Foul Ball

by Jim Bouton

  It appears that Fleisig will do anything to get off on the right foot in Pittsfield. He said he’d be willing to share Wahconah Park with the Collegiate League.

  A few messages were waiting for me when I got home tonight.

  Email from Dan Valenti:

  > Got Jim’s fax in time to mention main points

  > on the air today. The response to our show

  > yesterday was enormous -- both on and off the

  > air. Folks agree with what Jim is saying in

  > his letter. I was encouraged by Jim’s statement:

  > “We promise you we are not going away,”

  > because success can only be had here through

  > near-fanatical persistence.

  How about actual fanatical persistence?

  Email from Chip to Dave Potts:

  > I am concerned that the Mayor’s hand-picked park

  > commissioners will sign a lease with Fleisig and

  > and have it approved by his city council majority.

  > That would be reminiscent of what they did with

  > with the Civic Authority only to have it thwarted

  > by your famous petition drive. Is it time to

  > go back to the people?

  Email from Dave Potts to us:

  > I have to start marketing myself as a mayoral

  > candidate not a crusader of causes or I’ll

  > blow my opportunity to be Mayor… And I just

  > heard from my new-found friend, Gary Grunin.

  > The sleaze bag thinks he can win me over to

  > his side by including me in on the latest

  > information regarding Wahconah Park. He told

  > me not to say anything (which means they want

  > me to leak it to you) but Doyle is talking with

  > someone from the Atlantic League.

  Faxed copy of Chamber of Commerce memo to Cliff Nilan:

  Swift action is necessary on any and all proposals to keep professional baseball in Pittsfield!

  The underlining and exclamation are not mine.

  JULY 25

  WEDNESDAY

  Paula and I went to Jacob’s Pillow tonight. During the drive to Becket, in the hill country east of Pittsfield, we talked.

  “It’s one of the few times,” said Paula, “that I have your undivided attention these days.”

  “That’s how I work, Babe,” I said. “You know that.”

  “I don’t take it personally,” she said. “Over the years, I’ve come to understand. But it takes something to live with someone like that.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Families of people on a mission or a cause,” said Paula, “have a great deal of adjusting to do, picking up the slack. It’s not always convenient.”

  “That’s why I clean up after the meals,” I said. “So I feel like I’m doing my share.”

  “And it’s not always romantic, either,” said Paula.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “It’s intellectually sexy,” said Paula. “It’s one of the things that made me fall for you in the first place. You were as focused on me as you are on this project.”

  “If I were still that focused on you,” I said, “we’d be exhausted.”

  “I’m very proud of you,” said Paula. “And that’s certainly sexy and romantic. So it has its ups and downs.”

  “You’d just like a few more ups,” I said.

  We drove on, through the village of Monterey, past the general store where they sell these great sticky buns.

  “You know,” I said. “This is the most alive I have felt since Laurie died.”

  “I know that,” said Paula. “And believe me, I’m glad to see that back again. So I’m not complaining.”

  There was a silent pause, as there always is when we’re reminded of the daughter we lost four years ago, in an automobile accident, at the age of thirty-one.

  “I almost forgot what it feels like,” I said finally, “to have this kind of energy.”

  “And I’m enjoying watching you and Chip,” said Paula. “You work well together. The way certain couples dance well together.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You anticipate each other’s moves,” said Paula. “You don’t get in each other’s way. No ego. Happy to be part of a team. And you share a sense of adventure, and a sense of humor.”

  “You know we’re getting married in August,” I said.

  “Well,” said Paula, “you make a lovely couple.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “I like our fifty-fifty chances

  better today than I did yesterday”

  JULY 26

  THURSDAY

  My partner woke up pissed this morning. Fortunately, it was the one who lives in Great Barrington.

  “I woke up at five-thirty,” said Chip. “Staggered out of bed, went to the web site, checked out the Eagle, and as soon as I saw the editorial I got pissed.”

  In a commentary about how the Parks Commission should decide among the three competing proposals, Ever-Scrib had written:

  Interestingly, Mr. Wolff claims he knows nothing of the franchise proposed by a trio of South County entrepreneurs… who had claimed to have been negotiating with the Northern League.

  Mr. Wolff’s revelation prompted a resumption of Mr. Elitzer’s stance that any competing idea is a conspiracy to reactivate the defunct downtown stadium project and led to his astonishingly absurd assertion that Pittsfield voters have endorsed his contingent…

  Let objective criteria, publicly discussed, prevail in the decision, rather than political vendettas or hysterical rhetoric.

  “By this time,” said Chip, “my grogginess had left, and I spent the next two hours writing a response.”

  In two succinct pages, Chip exposed Miles Wolff’s deception, explained how the competing proposals keep the possibility of a new stadium alive, and why we believe the public is behind us. Chip wrote that the only line of Ever-Scrib’s editorial that he agreed with was the final one. And since the Eagle is not likely to print Chip’s response, we posted it on our web site. After emailing and faxing it to everyone else, of course.

  Later this morning, Chip and I got a call from Eric Margenau, who said that Jay Acton had called him. I knew Acton as a part-time literary agent who dabbles in business ventures. Eric said that he and Acton and Miles Wolff go back to the days when they owned a minor league team together in Utica, New York.

  “I hear you’re looking for a Northern League team,” Acton told Eric. “And I have one for you. I can get the Wirz franchise if you want it.”

  This was exciting news. Bob Wirz owns The Spirit, the dormant Northern League franchise that last played in Waterbury, Connecticut, in 2000. One of Acton’s business ventures is brokering the sale and purchase of minor league baseball franchises.

  “Acton said he talks with Miles Wolff all the time,” said Eric, “and that Miles had said he ‘sent Fleisig up to Pittsfield to do that press conference for whatever it accomplished’—and not because Fleisig is really interested in being there.”

  “Why is Fleisig not interested in Pittsfield?” I asked, surprised.

  “He’s looking for a new stadium,” said Eric. “Acton said Miles could care less whether Pittsfield gets Fleisig or Wirz, either situation is fine with him. And candidly, Miles would prefer to get the Wirz situation solved.”

  “How much does Wirz want for his franchise?” Chip asked.

  “According to Acton,” said Eric, “the price is $450,000.”

  “I bet it’s $350,000,” said Chip.

  “Maybe we could get an option to buy,” I said. “That would put us in a good bargaining position.”

  “Game over,” said Chip, smelling blood.

  After talking with Eric, Chip and I called Acton and set up a meeting for tomorrow at his office in New York City.

  No sooner had we hung up with Acton than we got a call from Frank Boulton, the owner of the Long I
sland Ducks and the commissioner of the Atlantic League, the other independent league operating in the northeast.

  The Atlantic League is a “full season” league that plays about 140 games per year, and the Northern League is a “short season” league that plays about 90 games per year, the number of games depending on the number of teams in the league in a given year. And while the two leagues overlap somewhat geographically and compete for available baseball talent, they do not compete for fans because the cities are far enough apart and the leagues, for survival purposes, respect each other’s territories.

  The Northern League, with its shorter season, is better suited to the Berkshire summers. However, Pittsfield has supported full-season baseball in the past, when for many years it was home to an affiliated AA Eastern League team. There has also been talk of the Atlantic League adding a “short season” division in the near future.

  Chip had left a message with Frank Boulton that we wanted to talk about buying a franchise.

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Boulton, speaking from his office at the newly built EAB Park in Huntington, Long Island. “Why don’t you lease a team for the year?”

  The team Boulton wants us to lease is the Lehigh Valley Diamonds, which Frank calls the Road Warriors because they play all their games on the road. This is because the league only has homes for seven teams while it waits for a new stadium to be completed in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania, in time for the 2003 season. Until then, the league has had to fund a perpetually traveling eighth team to provide a balanced schedule.

  Chip and I could solve this problem by leasing a franchise for 2002, with an option to buy for 2003 and beyond. This would accomplish two things: the Atlantic League could bring those poor guys off the road, and we could prove the viability of Wahconah Park—to ourselves and others.

  A successful 2002 season in Wahconah would then give us the enviable choice of (1) exercising our option with the Atlantic League, especially if they add a short season division, or (2) buying a Northern League franchise.

  “We would lease with an option to buy,” Chip told Boulton. “If things work out as we expect, we could exercise our option for 2003 and beyond.”

  “Why don’t the two of you come down to Long Island,” said Boulton. “You’ll watch the Ducks play, and we’ll talk.”

  Chip and I checked our calendars and said that we could be there next Tuesday. The roller coaster is on the way up again.

  “Wouldn’t it be great,” I said, “if we could have possibilities in both leagues? Then we could deal with Fleisig.”

  “We’ll see your team, and raise you one,” said Chip.

  Negotiating with two different teams from two different leagues; this is exactly what we had envisioned from the beginning! Our revolutionary plan to get the best deal for Pittsfield.

  If only Pittsfield will let us.

  At dinner, Chip and I updated Cindy and Paula.

  “That was quick,” said Paula, about the two meetings that Chip and I had arranged.

  “Chip is very tenacious,” I said.

  “Like somebody else I know,” said Paula.

  “I may be the bulldog,” I said, “but Chip is a pit bull.”

  “What’s Eric?” asked Chip.

  “He’s a bloodhound,” I said. “He sniffs things out. He can’t chase or bite, but he knows where to sniff.”

  “And he knows where the bones are buried,” said Cindy.

  “We’re a well-rounded canine team,” I said.

  JULY 27

  FRIDAY—NEW YORK, NY

  For our meeting in New York today with Jay Acton and our Northern League front, we took the train rather than go by car. Partly because we like trains, but mostly because we were in a hurry. If we could wrap up the meeting quickly, and catch the three forty-five train home, Chip could still make dinner and a show tonight with Cindy and their friends Steve and Nansi. Very important.

  On the ride down I asked Chip how he was even allowed to come to New York today in the first place. What had Cindy said? Then I answered my own question with my Cindy imitation.

  “Ohhhh Chip!” I said. “How could you? You can’t do this! We’ve had these tickets for three months. We haven’t spent any time with Steve and Nansi… you’re a stranger to your kids… you have no time for me…”

  Chip had a sheepish grin on his face.

  “You’ve been listening,” he said.

  The other reason for taking the train was that we had a lot of thinking to do—twenty-five-miles-per-hour-type thinking.

  “Unless the Atlantic League adds a short-season division,” said Chip, as the train rumbled along, “we probably wouldn’t exercise the option to buy. But we’d need it to avoid being held up by the Northern League.”

  “Right,” I said. “Miles Wolff wouldn’t want to lose Pittsfield.”

  “Just the fact that we’re talking with the Atlantic League,” said Chip, “should set off the alarm bells.”

  “Why do you think Wirz is suddenly in the picture?” I asked.

  “Maybe Miles is having a change of heart about giving Fleisig an exclusive,” said Chip.

  “You could be right,” I said. “Eric Lincoln, who was working on a story for the Record, said he told Miles that he had backed the wrong horse with the mayor.”

  “Maybe Miles wants to have two horses in the race,” said Chip.

  “May the best horse win,” I said.

  We met with Jay Acton and his partner, Jim Goldsmith, at an office in lower Manhattan. Acton is about six-foot-three with a Kennedyesque mop of gray hair that makes him look younger than a guy in his sixties. Goldsmith is trim, dark-haired, about forty-five, who looks like the former Hofstra quarterback that he is.

  The conversation began with the trials and tribulations of owning a minor league baseball team. Acton talked about the time a bus driver didn’t show up and the manager had to drive the bus.

  “Next thing you know,” said Acton, “we get a call from the manager. He’s in a ravine off some highway we can’t find on a map.”

  Then there were the wacky promotions for which the minor leagues are famous. Not the harmless, family-style promotions they have today, but the slightly dangerous stuff they used to do.

  “How about Bladder Buster Night?” said Acton. “The beer is free until somebody goes to the bathroom. And whoever leaves their seat gets booed. They always get a full house for Bladder Buster.”

  “My favorite was Diving for Dollars,” I said. “This was back in the ’60s, when I played in the Carolina League. They’d scatter a thousand one-dollar bills around the field and yell, ‘Charge!’ People would pour out of the stands to try and gather up as many as they could. Of course, there were a lot of collisions out there, which is why the players would be standing on the top step of the dugout, cheering them on.”

  After the funny stories, we got down to business. Chip and I talked about our plans for Wahconah Park, the opposition we faced in Pittsfield, our confidence that we were the people’s choice, and why it would be good to have us in the league.

  Then we talked numbers. We started at $350,000, they started at $600,000, and after a while, we ended up at $450,000.

  “The sale would be conditional,” said Chip, “upon our getting a lease.”

  “So it’s an option to buy,” said Goldsmith. “What are you going to pay for the option?”

  “Nothing,” said Chip. “We’re not asking for an exclusive. If Wirz gets a better offer in the meantime, he can take it.”

  “He’s got nothing to lose,” I said. “There’s no guarantee we’re going to get Wahconah, but at least it gives Wirz an opportunity to sell. If we don’t get Wahconah, he’s no worse off then he is now.”

  “When does the league need to know by?” asked Chip.

  “Schedules are drawn up in September,” said Acton.

  “We could make it September 15,” said Goldsmith.

  “And we’ll need a letter from the league,” I said, “stating that ou
r ownership group is approved.”

  “No problem,” said Acton. “I’ll see if I can reach Miles later this afternoon.”

  “This has to be done within twenty-four hours,” said Chip. “We don’t want our offer getting shopped around.”

  “We’ll confirm it in a fax,” said Goldsmith.

  We sealed the deal at the Cedar Tavern, the legendary bar where Kerouac and Ginsberg used to hang out. For me, it recalled the Lion’s Head in Greenwich Village, another historic literary bar where Pete Hamill and the new breed of sportswriters, Lenny Shecter, Vic Ziegel, and Larry Merchant used to go in the ’60s. The burgers were better at Cedar Tavern, but the fries were no match for the burnt potatoes at the Lion’s Head. Especially the ones served by Jessica Lange, before she became a famous actress.

  During the train ride home we discussed the possibilities.

  “They could do the deal as is,” said Chip, “they could ask for another $50,000, or they could sell to another group and knock us out of the box.”

  “But I got the feeling they liked us and wouldn’t do that,” I said.

  “We can only go so far on our good looks,” said Chip.

  “Aaaaand,” I said, drawing it out for dramatic effect, “if we get this deal done, we go down to Bristol and make our pitch to ESPN.”

  This is a subject Chip and I have avoided talking about. It’s an idea I’ve had for many years but haven’t been able to sell to a television network. The idea, which I call Bus League, is to follow a minor league team—on and off the field—with video cameras. Shoot it like a documentary and edit it like a soap opera. The star of the show could be a utility infielder or the clubhouse man.

  It was an idea I had proposed to Ted Turner, back in 1978, long before these so-called “reality shows” even existed. Ted passed me off to his programming guy at the time, Bob Wussler, who passed the idea back to me, saying television wasn’t ready for it. Of course, TV has long since bypassed Bus League, with phony set-ups that have nothing to do with reality. Now I’m waiting until the current shows become so absurd—we may be there now—that real reality is the refreshing breakthrough.