's going about it.
Fan Fest is tomorrow at the Jacob Javits Center. I'll be there. A bunch of guys will. The timing stinks as we report in 10 days for camp and won't return home to our families for 6 months. To have guys fly in this close to our report date is kind of dumb. The should have had it last month, like it's always been. Oh well, not my call. Guess whose call it was?
He and I will share a room tomorrow. Yes, I will be uncomfortable. GM Alvin Kirby will be there. My super agent, Jack Perry, can't go to serve as a buffer between them and me, so he's sending someone in his place. The guy better be 8 feet tall and 500 pounds, because I really don't want to look at Rick or Alvin for at least 10 more days. They've lied to me and are misusing their power, in my opinion. I looked on one of the fan blogs and saw a poll asking who looks better in the current climate, Rick & Alvin or me. Over 3500 people voted. I think I got something like 2700 votes. I hope the other 800 folks show up at Fan Fest tomorrow so they can see and hear for themselves why they voted wrong.
This is a bad situation right now. Unless the team gives me an outright release, which they don't want to do because this whole deal is about not paying my contract, something they'd have to do by releasing me, then the situation will just get worse. My grievance goes in front of a board later this week. I'm going to be there. Rick and Alvin will too, I assume. So tomorrow, we're supposed to be all happy and silly with the fans and on Thursday (or whenever) we're going to be at each other's throats.
I can't tell them what to do, but I think this is no way to run a team. Unless they want to run it into the ground.
He became our manager in early-October and was given a very generous three-year deal. Want to know the first thing he said to me when I saw him after he signed? I was shaking his hand and had just congratulated him. Here's his quote: "Who's got the longer deal now, Jimmy?" I was unsure who was being compared, but assumed he meant he and I. But again, I was unsure why he'd want to compare our length of contracts. Vanessa would say it's a guy thing. But if that was so, he would have dropped his pants and asked to compare something else. No, this was specific to me. I know because when I asked another player about his experience with Rick, the player said Rick hugged him and gushed about how he now had his "dream job."
I don't want to sound paranoid, but I think my manager doesn't like me. I think he thinks I'm ruining his self-described "dream job" somehow. And I don't know why.
Here's proof. He was interviewed on Monday and talked about how the Giants had that great come-from-behind victory in the Super Bowl and how Peyton Manning kept his composure and led the team to victory. When asked to compare the Giants to our team, he said there were some "gamers" in our locker room, but also some guys "on notice." When asked to be specific, he said he wouldn't say, especially since one of these alleged non-gamers isn't talking either. I get it. That means me. I am on notice with my manager because of my non-gamerness.
It got interesting then, because after he said he wouldn't name names, he did. He went on about how Felipe Castro is going to have to come to camp prepared, even though his mother is still held against her will somewhere in Venezuela and Felipe is going through a hell none of us can imagine. He said Cory Belle is welcome in the clubhouse as long as he keeps his "demons" on a leash until the end of October. He said he felt the Kai Goto acquisition was the key to the team's off season. Another quote: "It's important to have the Jimmy Scott of Japan on this team, especially if we don't know if the Jimmy Scott of America even exists anymore."
Ouch. Still, I do exist. I'm right here.
I think Rick's trying to be the master motivator. He wants to be very vocal in the press. He wants "his" players to know where they stand before we show up in 10 days for spring training. He wants us to know who's boss. From what I heard, the clubhouse was a mess last year. Since I wasn't around much at all due to my injury, I can't confirm or deny. It was the main reason why Rick's predecessor got fired. He wants to restore order. Anybody can respect that. It's just hard to respect the way he's going about it.
Fan Fest is tomorrow at the Jacob Javits Center. I'll be there. A bunch of guys will. The timing stinks as we report in 10 days for camp and won't return home to our families for 6 months. To have guys fly in this close to our report date is kind of dumb. The should have had it last month, like it's always been. Oh well, not my call. Guess whose call it was?
He and I will share a room tomorrow. Yes, I will be uncomfortable. GM Alvin Kirby will be there. My super agent, Jack Perry, can't go to serve as a buffer between them and me, so he's sending someone in his place. The guy better be 8 feet tall and 500 pounds, because I really don't want to look at Rick or Alvin for at least 10 more days. They've lied to me and are misusing their power, in my opinion. I looked on one of the fan blogs and saw a poll asking who looks better in the current climate, Rick & Alvin or me. Over 3500 people voted. I think I got something like 2700 votes. I hope the other 800 folks show up at Fan Fest tomorrow so they can see and hear for themselves why they voted wrong.
This is a bad situation right now. Unless the team gives me an outright release, which they don't want to do because this whole deal is about not paying my contract, something they'd have to do by releasing me, then the situation will just get worse. My grievance goes in front of a board later this week. I'm going to be there. Rick and Alvin will too, I assume. So tomorrow, we're supposed to be all happy and silly with the fans and on Thursday (or whenever) we're going to be at each other's throats.
I can't tell them what to do, but I think this is no way to run a team. Unless they want to run it into the ground.
Monday, February 4, 2008
I've Got The Edge Now
It came as a total surprise to me. With about 3 minutes to play in the 4th quarter of last night's Super Bowl, the Pepsi ad flashed on my screen. There I was. I. Just me. Alyssa and Grace, my two lovely teen twins who took a day off from school to film the commercial, were nowhere to be seen. At least on TV. They were sitting next to me when the ad aired. Needless to say, they were a little taken aback.
It turns out this blog and my public spat with the team has "twisted my image," as super agent Jack Perry said to me the morning. In Pepsi's eyes, that's not a bad thing. The ad was originally supposed to air in two more weeks, right after pitchers and catchers reported. But, as Jack revisted with me, Pepsi thinks I've got an "edge" now. I was the equivalent of Miss America, Jack said, for so long. It's fresh to see me ranting here. It's edgy to see me taking on my team instead of taking one for them. They think I've become an individual, a voice for their target demographic, which is slightly younger than me (by about 20 years). I've become an icon.
Tell that to my kids. Well, I did. They don't really care what other people think of their dear old papa (they've never called me that). They wanted to be in a commercial for Pepsi, ahem, Lipton Brisk (owned by Pepsi). That's another thing. We filmed a Lipton Brisk commercial. But you saw me and Pepsi during the Super Bowl. It appears they not only digitized my kids out, they digitized out their own brand and replaced it with another, albeit a bigger-name brand, one I had been led to believe I was endorsing all along. Endorsement complete. I'm a Pepsi guy again. Edgy. Cool. Twisted. Just what today's youth wants.
I hope my team wants me half as bad.
It turns out this blog and my public spat with the team has "twisted my image," as super agent Jack Perry said to me the morning. In Pepsi's eyes, that's not a bad thing. The ad was originally supposed to air in two more weeks, right after pitchers and catchers reported. But, as Jack revisted with me, Pepsi thinks I've got an "edge" now. I was the equivalent of Miss America, Jack said, for so long. It's fresh to see me ranting here. It's edgy to see me taking on my team instead of taking one for them. They think I've become an individual, a voice for their target demographic, which is slightly younger than me (by about 20 years). I've become an icon.
Tell that to my kids. Well, I did. They don't really care what other people think of their dear old papa (they've never called me that). They wanted to be in a commercial for Pepsi, ahem, Lipton Brisk (owned by Pepsi). That's another thing. We filmed a Lipton Brisk commercial. But you saw me and Pepsi during the Super Bowl. It appears they not only digitized my kids out, they digitized out their own brand and replaced it with another, albeit a bigger-name brand, one I had been led to believe I was endorsing all along. Endorsement complete. I'm a Pepsi guy again. Edgy. Cool. Twisted. Just what today's youth wants.
I hope my team wants me half as bad.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Second Opinions
I visited a new doctor yesterday to get another opinion on my arm. It wasn't easy, seeing the new doctor. Not because the office was hard to find or my car wouldn't start. We had to negotiate with the team who it was I was going to see.
As Ricky would say to Lucy, "Let me 'splain."
My New York franchise has a team doctor who I've been seeing. I have no reason to believe he has given me poor care or done anything unprofessional. Dr. McGee is, in my opinion, an honest man who genuinely cares about the people he examines.
However, in my meeting with the team the other day, they produced a "second opinion" from an unknown doctor. Now, if the second opinion is about me, you'd think I would have been there for the examination. It is, after all, my arm we're talking about.
The team is now stating that the second opinion they acquired is based upon Dr. McGee's MRI and examination notes. Dr. McGee thought I was rehabbing well and would pitch pain-free this year. Of course, I had my setback which turned out to be scar tissue breaking up, but that's temporary. I should be throwing balls around from flat ground at this time next week.
The team says no. In their opinion, which is based on this second "independent" opinion (and probably upsets Dr. McGee, their official team physician), I'm done. My elbow is a minefield. Take one wrong step and BOOM! Because of this assessment, they've asked me to either retire or expect to be on the disabled list, unavailable to play, for the entire season. In either case, they wouldn't be on the hook for my $9+ million 2008 salary (if I retire, they don't have to pay me; if I'm on the DL all season, insurance will pick up the tab).
I think upper management is full of...crap. They won't tell super agent, Jack Perry, or me which doctor rendered the second opinion (it took 2 days for them to admit publicly they even had the second opinion - this after stating, in effect, that I lied about that part of our meeting). Jack subsequently filed a grievance with the union.
I've never been involved in a grievance with my employer. So far, it's not fun. We are in dispute with one another and I, as employee, am basically forcing them to lay out all of their cards. Employers don't like to have their decisions questioned, especially by employees who have no problem letting the world know what's going on step-by-step via the Internet. If this were a marriage, it would be one on the rocks.
I do not want a divorce.
Yesterday, I suggested two reasons why they might be doing this in the first place.
1. They want to save money.
2. They don't want me on the team anymore.
I just thought up a new one (after subscribing to Paranoia Magazine last night):
3. They don't want me on the team anymore, but fear the public backlash of cutting me, so they hope I will ask to be either released or traded.
I'm not sure which is their truth. My truth is this: I like my house. I like my town. I like playing in New York. While I didn't want my supposedly last active off season to be marred by one public dispute after another with team management, it's not enough to make me ask to be released or traded. I don't want a divorce. I want to work this out.
The grievance process is how we'll do our counseling.
Back to my new doctor. In the grievance, it states the second opinion must come from an independent party. The team doctor is their party. Their "second opinion doctor" is... well I'm not sure what he/she is. But we're disputing anything that person said about me (aside from mention of my thinning scalp). The true second opinion will come from a doctor both team and player/agent agree upon.
You'd think I was negotiating for a $150 million contract extension.
Jack was on the phone with GM Alvin Kirby nine times yesterday. Jack said total speaking time was well over 3 hours. They had real issues with various points of the grievance, which I won't go into publicly unless Alvin does first. Mainly, the team wouldn't agree to any of the doctors Jack suggested. In turn, Jack wouldn't agree to their suggestions. It's like I'm the one on trial and prosecution and defense attorneys are interviewing potential jurors. That's what this is. This doctor will be the jury determining whether or not I'm guilty (can't pitch ever again) or not guilty (will pitch).
After wrangling and all that, the doctor chosen was Dr. Leslie Hoffman. She's based in Tampa and is an orthopedic specialist. I was the first big league player she ever examined (she's focused on professional tennis and NHL players). Nonetheless, she's a professional and, like I said, a respected specialist. I flew down to Tampa and had a lovely time in first class talking to a woman who works for a pharmeaceutical company about marketing cough medicine to healthy people.
Dr. Hoffman did what Dr. McGee did - MRI, lots of poking and prodding and stretching and twisting. She spent 20 minutes and then did it again. We should have the results back today.
My mother once told me that honesty is the best policy. I wish the team had come to Jack and me and told me what they really wanted in the first place. Instead, they went the messy route and will be wiping egg off of their faces for a while. Because in the jury of public opinion, they have so far shown that they are guilty as charged.
As Ricky would say to Lucy, "Let me 'splain."
My New York franchise has a team doctor who I've been seeing. I have no reason to believe he has given me poor care or done anything unprofessional. Dr. McGee is, in my opinion, an honest man who genuinely cares about the people he examines.
However, in my meeting with the team the other day, they produced a "second opinion" from an unknown doctor. Now, if the second opinion is about me, you'd think I would have been there for the examination. It is, after all, my arm we're talking about.
The team is now stating that the second opinion they acquired is based upon Dr. McGee's MRI and examination notes. Dr. McGee thought I was rehabbing well and would pitch pain-free this year. Of course, I had my setback which turned out to be scar tissue breaking up, but that's temporary. I should be throwing balls around from flat ground at this time next week.
The team says no. In their opinion, which is based on this second "independent" opinion (and probably upsets Dr. McGee, their official team physician), I'm done. My elbow is a minefield. Take one wrong step and BOOM! Because of this assessment, they've asked me to either retire or expect to be on the disabled list, unavailable to play, for the entire season. In either case, they wouldn't be on the hook for my $9+ million 2008 salary (if I retire, they don't have to pay me; if I'm on the DL all season, insurance will pick up the tab).
I think upper management is full of...crap. They won't tell super agent, Jack Perry, or me which doctor rendered the second opinion (it took 2 days for them to admit publicly they even had the second opinion - this after stating, in effect, that I lied about that part of our meeting). Jack subsequently filed a grievance with the union.
I've never been involved in a grievance with my employer. So far, it's not fun. We are in dispute with one another and I, as employee, am basically forcing them to lay out all of their cards. Employers don't like to have their decisions questioned, especially by employees who have no problem letting the world know what's going on step-by-step via the Internet. If this were a marriage, it would be one on the rocks.
I do not want a divorce.
Yesterday, I suggested two reasons why they might be doing this in the first place.
1. They want to save money.
2. They don't want me on the team anymore.
I just thought up a new one (after subscribing to Paranoia Magazine last night):
3. They don't want me on the team anymore, but fear the public backlash of cutting me, so they hope I will ask to be either released or traded.
I'm not sure which is their truth. My truth is this: I like my house. I like my town. I like playing in New York. While I didn't want my supposedly last active off season to be marred by one public dispute after another with team management, it's not enough to make me ask to be released or traded. I don't want a divorce. I want to work this out.
The grievance process is how we'll do our counseling.
Back to my new doctor. In the grievance, it states the second opinion must come from an independent party. The team doctor is their party. Their "second opinion doctor" is... well I'm not sure what he/she is. But we're disputing anything that person said about me (aside from mention of my thinning scalp). The true second opinion will come from a doctor both team and player/agent agree upon.
You'd think I was negotiating for a $150 million contract extension.
Jack was on the phone with GM Alvin Kirby nine times yesterday. Jack said total speaking time was well over 3 hours. They had real issues with various points of the grievance, which I won't go into publicly unless Alvin does first. Mainly, the team wouldn't agree to any of the doctors Jack suggested. In turn, Jack wouldn't agree to their suggestions. It's like I'm the one on trial and prosecution and defense attorneys are interviewing potential jurors. That's what this is. This doctor will be the jury determining whether or not I'm guilty (can't pitch ever again) or not guilty (will pitch).
After wrangling and all that, the doctor chosen was Dr. Leslie Hoffman. She's based in Tampa and is an orthopedic specialist. I was the first big league player she ever examined (she's focused on professional tennis and NHL players). Nonetheless, she's a professional and, like I said, a respected specialist. I flew down to Tampa and had a lovely time in first class talking to a woman who works for a pharmeaceutical company about marketing cough medicine to healthy people.
Dr. Hoffman did what Dr. McGee did - MRI, lots of poking and prodding and stretching and twisting. She spent 20 minutes and then did it again. We should have the results back today.
My mother once told me that honesty is the best policy. I wish the team had come to Jack and me and told me what they really wanted in the first place. Instead, they went the messy route and will be wiping egg off of their faces for a while. Because in the jury of public opinion, they have so far shown that they are guilty as charged.
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