On Sunday, Mrs. Joan Delaney celebrated the one year anniversary of her majority ownership of the team and regional sports network, NYS. I think her purchase price was in the $800 million range, of which she accounted for about 60% on her own. She comes from political stock; my dad says he would have voted for Mrs. Delaney's father's Massachusetts senate campaign back in the 1960s, but he wasn't the type to vote back then. Not sure if he is today, for that matter.
The group of investors she put together to fund the remaining 40% ranged from the Hip Hop star KC9 (we see him the most during the season) to her husband, Anthony DiMaeo, a Queens-based real estate developer. Mr. DiMaeo is a fixture here this spring, constantly bringing clients around the various practice fields to meet with various players, take a hack in the cage, or just absorb the scene around our Fort Pierce complex. A couple of the guys have complained about the quality of Mr. DiMaeo's clientele, like how things wind up missing from the locker room after one of his "backstage" tours. But he's an owner. What's ours is kind of his, to a degree, so there's not a lot we can do without causing a major uproar.
On Sunday, Mrs. Delaney took the team for a golf outing. While it sounds nice, another minor uproar flared up since the outing took place after a noon game in which we were clobbered 16 to 2. (We're 1 and 5 right now, if you're keeping track, even though the games don't count.) Most of the guys wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with their families, or away from each other. But, as I said before, she's an owner. The majority owner. There was a little pressure on us to go.
There are 60 players in camp this spring. Because some can't walk or move, 47 of us went on the outing. It was at a place called the Brystal Springs Golf Club in St. Lucie, about half an hour away. We weren't able to tee off until 4:30. The name of the game was Rush. From when a team teed off, they had one hour to play all 18 holes. Not the way most of our resident golfers liked to play, but it was the only way to finish before dark. A couple guys grumbled that we should have played next Sunday, after daylight savings time starts. But I assume Mrs. Delaney had to be somewhere else then.
My team consisted of Mrs. Delaney, GM Alvin Kirby, manager Rick Churches, and me. I'm a horrible golfer and even worse around authority figures. And since I've had nothing but trouble with two of these three authority figures since November, I found the composition of our team somewhat interesting.
Mrs. Delaney is a great golfer. She told us how she was one of the top female amateur golfers in the country while growing up. Her hole-in-one on the fifth hole reminded us of this fact.
I am a terrible golfer. Like bowling, the game of golf fools around negatively with some of the muscles I use for baseball, so I rarely play and, when I do, don't take it seriously.
Before our group teed off - we were the last of 15 groups to go (Mr. DiMaeo brought 2 groups of his own to our "team" outing and KC9 had a group) - I told my team that I stink. I specifically asked them, "Are you going to take this seriously?" They shook their heads. No, was the consensus. There were just out to have a good time.
By the second hole, I could tell they were lying. Rick was swearing up and down the green. Alvin did the opposite and wouldn't speak at all. Mrs. Delaney was doing well, so she agreed to be the designated driver of the cart. I fell into an early hole (pun intended) and was 17 strokes behind Mrs. Delaney by the fifth.
It was around the eighth hole that things bubbled over a bit. Rick missed a birdie and threw his club at the ball, sitting about half an inch from the cup. I laughed. Because I suck, didn't care that I sucked, and didn't care about the score, I had that ability. "Shut the f**k up, Jimmy," Rick said. Mrs. Delaney told him to hush. She's got a pretty salty mouth of her own, but she could tell the acid in Rick's stomach was reaching his tongue.
Alvin, who as a general manager needs to keep his emotions in check at all times, fell apart at the tenth hole. A simple three-inch put veered a hair to the left. Alvin took his putter and snapped it in two over his knee after that.
A second hole-in-one by Mrs. Delaney on the thirteenth cemented her victory, with 5 holes to go. The sun was setting and I'd more than given up twelve holes before. By now, I was more spectator than player, swinging wildly, missing balls, and cheating when possible. Rick went berserk at one point, running after a ball I'd thrown about 25 yards and bringing it back to me. He said I either play by the rules or get off his team. There was a double-meaning there that I chose to ignore. I swung my club like a baseball bat and hit the ball into a sand trap. If it wasn't almost night, I would have made a castle or two, but we were now battling the fading light as well as each other. There wasn't time to play in the sand.
On the 18th hole, I sent Rick and Alvin into a tantrum and muted frenzy, respectively, by coming closest to the hole with a hole in one of my own. Mrs. Delaney told me of a "kinship" she felt with me, the way I'd come back from adversity to succeed. There was a double-meaning there that I chose to embrace. "Thank you," I said. "You inspire me." The whites of Rick's eyes literally turned red and the top of his skull blew off from a cranial steam explosion, just like a cartoon. If it wasn't so dark, I'd have taken a picture.
We had a team dinner to follow. Like with the golf game, significant others weren't invited, so there was quite a bit of quiet discontent. Our Sunday had become a complete washout, what with workouts, the baseball game, and this team outing. But many of us are millionaires; we'll be able to afford plenty of time with our families once we're done with our baseball careers. Mrs. Delaney, who's close to a billionaire, mentioned to me during our game that some people in life need to remember where they came from, while others need to know where they are. As I stood next to Rick, who was playing a game of Rush with a shot of something strong at the bar, I repeated Mrs. Delaney's words. He looked at me and told me to go to hell.
There was no double meaning there. I chose to ignore him anyway.
Showing posts with label Joan Delaney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joan Delaney. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Weigh In
Apologies for not posting last Friday (have you noticed I take weekends off for good behavior?). My decision to betray the media and ignore them has created a firestorm of propaganda that I expect will end abruptly since the Giants advanced to the NFC Championship game. I think their success is more newsworthy than me not talking. But as of Friday, and over the weekend, there was still "controversy" in my decision. In other words, it's a slow time for baseball. What else is there to discuss? It's ironic that all people in baseball circles want to talk about is my decision not to. Friday was especially busy because one person in particular wanted me to pay a visit to her baseball circle: our good owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney.
I don't know if I've weighed in on how much I like Mrs. Delaney. She's been willing to spend money when needed. And she's been kind to my whole family. You should see the size of the fruit cake she had sent to us for Christmas! Yes, she can be a little off-center. Eight cats in her office are about eight too many for someone allergic to cats, which I am not. I just don't like them so I pretend. And her "anti-green" campaign is not especially popular nowadays. But I know in her mind, recycling is more expensive than she likes. I don't think she should encourage turning Staten Island back into a dump for solid waste. That's what the ocean is for, right? (A joke. I was joking. It's okay to laugh at the environment's expense. Much healthier than littering.)
I stepped into Mrs. Delaney's office - just me, no agent or lawyer or entourage of men in black suits - and she asked me to sit. We discussed the weather, my rehab. She said I looked lighter. I told her I was only because I had just sucked on the helium from one of the Get Well Soon! balloons outside her office (Mrs. Delaney recently sprained one of her thumbs on a stairmaster). Then we got down to brass tax, which is a phrase I've never used before, mainly because I have no idea what it means. But if taxes were made of brass, I'd be doing something about it. You can bet on it!
Her main question: Why was I going to forgo the media so that I could have a little Internet folly? I reminded Mrs. Delaney I had made my decision, however swift it was, because:
1. I was mad at players for knowingly hitting on my underage daughter. Their inability to police themselves made me question whether professional athletes, baseball players in particular, thought they (we) were immune to laws of their choosing because they could hit a ball real far or throw it real fast.
2. I was mad that my other daughter found herself in the uncomfortable situation of catching another player, a teammate, literally with his pants down while in the presence of a woman other than his wife.
3. I was mad at my reaction to #2, which was to tell my daughter to pretend it never happened, even though it was obviously a HUGE deal to her. But do I put team before family every time? The way I see it, I have two families - The one that pays me megabucks and the one that loves me (allegedly). Love must come before money, especially when you already have a healthy bank account.
4. I was mad at how the press dumped all over Vanessa for a charity event she and two other wives had planned. Here she is, trying to do something good, and they bash her. It's not like she said anything disrespectful to a reporter, or acted in some fashion as to cause a major celebrity scandal. The way she sees it, she's not a celebrity. Her husband is. If she can raise awareness of key issues and also money for charities because of who I am, then she's going to do her best, something she's been great at for the last 15+ years. For reporters to take sides without coming to her for comment first is not only disrespectful, but it's bad reporting. And I don't want to have anything to do with a group that won't respect my wife's right to defend herself.
Mrs. Delaney nodded and said she empathized with me. Then she explained that our team is one that gets along with the press. Her players need to understand how important the press is to the process of promoting the game and promoting her team in New York (hopefully moreso than the other team in New York, which she doesn't own). She didn't want to mention how she was pushing the city for a new stadium. She did of course. Continuing, she said that players who make rash, unpopular decisions don't help sway public opinion to her side. And she needs public opinion, since their taxes will be footing probably 90% of the bill (making me happy I live in New Jersey).
The publishers of the Post, the News and Newsday had called Mrs. Delaney. They wanted to see if she could publicly weigh in on this issue. She supported me with a No Comment until she could speak to me directly (something the press should have done with Vanessa).
I restated my position which, no doubt, has softened since I made it. Time does that to a man's mind as well as his stomach. But I told her that I can't go back now, not after my big-ass announcement which included capital letters and proper punctuation. If I go back, I look like a man of little character. I want to be a man of big character, especially since I'm 6 foot 4.
Mrs. Delaney nodded as only she can, which means she was upset. But I give her credit for not ordering me, in so many words, to speak to the press. She told me she wants two things, to win and to get that new stadium. She was hoping I'd help her with both. I told her I will, as long as it doesn't cost me anything. She said I may have already spent all the goodwill I had with this city, and maybe this team.
I told her I'd think about it. I owed her that much.
But my final decision was made on the drive home. My dad, "Red" Scott, he who has now become the team's regional sports network's new voice in the TV booth, asked since I wasn't talking to the press, was he included? I thought the unpleasant thought of him following me around all season, his little microphone pack strapped to his belt and cheesy smile glued onto his face with duct tape. I thought of the road trips and the special treatment he was expecting. I thought of how I'd never eat dinner alone again, how he'd somehow end up sleeping in my suite and wearing my bathrobe and eating my breakfast while I showered. "Well?" my dad said, irritation mixed with expectation. I smiled a little, just a little, and said, "No comment."
I don't know if I've weighed in on how much I like Mrs. Delaney. She's been willing to spend money when needed. And she's been kind to my whole family. You should see the size of the fruit cake she had sent to us for Christmas! Yes, she can be a little off-center. Eight cats in her office are about eight too many for someone allergic to cats, which I am not. I just don't like them so I pretend. And her "anti-green" campaign is not especially popular nowadays. But I know in her mind, recycling is more expensive than she likes. I don't think she should encourage turning Staten Island back into a dump for solid waste. That's what the ocean is for, right? (A joke. I was joking. It's okay to laugh at the environment's expense. Much healthier than littering.)
I stepped into Mrs. Delaney's office - just me, no agent or lawyer or entourage of men in black suits - and she asked me to sit. We discussed the weather, my rehab. She said I looked lighter. I told her I was only because I had just sucked on the helium from one of the Get Well Soon! balloons outside her office (Mrs. Delaney recently sprained one of her thumbs on a stairmaster). Then we got down to brass tax, which is a phrase I've never used before, mainly because I have no idea what it means. But if taxes were made of brass, I'd be doing something about it. You can bet on it!
Her main question: Why was I going to forgo the media so that I could have a little Internet folly? I reminded Mrs. Delaney I had made my decision, however swift it was, because:
1. I was mad at players for knowingly hitting on my underage daughter. Their inability to police themselves made me question whether professional athletes, baseball players in particular, thought they (we) were immune to laws of their choosing because they could hit a ball real far or throw it real fast.
2. I was mad that my other daughter found herself in the uncomfortable situation of catching another player, a teammate, literally with his pants down while in the presence of a woman other than his wife.
3. I was mad at my reaction to #2, which was to tell my daughter to pretend it never happened, even though it was obviously a HUGE deal to her. But do I put team before family every time? The way I see it, I have two families - The one that pays me megabucks and the one that loves me (allegedly). Love must come before money, especially when you already have a healthy bank account.
4. I was mad at how the press dumped all over Vanessa for a charity event she and two other wives had planned. Here she is, trying to do something good, and they bash her. It's not like she said anything disrespectful to a reporter, or acted in some fashion as to cause a major celebrity scandal. The way she sees it, she's not a celebrity. Her husband is. If she can raise awareness of key issues and also money for charities because of who I am, then she's going to do her best, something she's been great at for the last 15+ years. For reporters to take sides without coming to her for comment first is not only disrespectful, but it's bad reporting. And I don't want to have anything to do with a group that won't respect my wife's right to defend herself.
Mrs. Delaney nodded and said she empathized with me. Then she explained that our team is one that gets along with the press. Her players need to understand how important the press is to the process of promoting the game and promoting her team in New York (hopefully moreso than the other team in New York, which she doesn't own). She didn't want to mention how she was pushing the city for a new stadium. She did of course. Continuing, she said that players who make rash, unpopular decisions don't help sway public opinion to her side. And she needs public opinion, since their taxes will be footing probably 90% of the bill (making me happy I live in New Jersey).
The publishers of the Post, the News and Newsday had called Mrs. Delaney. They wanted to see if she could publicly weigh in on this issue. She supported me with a No Comment until she could speak to me directly (something the press should have done with Vanessa).
I restated my position which, no doubt, has softened since I made it. Time does that to a man's mind as well as his stomach. But I told her that I can't go back now, not after my big-ass announcement which included capital letters and proper punctuation. If I go back, I look like a man of little character. I want to be a man of big character, especially since I'm 6 foot 4.
Mrs. Delaney nodded as only she can, which means she was upset. But I give her credit for not ordering me, in so many words, to speak to the press. She told me she wants two things, to win and to get that new stadium. She was hoping I'd help her with both. I told her I will, as long as it doesn't cost me anything. She said I may have already spent all the goodwill I had with this city, and maybe this team.
I told her I'd think about it. I owed her that much.
But my final decision was made on the drive home. My dad, "Red" Scott, he who has now become the team's regional sports network's new voice in the TV booth, asked since I wasn't talking to the press, was he included? I thought the unpleasant thought of him following me around all season, his little microphone pack strapped to his belt and cheesy smile glued onto his face with duct tape. I thought of the road trips and the special treatment he was expecting. I thought of how I'd never eat dinner alone again, how he'd somehow end up sleeping in my suite and wearing my bathrobe and eating my breakfast while I showered. "Well?" my dad said, irritation mixed with expectation. I smiled a little, just a little, and said, "No comment."
Friday, December 28, 2007
Top 12 of 2007
Everybody does top 10 lists at this time of year. I have so many favorite moments from 2007, I had to expand the list to 12. I was going to present them in order of importance, but really, what's important to me may not be important to you. So I decided to list them alphabetically, starting with the second letter of the third word from each. Very random. Hard to offend that way. But what if an entry only has two words? I'd suddenly be limited, constricted. That wouldn't be fair to me. So, after moments of soul searching and flogging myself with a box of dry noodles (thin Ronzoni linguini), I elected to show my top moments to you on a month by month basis, starting with January and ending with December. We know there are 12 months and my list is 12 strong, so if I use "March" as a header and March is the third month, you should know that it is my third entry. Are we clear? Thought so.
Thus, Jimmy Scott's Top 12 of 2008, presented by the Months of the Year:
JANUARY
My favorite New York franchise signs former Milwaukee outfielder Felipe Lopez to a 7-year, $103 million contract. Felipe goes on to hit an underwhelming 17 home runs, drive in 66 and suffer from the wrath of fans all season long.
FEBRUARY
My favorite New York franchise is sold to former Manhattan congresswoman Joan Delaney. Mrs. Delaney calls 2007 her "wait and see" season. She waits all season to watch us win and sees we can't when half of the starters, including yours truly, go down with injuries.
MARCH
On the first day of spring training (sing Twelve Days of Christmas along to this one) our union gave to us, a lecture on how to save cash. (stop singing) We all know that 2008 is the final season under the current labor/management agreement, and with a wee bit of tension on both sides, union leader Howard Phillips felt it prudent to tell us to save our money should there be a lockout or strike at some point in 2008. All I can tell you now is nobody's talking. Not because anybody's mad, but because the current agreement expires on October 31, 2008. I know a meeting is scheduled for the first full week of January in New York. I'll be attending. Hopefully all will be cordial. If not, expect to hear war drums beating from coast to coast on both sides.
APRIL
Ahh, spring. When Hope blooms for every big league team. Only hope for a certain favorite New York franchise, one in "wait and see" mode, really only lasts up until the first pitch of the season. It was then that the wheels fell off for me, personally and professionally. Home run ball on pitch one. Elbow explosion on pitch two. I never threw a pitch three. Still haven't. We go on to win 77 games in a season in which many "pundits" predicted we'd win 92. My replacements, all five of them, can't come close to the 14 games I was projected to win (they win a combined 6). Unfortunately, they blow away the number of games I was projected to lose (7) by reaching 15. I have surgery on April 12 - my birthday - and can't comb my hair until mid-May. My head rebels and starts to go bald. Not a good year for New York baseball.
MAY
Things get worse for my favorite New York franchise before they get better (which doesn't happen until December). Former two-time MVP, third baseman Willie Fernandez, goes down with a knee injury and doesn't play another game all season. Reconstructive surgery spells the end of a career in which Willie hit 375 home runs, won three rings, and got divorced twice. A great teammate with a wonderful wardrobe, Willie will be our third base coach in 2008. Once you're in the game, it's hard to get out.
JUNE
Continuing unpleasantness surrounds a team that only wins 10 games in April and 12 in May. (On June 15th, we're 27 and 48.) Derek Henderson enters the pre-game locker room on June 15th and makes three mistakes. First, he carries a firearm with him. Second, it's loaded. Third, he discharges it. Nobody is hurt, but a water pipe directly above his head is maimed beyond recognition. Flooded out of the clubhouse for two games, the team is forced to dress in the press room. Henderson is cut on June 18th and doesn't play another big league game all season. Mrs. Delaney uses the flooded locker room as an excuse to begin asking for a new stadium. Apparently, all the new ones have bulletproof piping.
JULY
Lyman Gaye gets the game-winning hit in the 13th inning of the 83rd annual All Star game, this one held in Pittsburgh. Lyman, not voted in or chosen but a player by default because five other players ahead of him in the pecking order either suddenly come down with hamstring strains or the need to spend time with "family" in the Dominican, goes on to have a solid season. He hits .305 and wins the Defensive Achievement Award for excellence in right field. Kansas City, his team, wins 59 games and dismantles the club beginning 5 days later. Lyman is the last to go. He claims to have never owned a loaded firearm in his life. Good enough for us, we trade for him in December.
AUGUST
Mrs. Delaney's husband is indicted for tax evasion. Rather than hide, Mrs. Delaney goes on a media offensive. Charges are never dropped, but we suddenly have one of the most vocal owners in the sport. Her "wait and see" attitude wanes and General Manager Roddy McEllroy is fired and replaced by Alvin Kirby, the first black GM in New York baseball, not a big deal until Alvin's wife brings it up in her own media offensive. On November 3rd, Alvin files for divorce.
SEPTEMBER
In an outburst still playing 127,000 times a day on YouTube, now former/then current manager of my favorite New York franchise, Larry Picketts, goes on an obscenity-laced rampage. Unfortunately, he does it during his daily WTEM (You're on The Team!) radio call in show. A frustrating season gets worse. Larry is fired with 10 games remaining in the season...
OCTOBER
...And replaced by everybody's favorite New York sports television personality and 1996 MVP runner up, Rick Churches. While Rick has never managed or coached a game in his life, we've known for years that he can talk a good one. A former player with two championship rings, #1 draft choice in 1983 out of Wichita State and that one incredible season in '96 when he hit 25 home runs, drove in 111 and stole 55 bases, the pedigree is there. He just has to put it to good use.
NOVEMBER
I start my blog. My fatness is exposed (along with the news of my scalp deciding to bare itself to the world). Rather than accept the team's generous contract buyout offer, I opt to play one more season. We get mad at each other and meet in a locker room duel with Derek Henderson serving as referee. We settle our differences somewhat amicably, but the locker room needs a whole new piping system now before opening day.
DECEMBER
I haven't spoken on this much, but having a year off, basically, gave me more time to spend with the Jimmy & Vanessa Scott Foundation. We raised more money for M.S. and Lyme Disease in 2007 than we had in 2005 and 2006 combined, over $4 million. Much of that money will go to research, although I may embezzle some to pay for the security system we're putting in around our house to discourage vandalism. It's been quiet on that front for the last week, but all crooks and vandals take the holidays off to "recharge" their batteries. Vandalism Season starts January 2nd. I hope we don't have as good seats as we did last year.
So there you go. My top 12 "happenings' for 2007. Listen to me Friday afternoon around 3:05 on The Team sports radio to discuss my list, my blog, my rehab, and my balding scalp (I'm not fat so much anymore, so I can't complain about that). Charity events this weekend and a quiet New Year's Eve on Monday.
Have a Happy New Year and healthy 2008!
- Jimmy Scott
Thus, Jimmy Scott's Top 12 of 2008, presented by the Months of the Year:
JANUARY
My favorite New York franchise signs former Milwaukee outfielder Felipe Lopez to a 7-year, $103 million contract. Felipe goes on to hit an underwhelming 17 home runs, drive in 66 and suffer from the wrath of fans all season long.
FEBRUARY
My favorite New York franchise is sold to former Manhattan congresswoman Joan Delaney. Mrs. Delaney calls 2007 her "wait and see" season. She waits all season to watch us win and sees we can't when half of the starters, including yours truly, go down with injuries.
MARCH
On the first day of spring training (sing Twelve Days of Christmas along to this one) our union gave to us, a lecture on how to save cash. (stop singing) We all know that 2008 is the final season under the current labor/management agreement, and with a wee bit of tension on both sides, union leader Howard Phillips felt it prudent to tell us to save our money should there be a lockout or strike at some point in 2008. All I can tell you now is nobody's talking. Not because anybody's mad, but because the current agreement expires on October 31, 2008. I know a meeting is scheduled for the first full week of January in New York. I'll be attending. Hopefully all will be cordial. If not, expect to hear war drums beating from coast to coast on both sides.
APRIL
Ahh, spring. When Hope blooms for every big league team. Only hope for a certain favorite New York franchise, one in "wait and see" mode, really only lasts up until the first pitch of the season. It was then that the wheels fell off for me, personally and professionally. Home run ball on pitch one. Elbow explosion on pitch two. I never threw a pitch three. Still haven't. We go on to win 77 games in a season in which many "pundits" predicted we'd win 92. My replacements, all five of them, can't come close to the 14 games I was projected to win (they win a combined 6). Unfortunately, they blow away the number of games I was projected to lose (7) by reaching 15. I have surgery on April 12 - my birthday - and can't comb my hair until mid-May. My head rebels and starts to go bald. Not a good year for New York baseball.
MAY
Things get worse for my favorite New York franchise before they get better (which doesn't happen until December). Former two-time MVP, third baseman Willie Fernandez, goes down with a knee injury and doesn't play another game all season. Reconstructive surgery spells the end of a career in which Willie hit 375 home runs, won three rings, and got divorced twice. A great teammate with a wonderful wardrobe, Willie will be our third base coach in 2008. Once you're in the game, it's hard to get out.
JUNE
Continuing unpleasantness surrounds a team that only wins 10 games in April and 12 in May. (On June 15th, we're 27 and 48.) Derek Henderson enters the pre-game locker room on June 15th and makes three mistakes. First, he carries a firearm with him. Second, it's loaded. Third, he discharges it. Nobody is hurt, but a water pipe directly above his head is maimed beyond recognition. Flooded out of the clubhouse for two games, the team is forced to dress in the press room. Henderson is cut on June 18th and doesn't play another big league game all season. Mrs. Delaney uses the flooded locker room as an excuse to begin asking for a new stadium. Apparently, all the new ones have bulletproof piping.
JULY
Lyman Gaye gets the game-winning hit in the 13th inning of the 83rd annual All Star game, this one held in Pittsburgh. Lyman, not voted in or chosen but a player by default because five other players ahead of him in the pecking order either suddenly come down with hamstring strains or the need to spend time with "family" in the Dominican, goes on to have a solid season. He hits .305 and wins the Defensive Achievement Award for excellence in right field. Kansas City, his team, wins 59 games and dismantles the club beginning 5 days later. Lyman is the last to go. He claims to have never owned a loaded firearm in his life. Good enough for us, we trade for him in December.
AUGUST
Mrs. Delaney's husband is indicted for tax evasion. Rather than hide, Mrs. Delaney goes on a media offensive. Charges are never dropped, but we suddenly have one of the most vocal owners in the sport. Her "wait and see" attitude wanes and General Manager Roddy McEllroy is fired and replaced by Alvin Kirby, the first black GM in New York baseball, not a big deal until Alvin's wife brings it up in her own media offensive. On November 3rd, Alvin files for divorce.
SEPTEMBER
In an outburst still playing 127,000 times a day on YouTube, now former/then current manager of my favorite New York franchise, Larry Picketts, goes on an obscenity-laced rampage. Unfortunately, he does it during his daily WTEM (You're on The Team!) radio call in show. A frustrating season gets worse. Larry is fired with 10 games remaining in the season...
OCTOBER
...And replaced by everybody's favorite New York sports television personality and 1996 MVP runner up, Rick Churches. While Rick has never managed or coached a game in his life, we've known for years that he can talk a good one. A former player with two championship rings, #1 draft choice in 1983 out of Wichita State and that one incredible season in '96 when he hit 25 home runs, drove in 111 and stole 55 bases, the pedigree is there. He just has to put it to good use.
NOVEMBER
I start my blog. My fatness is exposed (along with the news of my scalp deciding to bare itself to the world). Rather than accept the team's generous contract buyout offer, I opt to play one more season. We get mad at each other and meet in a locker room duel with Derek Henderson serving as referee. We settle our differences somewhat amicably, but the locker room needs a whole new piping system now before opening day.
DECEMBER
I haven't spoken on this much, but having a year off, basically, gave me more time to spend with the Jimmy & Vanessa Scott Foundation. We raised more money for M.S. and Lyme Disease in 2007 than we had in 2005 and 2006 combined, over $4 million. Much of that money will go to research, although I may embezzle some to pay for the security system we're putting in around our house to discourage vandalism. It's been quiet on that front for the last week, but all crooks and vandals take the holidays off to "recharge" their batteries. Vandalism Season starts January 2nd. I hope we don't have as good seats as we did last year.
So there you go. My top 12 "happenings' for 2007. Listen to me Friday afternoon around 3:05 on The Team sports radio to discuss my list, my blog, my rehab, and my balding scalp (I'm not fat so much anymore, so I can't complain about that). Charity events this weekend and a quiet New Year's Eve on Monday.
Have a Happy New Year and healthy 2008!
- Jimmy Scott
Friday, December 14, 2007
I Am Santa
If you saw the news last night, you saw me dressed in full Santa Claus attire for the team holiday party, which had a sole purpose of celebrating area kids and their accomplishments. It's always fun to see a large group of 8 years olds laughing and singing, especially when they have no idea who we are. I could bet you $10 worth of team merchandise that 95% of the kids there never heard of Rick Churches, 96% have never gone to one of our games, and 97% don't like baseball. It's nothing against them. They're only eight years old. They got a free meal and their happy faces on TV. They sang and laughed, so they definitely had fun. But I question what the point is if we mean nothing to them. Do we invite these kids purely for the PR benefit? Do their school principals "know" someone in our organization well enough to get kids from their school invited, thus making the principal look good in the eyes of district parents and the superintendent? Could we have instead invited high school kids who may have been more impressed, more affected by a visit, but just don't happen to be as camera-cute as a bunch of inner city eight year olds in school uniforms? I guess it's none of my business. I show up, dress like Santa and try to pick caramel out of my molars with my tongue. I just think we could do a more targeted job of bringing joy to people. Eighteen year olds who would be more incentivized to go to our holiday party because they know they could meet members of the the team seem to be a better group, as they'd care and, therefore, you could get them to do positive things that would qualify them to see me lick my own mouth live and in person. It doesn't matter what I think. I'm just another cynical boy who thinks he knows everything every once in a while.
In other news, I got to have a nice lengthy sit-down with our new manager, Rick Churches, before we were introduced. He was a little upset that I was Santa and he was "my" elf. Because elves work for Santa, he felt the arrangement gave off the impression that he worked for me. Yes, he said this to me. I told him he was the only person in the entire borough of Manhattan who thought like that. He went on and on about how he's always been a lonely thinker and look where it's gotten him. I told him in that case not to look in a mirror. He'd be upset to see he was wearing a goofy beanie and silly green vest. I assumed he had tights on, but didn't want to bother him any more than he was. It's not good to have unhappy employees.
It was a pleasure to finally meet "The Jimmy Scott of Japan," Kai Goto. He was an elf and he didn't complain once. I think it's pretty clear to both of us that he's got a lot more left in the tank than I do, especially since he has a 6-year contract and mine is for one. So no lack of self-confidence there. He speaks a little bit of English, but we'll teach him all the finer points of the language in the clubhouse once spring training rolls around.
Felipe Castro also made a surprise appearance. I hadn't spoken to Felipe in a number of months and was happy to share a bear hug and ask how construction on his new house in Long Island is going. It's supposed to be something like 7500 square feet, this place. I told him his house will be nicer than our stadium, although he said he'd never invite 50,000 screaming strangers over to see.
And speaking of which, I chatted briefly with our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, who's campaigning very hard to get us a new stadium. She read of my conundrum in being invited to two parties tomorrow night, hers and commissioner Elliott Pollock's. She said not to worry, Vanessa and I can just go to Elliott's and have a great time. She was seeing me today. Because I have a mother who majored in guilt trips in college, I realized immediately that Vanessa and I should spend about 10 minutes at Elliott's party before rushing over to Mrs. Delaney's townhouse. Kai promised he'd sing karaoke. And Felipe was bringing his mother. Boy, that's going to be some shindig. I only hope Rick isn't too upset when we arrive and I ask him to hang up our jackets. Don't worry, Rick. We'll tip on the way out.
In other news, I got to have a nice lengthy sit-down with our new manager, Rick Churches, before we were introduced. He was a little upset that I was Santa and he was "my" elf. Because elves work for Santa, he felt the arrangement gave off the impression that he worked for me. Yes, he said this to me. I told him he was the only person in the entire borough of Manhattan who thought like that. He went on and on about how he's always been a lonely thinker and look where it's gotten him. I told him in that case not to look in a mirror. He'd be upset to see he was wearing a goofy beanie and silly green vest. I assumed he had tights on, but didn't want to bother him any more than he was. It's not good to have unhappy employees.
It was a pleasure to finally meet "The Jimmy Scott of Japan," Kai Goto. He was an elf and he didn't complain once. I think it's pretty clear to both of us that he's got a lot more left in the tank than I do, especially since he has a 6-year contract and mine is for one. So no lack of self-confidence there. He speaks a little bit of English, but we'll teach him all the finer points of the language in the clubhouse once spring training rolls around.
Felipe Castro also made a surprise appearance. I hadn't spoken to Felipe in a number of months and was happy to share a bear hug and ask how construction on his new house in Long Island is going. It's supposed to be something like 7500 square feet, this place. I told him his house will be nicer than our stadium, although he said he'd never invite 50,000 screaming strangers over to see.
And speaking of which, I chatted briefly with our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, who's campaigning very hard to get us a new stadium. She read of my conundrum in being invited to two parties tomorrow night, hers and commissioner Elliott Pollock's. She said not to worry, Vanessa and I can just go to Elliott's and have a great time. She was seeing me today. Because I have a mother who majored in guilt trips in college, I realized immediately that Vanessa and I should spend about 10 minutes at Elliott's party before rushing over to Mrs. Delaney's townhouse. Kai promised he'd sing karaoke. And Felipe was bringing his mother. Boy, that's going to be some shindig. I only hope Rick isn't too upset when we arrive and I ask him to hang up our jackets. Don't worry, Rick. We'll tip on the way out.
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