by Joe Torre
“Don't worry I'll handle it.”
“Okay thank you.”
Said Torre, “That's more of Alex wanting to be the leader, to be Jeter, basically.”
The Yankees were blown out, 6-0, as Rogers outpitched a familiarly ineffective Randy Johnson, who gave up five runs in less than six innings, swelling his postseason ERA as a Yankee to 6.92. Rogers shut down the Yankees on five hits two outs into the eighth inning before relievers Joel Zumaya and Todd Jones gave them nothing more. Giambi and Williams went a combined 0-for-7. Rodriguez went 0-for-3 and was hit by a pitch, slipping deeper and deeper into a funk of near hitting-paralysis proportions. Rodriguez was 1-for-11 through the first three games of the series, was hitless in his previous 10 at-bats with four strikeouts, had batted with 10 runners on base and driven in none of them, and, as if unable to pull the trigger, had looked at 12 called strikes.
Another day brought another game of lineup roulette. Other than Jeter and Posada, Torre had nobody in this once formidable lineup who was swinging the bat well. This time, against right hander Jeremy Bonderman in Game 4, Williams and Giambi were the odd men out, with Sheffield back at cleanup as the first baseman, and Cabrera hitting ninth as the designated hitter. The headline news to the lineup, however, was that Rodriguez was batting eighth. Torre did not tell Rodriguez about it before the lineup was posted in the clubhouse.
At that point we were on our heels and I was just trying to get some energy,” Torre said. “So I did it and I just posted it. And then the writers asked me in the pregame press conference about hitting him eighth. I said, ‘You know it's sad that you guys didn't ask me this question, which would have been the better question: Why isn't Giambi playing against the righthander?’ Nobody asked me that question. It was all about Alex.
“But Alex wasn't swinging worth a shit, and it was all about trying to put more energy people above him. It wasn't trying to purposefully piss him off. But knowing Alex, no matter what explanation I gave him, it was just going to be the eighth hole. I didn't know what I could tell him to appease him and still tell him the truth.”
Rodriguez did not seek out Torre to ask about the lineup.
“No,” Torre said. “That night he came to me on the tarmac, after we landed in New York, and he gave me a hug. That was it.”
Rodriguez went 0-for-3 again. For the series, he batted .071, batted with 11 runners on base and drove in none of them, drew no walks, had no extra-base hits, and saw more than four pitches only twice in 15 plate appearances.
Jeter and Posada combined to bat .500 in the series. The rest of the team that had scored 930 runs in the regular season batted .173.
Soon after the Yankees’ elimination, Steinbrenner released a statement through his public relations people, which had become nearly his sole means of public communication, to say, “Rest assured, we will go back to work immediately and try to right this sad failure and provide a championship for the Yankees, as is our goal every year.”
The Yankees had won 97 games, drawn 4.2 million people to Yankee Stadium, made the playoffs for a 12th consecutive season, outscored every team in baseball by at least 60 runs, employed 36 past, current or future All-Stars … and their owner had winnowed it all down to a “sad failure.”
Torre bore the brunt of the growing frustration in the organization. The playoff losses obliterated the story of the resolve of these flawed Yankee teams. The Yankees came from behind to make the playoffs in 2006 for the third time in four consecutive seasons. In 2004, they started 8-11 and began June in second place. In 2005, they started 11-19 and began July with a .500 record. In 2006, they trailed Boston for most of the first four months and started August in second place. In 2007 they started 21-29 and were a .500 team into the second half of the season. In every case Torre brought the team home to the playoffs. The collateral damage, however, was accumulating. The cost of playing from behind year after year was the constant organizational anxiety that covered the lengthy seasons. There was no margin for error, little room to breathe.
During the 2006 season, for instance, the Yankees suffered a blowout loss, 19-1, to the Cleveland Indians, Steinbrenner's hometown team, on the Fourth of July, Steinbrenner's birthday. The defeat left the Yankees in second place, four games behind the Red Sox. Steve Swindal, merrily enjoying the holiday on a boat, called up Cashman and began screaming at him. “I pay you and Joe all this money!” Swindal said as part of his rant.
Said Torre, “Cash got pissed and I got pissed. I talked to Steve the next day and I said, ‘Steve, you have to understand: we're trying to win the game. And if we lose 2-1 or 18-6, there's no difference.’ “
Three days later the Yankees were playing the Devil Rays in St. Petersburg. Swindal walked into the Yankees clubhouse. The visiting manager's office is the first door on the left as you enter the clubhouse at Tropicana Field. As Swindal walked in, Torre motioned him into his office.
“Close the door,” Torre said.
Swindal sat down.
“Let me tell you something,” Torre said. “Either fire us, fire me, or trust what we do. If you think when we don't win it's because we're not paying attention, you've got another thing coming. That was ridiculous.”
“Well,” Swindal said with a nervous chuckle, “you know how I am.”
“Yeah,” Torre said. “And we'll work this through. But you hired us for a reason. You either believe in what we're doing or let us go.”
The 2006 playoff loss to Detroit depleted further the goodwill account Torre had built in the Yankee organization, a reality made obvious the morning after Game 4.
Hours after the Yankees lost Game 4 to the Tigers, the back page of the New York Daily News the next morning featured a picture of Torre and declared in capital letters without the typical equivocation of a question mark, “OUTTA HERE!” The story said Stein-brenner was firing Torre and replacing him with Lou Piniella (though Piniella was deep in discussions to sign on as manager of the Cubs and had had no contact with Yankees officials). Reporters began staking out the front lawn of Torre's Westchester, New York, home. Steinbrenner and the rest of the Yankees’ front office said nothing publicly about Torre's status for two days, letting the speculation continue ablaze, but they did conduct a high-level conference call that included Steinbrenner, Cashman, Torre, president Randy Levine, chief operating officer Lonn Trost and manager partner Steve Swindal. Several times the Yankees’ decision makers brought up the idea that perhaps Torre had become “distracted” as the New York manager, even making reference to the charitable work he does for his foundation for victims of abuse by family members, the Safe at Home Foundation.
“I resented the fact that they claimed I was distracted by something,” Torre said. “I told them, ‘What suddenly happened in the postseason that distracted me that wasn't going on during the season when we won as many games as any team in baseball?’ “
Indeed, the Yankees won 97 games, the most in the American League and tied with the New York Mets for the most in baseball. They scored more runs than anybody in baseball. They trounced Detroit in Game 1 of the best-of-five series, 8-4, and took a 3-1 lead into the fifth inning of Game 2 with veteran righthander Mike Mussina on the mound at Yankee Stadium. Apparently that's when the “distractions” must have manifested themselves, for the Yankees suddenly lost their grip on the series.
Ali, listening to her husband on the conference call, interjected in a stage whisper, “What are you defending yourself for? If they want to fire you, let them fire you. Simple as that.”
Torre didn't hear much support from his bosses on the other end of the line. The Yankees had come to believe that anything short of a world championship was a failure. Of course, such thinking was possible only because of the four world championships they won in Torre's first five years on the job. No other team since 1953 has won four World Series titles in five years, a 53-year span that covers the advent of free agency, the beginning of expansion and the full integration of the major leagues. The credit in the bank
from those titles had run out for Torre. If he was going to be judged harshly and almost entirely on two and a half games against the Tigers—23 innings in which Mussina, Randy Johnson and Jaret Wright got outpitched and the Yankees batted .163—well, that was the brutal truth of the job. The Yankees played every season as an “all-in” card game, and the manager had to understand the consequences if he didn't play a winning hand. Torre knew this reality. At the end of the conference call he stopped defending himself and his record and offered advice to George Steinbrenner.
“George, I always want to make you proud of what I do,” Torre said, “but if you feel in your heart you should make a change, then that's what you should do. I'm not begging for my job. I'm here to tell you that I'm going to work the same as I always have for you. I'm not going to do anything different. What am I going to do different? I can only be who I am. But if you're more comfortable making a change, then that's what you should do.”
When the conference call ended, nothing had been decided. Steinbrenner needed to think about it. Torre hung up not knowing if he would manage the Yankees again. Another day passed. Still nothing. Torre was unable to take any questions from the media because he had no idea about his status. He did ask Jason Zillo, the Yankees’ public relations director, if Zillo could do something about the reporters on his front lawn. Zillo promptly provided the lawn service, calling the news outlets to ask them to end the fruitless vigil.
On the next day the Yankees finally announced that Torre would meet with reporters at 1 p.m. at Yankee Stadium. For Torre, however, there was a slight hitch to the plans for a news conference: He still had no idea if he was going to manage the Yankees. He still had heard nothing from Steinbrenner. Torre was getting dressed to go to that news conference when he decided to do something about being left to twist in the wind. He called Cashman.
“Cash, have you heard anything yet?” Torre asked.
“No,” Cashman replied. “I haven't heard anything.”
“Do me a favor,” Torre said.
“Sure, what's that, Joe?” Cashman said.
“Call them and tell them to fire me right now. If it takes them this long to make up their minds tell them to fucking find somebody else. I don't want to be here. This is ridiculous.”
It was typical Torre. One of his strong suits for working for Steinbrenner was that from the moment he was hired he never needed the job badly enough to become Steinbrenner's lackey. Steinbrenner liked his managers and executives to be beholden to him (none were more so than “true Yankee” Billy Martin; and most deferentially called him “Mr. Steinbrenner”), but Torre saw the Yankee job as playing with house money. He called Steinbrenner “George.”
But the “fire me” edict to Cashman was typical Torre, too, because it was such an emotional reaction. Ali often told him he took things too personally and reacted too emotionally, and this seemed to be yet another case.
Cashman argued to Torre to remain patient just a little while longer, and Torre eventually agreed. He could go to the press conference and simply answer questions to the best of his knowledge, of which he had very little when it came to his job status. Five minutes before the press conference was about to begin, Torre's phone rang. It was Steinbrenner.
“We want you to manage next year,” The Boss said.
After being “fired” on the back page of the Daily News, after being told he was “distracted” while serving as the manager of the winningest team in the league, and after being placed in a limbo status for two days right up until five minutes before his press conference, Torre reacted to Steinbrenner's olive branch the best way he knew how: he politely thanked Steinbrenner.
It was the last meaningful conversation Torre would ever have with Steinbrenner. The change in the relationship had nothing to do with Torre's job status. It had everything to do with Steinbrenner's health. No one would tell Torre of any specific health issue afflicting Steinbrenner, but it was obvious to all in the Yankees family that Steinbrenner's physical and mental acuity were slipping quickly. Steinbrenner and Torre had spoken often over the years and developed a cordial, respectful relationship. Torre had a natural ease of dealing with Steinbrenner.
“It drove him nuts that it made sense when I talked to him,” Torre said. “I remember one time I told him, ‘George, we've got to talk about this.’ He said, ‘I don't want to talk about it because you'll talk me into it.’ I forgot what the subject matter was. I laughed. He said, ‘I don't want to talk to you about it because you'll put it in a way that makes it simple.’ “
The banter and the conversations faded to almost nothing. About a month or so after Steinbrenner agreed to bring Torre back for the 2007 season—it was around Thanksgiving, 2006—Torre ran into Steinbrenner in Tampa after flying there on a private plane with his family. Steinbrenner, 76, was at the airport waiting for his grandchildren to fly in.
“Hi, pal,” Steinbrenner said. Other than exchanging pleasantries, there was no conversation. Steinbrenner, as he had taken to doing regularly, was wearing dark glasses indoors. What struck Torre was that Steinbrenner's hand was shaking, and The Boss stuck his hand in his pocket to try to quell the tremors.
“He was okay,” Torre remembered, “but you could see he didn't have the thunder he once had.”
There was no diagnosis of which Torre was aware, but it had become obvious by 2007 that the old lion had reached his winter. Torre knew Steinbrenner had drifted away from the day-to-day operations and long-term planning. One day he ran into Steinbrenner in the parking lot of Legends Field as Steinbrenner was getting into his car. Torre was riding a golf cart. Steinbrenner walked over and put one foot on the golf cart and a hand on its roof to steady himself. What Torre noticed was that Steinbrenner's hand kept shaking on the roof of the cart. At about that time one of the Yankees star players also encountered Steinbrenner in the parking lot. Said the player after the meeting, “Honestly I'm not even sure he knew who I was.”
“I talk to him from time to time,” Torre said one day in the 2007 spring training camp in the manager's office. “He doesn't show up down here anymore. He used to show up here every day. He loved it. But he can't sit there and talk to you anymore. And it's sad. No matter what you thought of him you never want to see anybody go that way lose his spirit basically. You don't want to see it happen.
“I remember we were sitting on my couch together one day a few years ago and I said the same thing I would always tell him: ‘You know, if you could just do me one favor. Just understand: I want to make you proud. I can't control the fact that people give me credit for what's happening. Because every time that happens I always credit you for bringing me here and getting the resources to do it. But don't blame me and don't get mad at me because of that, because I can't control that.’
“He said, ‘Oh, I don't. I don't feel that way’ I knew better. And it kept us from being really as close as we could have been. Instead of him perceiving this as ‘I got the right guy. I'm proud of that,’ it's all about ‘He's getting too much credit.’ And because George likes to maintain control, and scare people, and I think he eliminated that with me. He couldn't control me and he couldn't scare me, and I think that frustrated him.
“I told him, ‘I'd like to have a situation between the two of us where if you see something you don't like, you just call me. All right? Just call me. One thing I'll never lose sight of is you're The Boss. I'll always respect that. I never want to get to the point where I think I'm bigger than that, because that's not the case.’”
What Torre appreciated about Steinbrenner was that The Boss was always accessible. He was apt to come blustering into Torre's office at any time, call him on the telephone or summon him and his other baseball advisers to another emergency meeting in the third-floor executive boardroom of Legends Field. Torre liked knowing that Steinbrenner always was there and he knew where he stood with him.
But that was no longer true in 2007 due to Steinbrenner's health. One of his last true allies, Cashman, would move philo
sophically further away from him that winter, and Williams had everything to do with it.
Williams, 37, was a free agent who wanted to return to the only organization he had ever known. The 22-year-old kid who had reached the big leagues in 1991 with such a wide-eyed look that teammates derisively called him “Bambi”—their mistake was taking his naïveness for a competitive softness—had come to win four world championship rings, smash 2,336 hits, make five All-Star Games, win one batting title and earn $103 million. And after all of that he still gave forth that same youthful naïveness that charmed Yankees fans. Williams was one of their own. They had watched him grow up, deliver in the clutch and still remain humble, wide-eyed and sincere.
The beauty of Williams was that he hadn't changed much at all, wearing the same uniform and look of blissful earnestness. Before there was Manny being Manny, the catchphrase to excuse the childlike goofiness of Manny Ramirez, there was Bernie being Bernie. After the Yankees beat the Texas Rangers in the clinching Game 4 of the 1996 Division Series, Williams called up Torre in his hotel room.
“I've got a problem,” Williams said.
“What's that?” Torre said, expecting the worst.
“My family flew out and it costs $500 to change the tickets to go back a day early Do you know anyone at the airline?”
Williams was making $3 million in 1996.
“Stuff like that made him charming, it really did,” Torre said. “Bernie Williams always expected the best. I'll always remember he made the last out of the 1997 Division Series, a fly ball to center field with a runner on second base, and I had to practically peel him off the steps leading to the clubhouse. I said, ‘Bernie, it's not always going to turn out the way you want it to.’ He was devastated.”