I haven't given you much on where my agent, Jack Perry, stands on the recent decision to quit talking to the media. (Note: See how I wrote "the recent decision" instead of "my recent decision"? My always friendly and open team psychiatrist would say, in theory - since our non-disclosure states I can't quote him directly - that I'm already trying to pull away from my decision; I'm already leaving an open door to reconciliation with the media. I would respond with my now-customary favorite phrase, "No comment.") That's because Jack was on vacation someplace warm with his wife, Tina. Tina's nice. I give her credit for not only dealing with the 30 year age difference between she and her husband but also his intensity, which is very...intense. If Jack has something on his mind, he can literally see right through your body to the soda machine behind you. That's a secret nobody knows about him. He's baseball's best and toughest agent because he has X-Ray vision.
But in a nutshell: Jack is back. And pissed. I had a very pleasant phone call with him yesterday.
Me: Hi, Jack.
Jack: (expletives deleted)
Me: Didn't catch that.
Jack: (more expletives, some used in unique ways)
Me: Hold on. Let me put you on speaker.
Jack: (expletives)
Vanessa: Hi, Jack.
Jack: Oh, sorry, Vanessa.
See how classy a guy he is?
Anyway, Jack is a little upset that I made my decision to shun reporters and their like as quickly as I did without his input. He's upset because the people at Pepsi are upset. Alyssa and I are supposed to spend the day Thursday in the city filming the commercial. But Pepsi has become a little wary of working with someone whose image is being hammered on a daily basis by five metropolitan newspapers, two national all sports networks, and his agent (now that's he's back from a warm vacation with Tina, wife #3). I told Jack not to worry. I haven't done anything wrong. All I've done is stick up for my family. It seems my reasoning here has gotten lost in the posing by pundits who have nothing else to do, even though, as I stated yesterday, the Giants have won 2 playoff games and the Super Bowl is just weeks away. Come on, world, there's got to be something more interesting than a guy who doesn't want to talk.
Some people have seen opportunity in this. I have been solicited by four different publicists, each selling me on how they can promote this blog (hate the word b-l-o-g, sorry, but it sounds like something that comes out of someone's ass, not his fingers) so the world can fully appreciate it when I compare the word blog to solid feces. (It's comments like that Jack thinks Pepsi has a problem with. I don't disagree, I said as I sucked down a cool glass of Mountain Dew Code Red - a Pepsi brand for those of you not as in-the-know as me.) Two different web geeks also tracked me down, saying they can add so many features to this blog and integrate it with so many different websites that traffic to my posts will increase by, one quote, "1000 percentage points." That's a lot. One geek said he'd do it for free. The other wanted some signed baseballs for his dad. I'm waiting to see if the two join forces and offer to write the blog for me, saving me time to finish speaking with Jack on the phone.
Me: So, Jack, how was vacation?
Jack: Take me off speaker. Bye, Vanessa.
Vanessa: Bye, Jack.
Jack: Jimmy, you make these decisions without thinking.
Me: Vanessa told me that once.
Jack: I think you should re-think this one. You can still save face and call it an early April Fool's Day joke or something.
Me: Groundhog Day comes sooner.
Jack: (expletives)
Me: Didn't catch that?
Jack: Take me off speaker!
Vanessa: Bye, Jack.
Bottom line is Vanessa has asked me to reconsider. So have the kids. The attention paid upon us is more than we're accustomed to. And, at times, we've been accustomed to a lot. Like when I threw that no-hitter that won the pennant for us, or when... Vanessa doesn't like me to brag, so let's just say a winning pitcher in New York gets a little more public exposure than a winning pitcher in Kansas City, or even LA, where winning pitchers have to compete with Tom Cruise and Steven Spielberg. My neighbor works on Wall Street and earned about three times what I earned in 2007. Yet nobody knows his name, the masses I mean, because he hasn't won two championships in front of capacity crowds after his team came back from a 3 games to 1 deficit. (Here's where Vanessa tells me to stuff my fat conceited head in the toilet and leave it there until she finds time to flush.)
I have reconsidered, by the way. I've thought about this decision and can't go back. And for that, I want to apologize to Vanessa and my two lovely daughters, Alyssa and Grace, in advance for the flack they may receive at school or in public. I should also apologize for the flack they've already received in both those places. Writing a blog about baseball wasn't supposed to be controversial. It was supposed to be fun. Jack didn't agree with that assessment in November, when I started doing this, and he doesn't agree now.
Jack: Stop. For the benefit of your family and career, put your pen down and talk to people.
Me: I type. I don't write the blog with a pen on paper and glue the results onto my screen. That's so 1997.
Jack: You know what I mean.
Me: I can't stop. I'd look worse for going back on what I've pledged to do.
Jack: You look pretty bad now.
Me: That's because I just got up. I still have bed head.
Jack: (expletives)
I'm not going to stop. I'm going to keep on keepin' on. In the end, Jack understood and hung up the phone with great force. His job is to counsel me against doing dumb things. But it's always the player's decision to perform the dumb things. I do not blame Jack Perry for what will happen because of this blog (A key difference between Americans and the French: The French would have a romantic word for blog, like "Chardonnay," while Americans employ a word that has the same number of syllables as "turd."). I do not blame Jack Perry for wanting me to go back and pretend this never happened.
It did. And he's coming along for the ride.
Showing posts with label agents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label agents. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
What's So Free About Being An Agent?
At midnight this morning, teams could begin the official buying of human beings to slave on professional baseball fields for them in front of millions of people across the country. I could have been one of these indentured-servants-to-be, but we all know by now I opted to do otherwise.
It's not just the players who are salivating at the mouth (as if there's someplace else to engage in the legal act of salivation), the agents are too. Because when you see Player A sign with Team B for X amount of dollars, Agent 007 gets a nice little portion of that check. Fans and team management likes to blame agents for the spiraling salaries we as players can receive, but agents do more than that. I've had three agents in my 21 years in professional baseball. Each successive agent has succeeded more in the pocketbook because of my abilities, the game's economics, and, oh hell, I'll admit it, their hard work.
Now is one of those times they work the hardest. It's not just guys like me who earn $10 million, $15 million, even $25 million per year they concentrate on. There are also the very important bench guys who'll get a one year $650K deal who they need to find jobs for. Also, there are the guys just looking for an invitation from a big league club to spring training, some former stars who can't let go of the game, who need one more summer in The Life, who drive their respective agents crazy pestering them for work. Finally, there are the players who believe they are better than everyone else, the ones who live through the Law of Excuses, of untapped excellence, who are misunderstood by other players, their managers and coaching staffs, their wives/girlfriends... These guys, in general, are also one step closer to legal insanity than any other players in the game. I've played with a number of this type of player. Examples:
A) Orville - Scared to death of flying, tough considering you can't get from an extra-inning midnight game in New York to the clubhouse in LA at 4PM by minivan. By the time I played with this guy, he was what we called a Roadtrip Alcoholic. The only way to get him on and off the plane was to liquor him up so bad, has hangover lasted until the flight home. Then we'd do it all over again. Never hit higher than .270 but swore in some alternate universe he was a .330 slugger.
B) Neville - Guys have different hobbies, like hunting, videogames big time over the past five or six years, collecting cars... But Neville's hobby was falling hardcore in love with any female in a skirt. As a result, he collected wives. A number of reasons this can't be good:
1. It's illegal to be married to more than one person at a time in America.
2. He'd break taboo and make moves on girlfriends and wives of teammates. Not a good way to make friends.
3. Everybody knew about it.
It's amazing to me the media never reported on this guy, because the man did these things in an internet, post-TMZ world. The guy's currently out of baseball, but I heard he called his agent just last week looking to make a comeback. I guess if you're married to more than one woman at a time, you can be divorced to them at the same time too. Sounds like the guy needs a spreadsheet to keep track of who's getting alimony.
C) Devil - Growing up, every class in school had its troublemaker. That doesn't change when we get older. Never. Every single team I've played for has had the one - sometimes two or three (bad job by upper mgt. there) - of these guys who break rules, break laws, and, through osmosis, help break up a team. They make a lot of money because they're genuinely talented, and even the biggest jerk will get a $9 million contract if he can hit a ball over a wall or throw a ball through it. Agents have love/hate relationships with these players. Marquee names, marquee salaries, but high maintenance individuals. Many won't return calls or give feedback other than, "$10 million. That's all I want. Tell me when you get it." These guys follow the money, and sometimes they get lucky and it's a winning team that wants them. Contracts longer than 2 years are not for the GM (or agent) with a faint of heart. I hate these guys, who say stupid things like the holocaust, dinosaurs and gays never existed. 9/11 was a conspiracy, and we're all out to get them. We are, but they perform on the field, so we pretend we're not if they ask.
So when you start seeing the money get thrown around starting today, think about all of the parties involved. We don't play in a vacuum, nor do we get paid in one. Blame the agents all you want, but it ain't a party without them.
It's not just the players who are salivating at the mouth (as if there's someplace else to engage in the legal act of salivation), the agents are too. Because when you see Player A sign with Team B for X amount of dollars, Agent 007 gets a nice little portion of that check. Fans and team management likes to blame agents for the spiraling salaries we as players can receive, but agents do more than that. I've had three agents in my 21 years in professional baseball. Each successive agent has succeeded more in the pocketbook because of my abilities, the game's economics, and, oh hell, I'll admit it, their hard work.
Now is one of those times they work the hardest. It's not just guys like me who earn $10 million, $15 million, even $25 million per year they concentrate on. There are also the very important bench guys who'll get a one year $650K deal who they need to find jobs for. Also, there are the guys just looking for an invitation from a big league club to spring training, some former stars who can't let go of the game, who need one more summer in The Life, who drive their respective agents crazy pestering them for work. Finally, there are the players who believe they are better than everyone else, the ones who live through the Law of Excuses, of untapped excellence, who are misunderstood by other players, their managers and coaching staffs, their wives/girlfriends... These guys, in general, are also one step closer to legal insanity than any other players in the game. I've played with a number of this type of player. Examples:
A) Orville - Scared to death of flying, tough considering you can't get from an extra-inning midnight game in New York to the clubhouse in LA at 4PM by minivan. By the time I played with this guy, he was what we called a Roadtrip Alcoholic. The only way to get him on and off the plane was to liquor him up so bad, has hangover lasted until the flight home. Then we'd do it all over again. Never hit higher than .270 but swore in some alternate universe he was a .330 slugger.
B) Neville - Guys have different hobbies, like hunting, videogames big time over the past five or six years, collecting cars... But Neville's hobby was falling hardcore in love with any female in a skirt. As a result, he collected wives. A number of reasons this can't be good:
1. It's illegal to be married to more than one person at a time in America.
2. He'd break taboo and make moves on girlfriends and wives of teammates. Not a good way to make friends.
3. Everybody knew about it.
It's amazing to me the media never reported on this guy, because the man did these things in an internet, post-TMZ world. The guy's currently out of baseball, but I heard he called his agent just last week looking to make a comeback. I guess if you're married to more than one woman at a time, you can be divorced to them at the same time too. Sounds like the guy needs a spreadsheet to keep track of who's getting alimony.
C) Devil - Growing up, every class in school had its troublemaker. That doesn't change when we get older. Never. Every single team I've played for has had the one - sometimes two or three (bad job by upper mgt. there) - of these guys who break rules, break laws, and, through osmosis, help break up a team. They make a lot of money because they're genuinely talented, and even the biggest jerk will get a $9 million contract if he can hit a ball over a wall or throw a ball through it. Agents have love/hate relationships with these players. Marquee names, marquee salaries, but high maintenance individuals. Many won't return calls or give feedback other than, "$10 million. That's all I want. Tell me when you get it." These guys follow the money, and sometimes they get lucky and it's a winning team that wants them. Contracts longer than 2 years are not for the GM (or agent) with a faint of heart. I hate these guys, who say stupid things like the holocaust, dinosaurs and gays never existed. 9/11 was a conspiracy, and we're all out to get them. We are, but they perform on the field, so we pretend we're not if they ask.
So when you start seeing the money get thrown around starting today, think about all of the parties involved. We don't play in a vacuum, nor do we get paid in one. Blame the agents all you want, but it ain't a party without them.
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