by Jim Bouton
“I used the first minute to refute Scribner’s editorial,” said Chip, “quoting Andy Mick saying that it’s not his decision—‘The guy you have to convince is my boss in Denver’—and quoting an unnamed councilor saying, ‘We can’t just walk away from this unless Andy Mick releases us.’”
“You should have named Massery directly,” I said.
“I didn’t want to embarrass him too much,” said Chip. “He was sitting right there.”
I said it was too bad that Massery didn’t jump up and shout, “I never said that!”
We laughed at the thought. Then Chip got serious.
“Wait ’til you hear this,” he said. “I had to use the rest of my open mike to address a front-page story in today’s Eagle headlined MEDIANEWS Is STILL OFFERING $2 MILLION FOR A NEW STADIUM. Dean Singleton is quoted as saying that a new stadium ‘would work just as well in South Berkshire County or even in North Adams, and we own newspapers in both places.’”
“And then he’s going to steal Christmas,” I said.
“I told them that since the county can support only one team, Pittsfield’s punishment for not backing a new stadium would be to lose professional baseball forever. The city’s natural monopoly—which has blocked other teams from coming into the Berkshires for eighty-two years—would be given to another city by its own hometown newspaper.”
“It’s so transparent,” I said. “You’d think they would be ashamed or embarrassed.”
“This really pisses me off,” said Chip. “It’s like what the Romans used to do whenever another city challenged the empire. They would salt the earth so the people could never grow crops again.”
“Caligula was a new-coliseum backer as I recall,” I said.
“Here’s the cute part,” said Chip. “The story said that the $2 million available for a new stadium ‘must contribute to downtown economic development.’ Nothing against Pittsfield, you understand, the Eagle just wants to improve a downtown. Any downtown.”
“And only with a new baseball stadium,” I said.
“The article ends,” said Chip, “by saying that the proposed stadium site is now for sale. It quotes Andy Mick saying, ‘We can’t just sit there on a vacant piece of property forever.’ And rumor has it that a drugstore is interested.”
“Eagle Drugs,” I said. “The newspaper’s gift to the city.”
“At the end of my open mike,” said Chip, “I asked for a show of hands like you did at the Rotary, and 90% of the audience of about forty people were in favor of our proposal, including Bianchi and Guzzo. Scapin was absent, and the other eight councilors just sat there. When I asked who still supported a new stadium, guess who conspicuously raised his fat hand?”
“The mayor,” I said.
“Right,” said Chip. “Tony.”
Before he hung up, Chip said he was writing an opinion piece entitled “Salting the Earth” that will address the latest threat from Singleton. Chip said he’s going to offer it to the Eagle.
Now there’s optimism for you.
The irony here is that if Singleton is serious about helping build a new stadium somewhere else in the Berkshires, Pittsfield’s best defense would be to give us a lease on Wahconah Park so we can get a team established and block out everyone else.
Of course, the Eagle never suggested that solution.
It’s just a bluff, of course. The Eagle would never actually help fund a new stadium anywhere but Pittsfield. It would make a terrible national story. I can just see the headline—MEDIANEWS GROUP TO LOCAL BASEBALL FANS: DROP DEAD!
How can the Eagle get away with even threatening such a thing? A couple of reasons. First, it has no competition. As the only daily paper, it’s the only game in town. Small circulation weeklies, like the Gazette and the Record, can’t compete—and not so much for readers as for those all important advertisers and community leaders who need to stay on good terms with what amounts to a state-run (or in this case, insider-run) propaganda machine.
Another reason is the very nature of a newspaper. It’s disposable. Today’s outrageous editorial is tomorrow’s trash. There’s no accountability. No peer review. No bill to pay. No body of work that must stand scrutiny. Editorials are snapshots—very often distorted ones—that never make it into a photo album. And balance is minimal. Critical op-ed pieces don’t appear for days, if at all. Letters to the editor can be weeks behind the point they’re challenging.
Editorials are blobs of thought, easily reshaped to cover one’s tracks, back off previous mistakes, fudge prior opinions—without acknowledgment or apology. And always there are the misdirection plays, the fake hand-offs, as when the Eagle will occasionally complain about the “good old boys,” ignoring the fact that its top executives are the “good old boys.”
No lie is too obvious; no contradiction is too blatant. Before the Civic Authority vote, possessing information to the contrary, the Eagle continued to proclaim “no stadium, no baseball” and “there’s no alternative.” After the vote, Scribner blamed the mayor and his aides—“a political regime thoroughly out of touch with reality”—which is like a football coach blaming his linemen for a faulty game plan.
The process is insidious, like water torture, where no single drop seems that bad. Like getting pecked to death by magpies. It’s relentless, creating an aura of inevitability, and ultimately debilitating. The end result is a dispiriting sense that although something isn’t right, it can’t be changed, and so what else is new?
“Pretty rough up there in Pittsfield,” friends will say to Chip or me, with a vague notion that something rotten is going on.
But for the people of Pittsfield who know what the hell is going on, it’s pretty damn clear. The Eagle’s threat to help build a baseball stadium in a nearby town is just one more kick in the balls.
When I called Paula tonight and told her what was happening, she got very agitated.
“I get so angry” she said. “I don’t know how you keep going with those idiots taking cheap shots at you every day.”
“At this point,” I said, “it’s because of the cheap shots. The game has changed. Now it’s a challenge. It’s us against them. It’s actually more fun.”
And we’re not going away.
JULY 11
WEDNESDAY—SEATTLE, WA / SAN FRANCISCO, CA
Met this morning with Gregg Green, promotions director for the Seattle Mariners. Green is a young guy with close-cropped, rust-colored hair and glasses. He said he had read Ball Four as a kid and that he liked it. I told him about my idea for a Pilots Old Timers’ Day at Safeco Field in 2002.
“You could bill it as the Original Mariners and the One and Only Pilots,” I said.
“That’s the Mariners’ twenty-fifth anniversary,” said Green. “We’re already planning lots of events. What’s the significance of 2002 for the Pilots?”
“Without the Pilots you wouldn’t have the Mariners,” I said.
I recounted the history of the two teams. How when the Pilots were moved to Milwaukee after their only season in Seattle, the city sued major league baseball, and as part of the settlement Seattle was promised an expansion franchise, which became the Mariners.
“The Mariners were born in 1977, but they were conceived in 1969,” I said. “It was only a one-season stand, but it was still love.”
Green smiled courteously. “Too bad the Pilots don’t have their own anniversary,” he said.
“It’s too late for the Pilots’ twenty-fifth anniversary,” I said. “And the thirtieth. If we wait for the thirty-fifth in 2004, who knows how many of us will still be left? We’ve already lost Joe Schultz, Sal Maglie, Ray Oyler, George Brunet, and Gene Brabender. And Gary Bell says he isn’t feeling that well.”
Green laughed.
“Maybe Budweiser would sponsor a ‘Pound a Bud’ weekend, in honor of Joe Schultz,” I said. “The old Pilots could arrive in the harbor, in a tall ship, like the Flying Dutchman, sailing the seas since ’69.”
Green scribbled on his pad.
&n
bsp; “We won’t be making any decisions until after the World Series, in October,” he said.
“I’d like to move faster than that, if possible,” I said. “So we can plan a nice weekend. Tie it in with a local charity. The Arc of King County, which provides services to the disabled, is interested in hosting a luncheon and a golf tournament.”
“I’ll get back to you in a couple of weeks,” said Green.
I thanked Green for his time and left him with a Sports Illustrated article endorsing a Pilots Old Timers’ Game, and a stack of emails to Mike Fuller’s web site from people who said they would go.
It isn’t easy being a marketing genius.
After the meeting I called my old roomie, Gary Bell, who was a star in Ball Four, my book about the Pilots. I asked if he thought the guys would show up for an Old Timers’ Day. “Put a fifty-dollar bill on the floor, with a string attached,” he said. “They’ll come.”
Then we got to talking about Wahconah Park. Gary reminded me that that was where he gave up the longest home run of his life. It was during an exhibition game, after his career was over. “Was that the one where…” I started to say. “Right,” said Gary. “Some asshole in bib overalls got out of a milk truck and hit one over the trees.”
On my flight from Seattle to San Francisco, where I was scheduled to speak at a convention of mortgage bankers, I saw a familiar face sitting in front of me. It was Jerry Colangelo, my old high school pitching rival and now owner of the Arizona Diamondbacks. Colangelo was in the last row of first class and I was in the first row of coach. So we pulled the curtain aside and talked.
Colangelo had Yogi Berra’s book, If You Come to a Fork in the Road, Take It. We laughed over a photo of Yogi and Joe Garagiola as kids. I told Colangelo about the telegram Garagiola sent when they opened the Yogi Berra Museum in New Jersey: “When we were kids, growing up on The Hill in St. Louis,” Garagiola wrote, “the subject of having a museum named after one of us never came up.”
We laughed about that and then I remembered a story that Big Pete Sheehy, the Yankee clubhouse man, told me about the day Yogi joined the Yankees. Yogi had come straight from the training base in Maryland and was still in his Navy blues.
“My name is Yogi Berra,” he said to Big Pete. “I don’t look like a ballplayer in this sailor suit, but I am.”
Big Pete said, “You don’t even look like a sailor.”
Colangelo and I get along fine these days. The last time Paula and I were in Phoenix, he was a very gracious host, giving us a personal tour of the new Bank One Ballpark and inviting us to sit in his family box next to the dugout.
We never talk about our old rivalry except to joke about it. When I was inducted into the Bloom Hall of Fame in 1990 (five years after Colangelo), I said I looked back on my high school days with the same fondness that veterans have for World War II. And at our high school centennial last year, I told a field house full of people that it was harder to make the frosh–soph baseball team at Bloom than the New York Yankees. Jerry gets a big kick out of that story.
Then Colangelo said he had some bad news.
“You know Earl DeTella died,” he said.
“Oh no,” I said. “No. Not Earl.”
“Two weeks ago,” said Jerry. “Heart attack. He was seventy-five.”
I felt a sad flutter in my stomach. Earl was one of the main people in my life. He was always on the edge of my thoughts about baseball, and how it happened that I ended up in the big leagues.
“We’re getting to that age when these things happen,” said Colangelo.
“Geez, I thought Earl would live to be in his nineties,” I said. “He was always so strong. Still working with his hands. I just saw him last year.”
I told Jerry I could still hear Earl’s voice, hollering at me as I raked the field, that first day I met him at Heights Park.
“Hey! Whatta you doin’?” I said, imitating DeTella’s familiar high-pitched rasp.
Jerry smiled and nodded.
We wished each other well. And Colangelo went back to reading Yogi’s book.
I closed out the day in San Francisco with a call to Chip to find out what was happening.
“The news is not good,” he said.
Then he read a story in the Eagle headlined BOARD TO TAKE TIME ON WAHCONAH, which quoted new Parks Commission Chairman Cliff Nilan saying, “I’m not sure we’re going to rush in and make a decision on this too quickly.”
We figured this was Nilan’s response to Chip’s email suggesting the July 23 Parks Commission meeting be advertised in advance and held at a large venue.
“The next meeting,” Nilan told the Eagle, “will be in August.”
The best guess seems to be August 13, which is the first Monday in August that precedes a Tuesday City Council meeting.
This makes two Parks Commission meetings that have been canceled since our off-the-cuff presentation on June 25—a presentation in which we clearly stated a need for timely action in the best interests of Pittsfield. It can’t be a coincidence.
“They’re trying to run out the clock on us,” I said.
“That’s why,” said Chip, “when anyone asks what our deadline is, we shouldn’t give them a date.”
“What they’re really asking,” I said, “is how many bullets we have left.”
“The other reason they’re stalling,” said Chip, “is that they’re probably negotiating with Fleisig. He knows about our proposal. He’s not going to come up here and tangle with us unless he’s got some kind of deal.”
“I still think BS&E is trying to get a New York–Penn League team,” I said. “Purchased by GE and run by Jay Pomeroy.”
“Because Pomeroy just… what?” asked Chip.
“Luuuuves baseball,” I said.
JULY 12
THURSDAY—SAN FRANCISCO, CA
The roller coaster is on its way back up.
Chip called to say he had spoken with David Colby, the president of the Chamber of Commerce, who heard me at the Rotary luncheon last week.
“We’re invited to address an ad hoc meeting at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. When are you getting back?”
“Not until the afternoon,” I said, “unless I take the red-eye.”
“You don’t have to do that,” said Chip. “I can take care of it.”
“I know you can,” I said. “But I’d like to be there. I’ll fly standby tonight, go right from the airport, and meet you for breakfast in Pittsfield.”
Then Chip read me some of his “Salting the Earth” piece, which appeared in this week’s Pittsfield Gazette:
In ancient times, the Romans reserved a special punishment for cities that dared rise up against the Empire. They salted the earth, so that the people could never grow crops on their once-fertile fields. Mr. Singleton is offended that the citizens of Pittsfield rejected his offer to help build a new stadium for them. They will pay the price.
Or will they? The business community and individual citizens could rise up with strong voices and demand that their elected officials and the park commissioners respond to our proposal to bring professional baseball permanently to Wahconah Park.
Mayor Doyle and many of the current city councilors… are not running for re-election. But they were elected to serve to the best of their abilities through their entire term, which doesn’t end until December 31st.
By Labor Day, many of our promising opportunities to acquire a baseball franchise will have passed… and if we don’t get action on our proposal until January 2002, it will be far, far too late to save the 2002 season, and maybe—if the earth has been salted—to save any future baseball season for Pittsfield.
“That’s great,” I said, “make copies and bring them to the meeting tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll put it on gray paper,” said Chip. “We’re already using white, blue, beige, and pink.”
“They’re trying to get us to run out of colors,” I said.
Meanwhile, in a parallel universe, the Eagle continu
ed with its own version of reality. Today’s editorial, as read by Chip, was entitled NO HURRY ON WAHCONAH PARK PLAN.
The Parks Commission wisely will not be rushed into accepting… a proposed 30-year deal to lease Wahconah Park to a trio of South County entrepreneurs who promise to maintain the crumbling facility… [a deal] that would exclude a collegiate team… [by] a group perilously light on financing…. Aging Wahconah Park cannot be reconstructed into a modern facility acceptable to the minor leagues…. There is, however, still a possibility that an affiliated team could find a home in the Berkshires if a new stadium were to be constructed in North Adams, a city that would no doubt welcome…
Chip said he’s already writing a rebuttal for the Eagle op-ed page that he hopes to have finished by tonight. And, just to see what happens, he said he also Fed-Ex’ed a letter to Dean Singleton explaining how Singleton’s “new stadium anywhere” proposal makes him look like a spoiler.
Chip said he’s also still married to Cindy.
Then we talked about Councilman Gary Grunin, who recently announced that he is running for mayor. His only problems are that he’s been a staunch new-stadium supporter, he’s a close friend of Mayor Doyle, he may have conflict-of-interest problems because his companies did $55,947 worth of business with the city, and he was vice president of the Council and a member of the finance committee while Pittsfield was running up a $9 million deficit.
Other than that he’s clear.
“You can’t buy opponents like this,” said Chip.
Grunin is a trim, well-dressed fellow, about five-foot-eight, with dark eyes and a mustache. Among pro-Wahconah folks, he has a reputation for being shifty. His body language doesn’t help. With his head inclined forward, as if he were looking through his eyebrows, and his dark eyes darting around the room, it seems like he’s pulling a fast one.
“He looks like a rat,” I said to Chip, “guarding a piece of cheese.” Grunin was recently quoted in the Eagle defending city officials who want to delay action on Wahconah Park. “We shouldn’t jump at the first proposal,” he said. “We sort of rushed into the Civic Authority, and look where that got us.”