by Joe Torre
Teammates delighted in Bernie being Bernie. One time he left Yankee Stadium after a night game and forgot his own child, who was playing video games. When he reached home he realized his oversight and called up Andy Pettitte and said, “Andy, can you bring him home?”
Another time, after the clinching game of a World Series, Williams drove home without his wife. Waleska Williams was left standing in the waiting room with trainer Steve Donahue.
On the last day of the 2005 season, the Yankees went to Fenway Park in Boston knowing that if they won the game they would open the Division Series at home against the Angels, and if they lost they would open against them on the road in Anaheim. Before the game Williams asked Torre, “Do you mind if I drive home with my wife after the game?” Said Torre, “Bernie, if we lose today we go to Anaheim.” Replied Williams, “We do?”
Williams would call the Yankee Stadium clubhouse from his home in suburban Westchester at one o'clock in the afternoon and, like a Little Leaguer, say, “It's raining here. Are we playing tonight?”
He was known to be late reporting for work from time to time. Wil liams was late, for instance, for Game 6 of the 2001 World Series, and barely arrived in time after his taxi had to negotiate the heavy security measures and barricades set up around the ballpark.
There was another time when Torre walked up to Williams in the lunchroom of the visiting clubhouse in Tampa Bay. Williams was making a sandwich.
“How are you doing, Bernie?” Torre asked.
“I missed the bus. I'm sorry for being late,” Williams said.
“Bernie,” Torre said with a smile, “I didn't even know you were late. But thanks for offering it up. That sandwich is going to cost you $200.”
Williams laughed.
Williams occupied a special place in Yankees history. He had played on a Yankees team that lost 91 games, in 1991, and he was there for the reconstruction and the run of a modern dynasty. Williams played in 2006 under a one-year deal for $1.5 million. He was a bargain at that rate, hitting .281 with 12 home runs and 61 runs batted in. He wasn't an everyday player anymore, not even a part-time center fielder, and he and Torre both knew that. Williams wanted to play another year as a bench player, occasionally starting in the outfield in the event of an injury or a needed day of rest for one of the main outfielders, Damon, Abreu, Cabrera and Matsui.
Soon after the Yankees lost the 2006 ALDS to Detroit, Cash-man held a meeting with Torre and the coaching staff, in which they discussed whether Williams still had a role with the team for 2007. Cashman said that everyone in the room agreed that Williams was done. However, as the Yankees roster began to take shape over the winter, Torre came to believe that Williams ree-merged as their best option off the bench.
Torre knew that he could still be counted on to give a quality at-bat in a key spot, and who had the added benefit of being a switch-hitter, which causes difficult decisions to opposing managers when they try to match up their relief pitchers to gain platoon advantages. Over the previous two seasons, at ages 36 and 37, Williams hit .317 and .321 with runners in scoring position and two outs.
Torre told Cashman he wanted to bring back Williams on a similar deal that he had in 2006. Cashman wanted nothing to do with it. He had a better idea, he said. He pulled out some numbers. He started giving Torre pinch-hitting numbers and on-base percentage numbers for Josh Phelps and Doug Mientkiewicz. That was Cash-man's plan: he could do better with a combination of Josh Phelps and Doug Mientkiewicz than bringing back Bernie Williams for one more year. Torre was astounded.
“Cash,” Torre said, “Bernie Williams may not play much outfield because we don't have room in the outfield, but as a bench player, a switch-hitter, I know if I'm managing in the other dugout and I know they have Bernie Williams sitting there, it's going to affect who I bring in and how I manage the game. If you know the player Bernie was, and he's not that far removed from that, you know that the danger is still there.”
Cashman stuck to the on-base percentage numbers.
“I can't fight that,” Torre said. “For me and some of the other managers, is Mientkiewicz coming up to pinch-hit going to scare me like Bernie Williams does? Even though he's got a better on-base percentage?”
Cashman did not budge. He was also worried about the awkwardness of having to cut an icon like Williams if he showed he really was done. Torre said, “It was like talking to a brick wall. It never went anywhere.”
The philosophical battle was no battle at all. Cashman's faith in numbers won out decisively over Torre's trust in his players. Cashman would not offer Williams a major league contract. He was open to the idea of letting Williams come to camp to try out with a minor league deal. Williams was too proud a Yankee for that. Torre tried multiple times to talk him into coming to camp as a nonroster invitee. Williams would have none of that scenario. The lack of a real major league offer told Williams all he needed to know: the Yankees had no more use for him.
“I talked to him about three or four times,” Torre said, “and I kept trying to convince him to come down, and I did everything but promise him he was going to make the team. I couldn't do that. And I'm not even sure to this day what was going on in Bernie's head. I knew he was hurt by the fact that he was just dismissed. I just think that in Cash's mind, they were sort of stuck into paying him for so long, and paying him so much money, he felt he owed him nothing, which I'm not sure is the right way to look at things. And then Cash got upset with Bernie, was pissed off at something.”
In January of 2008, Cashman unwittingly tipped his hand about how he felt about Williams in comments he made at a symposium at William Patterson College in New Jersey, an event Cash-man did not figure was destined to hit the newspapers. Cashman took shots at Williams, saying he had a “terrible season” in 2005, that Torre played Williams in 2006 “ahead of guys who could help us win,” and that Williams grew more involved in his music career “and that took away from his play.”
The Mientkiewicz-Phelps Plan was, by most any measurement, a bust. Mientkiewicz broke his right wrist and played in only 72 games. (Williams played at least 119 games in his last 12 seasons after the strike-shortened 1994 season.) Phelps was waived in June after playing just 36 games. Combined, Mientkiewicz and Phelps batted .200 in all games coming off the bench, with five hits in 25 at-bats.
“I don't know how many times that year I would look at Don Mattingly and say, ‘This is a good spot for Bernie,’ “ Torre said. “You've got a pinch-hit opportunity coming up and they've got a lefty and righty warming up in the bullpen, and with Bernie you neutralize their choices.”
The Yankees went to six World Series under Torre and Williams hit third or fourth in the lineup in every one of them. With his expressive eyes, fluid stroke and sprinter's body, Williams was not your typical middle-of-the-order slugger on championship teams. He never hit more than 30 home runs. He was, however, more than tough enough to hold down that kind of responsibility.
“Bernie was a son of a bitch; the pressure of the game never bothered him,” Torre said. “It never bothered him. You know, you try to explain all that stuff, and unless you have a feel for what you're seeing, it's tough to rationalize with sheer numbers.
“I don't think Bernie cared about what it looked like on the field, as opposed to simply what it was. I think good players go on the field knowing there is a danger of being embarrassed and it doesn't bother them at all. Bernie never thought anything negative was going to happen until it happened.”
For Torre, Cashman's dismissal of Williams was also, in part, a repudiation of the manager's trust and understanding of players. The hits to his standing as the secure manager of the New York Yankees were piling up: the sniping via the franchise's own network and the cold war with Steinbrenner in 2005, the virtual firing and subsequent twisting in the wind after the 2006 Division Series, and now this, the decision by Cashman to trust a belief in numbers rather than trust Torre's belief in Bernie Williams.
“The one that pissed me off more
than anything was Bernie Williams, where my opinion was completely disregarded,” Torre said. “I was beating a dead horse, and I'll never forget that.”
The future of Joe Torre as manager of the New York Yankees was a last-minute addition to the menu at a March 9, 2007, benefit luncheon for the Boys and Girls Clubs of Tampa Bay at the Tampa Marriott Waterside Hotel. The Boys and Girls Clubs of Tampa had long been a favorite charity of George Steinbrenner, and you could find his name affixed to one of its buildings as proof of his generosity. Each spring training, Steinbrenner would make sure his staff and ballplayers joined him in supporting the Boys and Girls Clubs of Tampa Bay by attending the luncheon, which had grown to become one of its largest fund-raising events. Brian Cashman decided to use the 2007 luncheon, away from the prying eyes of the New York media, to address the thorny issue of what to do about Torre, which for the previous five months had grown cumber-somely into the elephant in the room nobody wanted to acknowledge. Torre's status beyond that 2007 season was unresolved.
Cashman approached Torre and asked him, “What do you want to do, Joe?”
Torre immediately recognized the opening. The general manager would not have asked the question if he didn't want Torre back. That qualified as a major development. Torre was on the last year of his contract, a status that carried more weight than his 11 consecutive seasons guiding the Yankees into the playoffs, four of which culminated with world championships. The impending end to the deal put him squarely in the crosshairs of his critics, some of whom happened to reside in his own organization. When Torre had left for spring training, his wife, Ali, sent him off with a kiss, a hug and this warning: “This is going to be your toughest year, because they're always going to refer to this being the last year of your contract.”
Said Torre, “I guess I get naïve at times, but I didn't expect it was going to be tougher. That's because I thought you were always on the last year of your contract, no matter what it said. Even if you have a contract, there's always a threat you can be fired. But I never realized how right she really was.”
Without a contract for 2008, Torre was a lame duck, made all the more wounded by what amounted to his mock dismissal after the 2006 season, which had played out like being put through every protocol of a firing squad—the blindfold, the cocking of the chambers, the ready, aim, fire! command—but for blanks being substituted for bullets.
The most important baseball operations decision in the 2007 spring training camp was what to do about Torre. Cashman opened the door to an extension when he approached Torre at the March 9 benefit. Cashman wasn't even sure if Torre had plans to manage beyond 2007. Torre didn't hesitate with a response. As difficult and painful as the fallout was from the 2006 Division Series loss, Torre had lost none of his enthusiasm for the job. He hated the interoffice sniping, the jockeying for credit and the assignment of blame, and he hated knowing not everybody in that front office fully supported him, but Torre loved managing people and ballgames as much as ever.
“I'd like to keep managing,” Torre told Cashman. “I still enjoy it.”
“Okay,” Cashman said. “You're my guy. As long as I'm here, there's nobody I'd rather have managing this team than you. How long would you like to do this?”
Torre understood that the door to a contract extension suddenly was jarred open. He was wise enough not to even have broached the subject over the winter after very nearly being fired, but smart enough to know this was the opportunity to get it done. Torre had an idea.
“How long do you have on your deal?” Torre asked Cashman.
“Through next year.”
“Okay. Just tie me to you. We'll have the same thing. Take it through next year so that we're on the same terms.”
“That's fine with me,” Cashman said.
Torre was making $7 million in 2007, the last year of his deal. A one-year extension would, if nothing else, remove his lame duck status and shrink the size of the bull's-eye on his back. It would minimize the speculation that at any moment he could be fired, a sword of Damocles that can drag down a team, not just the manager.
Torre took it as very good news that Cashman wanted to extend him, especially given Cashman's clout in the organization.
“When he said that, I'm thinking, It's just a formality,” Torre said. “I thought it was a slam dunk. The general manager asks you how long you wanted to manage and I just assumed … of course, I shouldn't assume anything because he did say, ‘I just want to know what to go to them with.’ “
“Them.” It was a new concept in the Steinbrenner regime. With Steinbrenner no longer robust enough to be The Boss, the absolute ruler with absolute power, the Yankees’ power structure had devolved into a blurry one that still needed defining. Steinbrenner's sons, Hank and Hal, were in the loop but not yet fully vested in the daily operations of the club. Trost and Levine steered the business operations of the franchise, but contributed to baseball matters, too. One of Steinbrenner's sons-in-law, Felix Lopez, was growing increasingly interested in all aspects of the business of the New York Yankees, completing one of the most astounding rises in corporate American history. Lopez came to the Yankees’ boardroom by way of landscaping. He met Jessica Steinbrenner, The Boss's daughter, while tending to her yard. He married The Boss's daughter and immediately became a baseball expert.
Another son-in-law, Steve Swindal, was the team's general partner and Steinbrenner's handpicked successor. Steve Swindal had married The Boss's daughter Jennifer. He ran Bay Transportation Corporation, a marine towing company purchased by Steinbrenner's company American Shipbuilding. When the Yankees played in Miami against the Marlins in 1997, Steinbrenner asked him if he would like to become a general partner of the Yankees. Swindal loved the idea. He enjoyed the work while by and large tending to keep a low profile.
Then one day, June 15, 2005, to be exact, Swindal was sitting near George Steinbrenner at a press conference to announce the construction plans and financing for a new Yankee Stadium when Steinbrenner blurted out that Swindal, and not either of his own sons, would replace him someday as head of the Yankees. Most everyone in the room was surprised to hear Steinbrenner publicly anoint Swindal as his handpicked successor. One person was particularly surprised: Swindal himself. Steinbrenner never had told him he was his choice for running the team, never had discussed succession plans with him.
“It was news to me,” Swindal said.
Steve Swindal was the man who would be king of one of the most valuable properties in professional sports, the New York Yankees, which had become an iconic global franchise worth about $2 billion when you folded in the YES network, the most successful regional sports network in the television industry.
Swindal's authority was soon to be completely wiped out by one of the most expensive drinking benders in the history of imbibing.
Only three weeks and one day prior to Cashman's meeting with Torre—it was Valentine's Day night and the second night of the Yankees’ spring training camp—Swindal was driving his 2007 Mercedes in St. Petersburg at a little past two in the morning when he made a hard left turn at the intersection of Central Avenue and 31st Street, cutting off another car. The other vehicle had to brake abruptly to avoid a collision. The other vehicle just so happened to be a police cruiser driven by Officer Terri Nagel. At that moment at the corner of Central and 31st, the future operations of the New York Yankees also took an abrupt turn.
Nagel followed the Mercedes, which zoomed through the 35 mph zone at 61 mph. The officer pulled over the Mercedes some 18 blocks later. It was 2:12 a.m. Swindal failed a field sobriety test. He refused a Breathalyzer test. He was arrested for driving under the influence, taken to jail, booked at 4:26 a.m. and released at 9:53 a.m. His police mug shot was soon all over the Internet.
The Yankees actually released a statement that said, “Mr. Swindal apologizes profusely for this distraction during the Yankees’ spring training.” Distraction? Sure, driving under the influence is wrong because, well, you don't want it to distract fro
m millionaires taking batting practice and fielding fungoes.
Despite the comically benign wording, Steve Swindal was soon to be finished with having anything to do with the New York Yankees. He just didn't know it quite yet. About four weeks later, Jennifer Swindal filed divorce papers in Hillsborough County Circuit Court's family law department, citing “irreconcilable differences” that led to the couple splitting on, yes, Valentine's Day. In the filing, Jennifer Swindal asked to keep the couple's $2.3 million home in Tampa's upscale Davis Island neighborhood. Swindal was out of the family, which meant he was out of the Yankees.
In between the arrest and the divorce, Swindal continued to show up for work each day at Legends Field, the Yankees’ grand but joyless spring training compound that was heavy on concrete, fencing and stern security officers. He and the Yankees kept up appearances while the lawyers started hammering out divorce papers and severance issues. Swindal remained in the loop on club issues, which meant Cashman would need to run his idea of a contract extension for Torre past both Swindal and Levine before presenting it to The Boss for approval. In times of better health for Steinbrenner, Cashman and Torre may have dealt directly with Steinbrenner, who then could have chosen to table the idea or give it a green light, perhaps handing it off to one of his lieutenants for negotiation. But with Steinbrenner's vitality in question, so was the usual power structure of the Yankees’ front office. That's why Cashman told Torre he would need to run the idea of an extension past “them.”
A couple of days passed without Cashman giving any word back to Torre about what he heard back from “them.” Finally Torre decided to ask Cashman what was going on. Torre had rented a home for spring training, and the owners wanted to know if he would be renting the place again in 2008.
“Cash, we just have to make a decision on this place we're renting here,” Torre said. “Do you have any idea about a contract?”
“Well, I did talk to Swindal,” Cashman offered.