Baseball Maverick Page 37

  Multiple teams were expressing interest in a trade for Dillon Gee, more so than for Bartolo Colon or Jon Niese, and the Mets were confident a deal would come together before long, but standing pat was also just fine. “I don’t chase people,” Alderson told me. “By chasing you’re not going to create a market.”

  Early that year Alderson had felt frustrated about the Mets’ incompleteness going into spring training, and he’d pulled out all the stops to use what influence he could muster to change the culture of the team. That was often not easy. Alderson’s admonition in spring training for everyone around the organization to think of what it would take to turn themselves into a ninety-win club had generated controversy, but in the end it helped shift the focus to the present. The Mets had been chided in the media for cutting back on the players’ pregame spread at Citi Field and limiting access to the clubhouse, all part of trying to ease distractions. Whether any of those steps worked was open to debate, but facts were facts: The Mets were 40–41 at home in 2014, compared to that infamous 33-48 mark of a year before. That was, no matter how you looked at it, progress. Alderson and those around him could focus on baseball, looking ahead to 2015, and know the team was seen in a much different light than earlier in Alderson’s tenure with the Mets.

  “I think we’ve changed the mind-set,” Alderson told me. “We’ve changed the conversation. Is it because I said something last year? No, I don’t think really, but in a way it framed the conversation as maybe people perceived us as being a little better and we think about ourselves differently.”

  Alderson, a natural leader who was groomed to be among the top military men of his generation, now needs to step it up on the leadership front. He needs to use his array of abilities to be more present and to draw more lines in the sand. He can be funny, he can be tough, he can be elliptical, or he can be direct. Up until now he did not want to be part of the story because the time was not right; it would only be a distraction from the slow work of evaluating talent: Could Flores play short in the big leagues? Could Mejia close? Was Familia a legitimate eighth-inning guy? He’d always enjoyed humor and used it to make a point, but in New York, with the team losing, he had to be careful. “I don’t want fans to think I’m just some guy with a bunch of one-liners who doesn’t really take things seriously,” he told me. “On the other hand I think you can take things too seriously and come across as overly cautious and even cynical.”

  I’d been working on this book for nearly four years when I suddenly found myself wondering about something: Why was Alderson cooperating? Why was he talking to me? Part of the answer was simply that I’d asked him at the right time, just as he was taking over as Mets GM. Back then he was upbeat about the challenge and about working with a talented band of collaborators in Paul DePodesta, J. P. Ricciardi, and John Ricco. On a personal level, his father would be at the Mets’ spring-training games, and he’d come up to New York regularly during the season to sit in Sandy’s box at Citi Field with him; it would be fun. Then, when the Mets’ finances went belly-up, and Sandy lost his father, the joy went out of it temporarily—but Alderson had given me his word to cooperate on a book project, and he wasn’t going to back out.

  Here’s the answer I’ve come to after thrashing this one out: I think Alderson cooperated on this book in part because he wanted to up the ante. It’s not that he wants personal glory or adulation, or that he thinks he’s going to get it from this book. The book traces his journey through life and the evolution of his work in baseball. Alderson got back into general manager work because he missed the adrenaline rush of a game on the line, a packed house full of fans leaning forward on the edge of their seats, hearts pumping with eagerness to have the outcome go their way. He loves the rush of knowing that it all matters, that people care, that people are watching and paying attention. So he opened up his life to the scrutiny of this book. Having a book come out about his life in baseball will represent a transition for Alderson and there will be no going back. More sports columns will be written on him this season than last. More talk radio rants will bring him into the picture. More fans will discuss him and his ideas. And that’s all good, because Alderson never saw himself as anything but a vehicle for trying out some good ideas. He’d love to have others adopt more of a risk-taking approach, more of a willingness to take chances.

  This is a man who burns with competitive fire, and he needs to show that fire to the public in general, to Mets fans, and to the media, which can pass it on. For example, Alderson has great respect for his Yankees counterpart, Brian Cashman, and well he should, but if something comes up over the course of the 2015 season that gives Alderson a prime opportunity to have a little fun at the Yankees’ expense, he ought to seize the chance. It will be good for the rivalry and good for baseball in New York. It will also, you can count on it, be funny. If any topic ought to be catnip to Mets beat writers, it would be the general manager making sarcastic jokes about the other team. But Alderson told me that one time early in his years with the Mets, he got in one of his moods and started firing off one-liners about the Yankees to a group of reporters. He assumed they’d use the material in their papers or on their websites. But so far as he knew—and there wasn’t much published about the Mets that he missed—not one of the quotes ever saw the light of day. They were so primed to see the reserved, careful version of Alderson, they were caught off guard by his combative mode.

  This may be the ultimate test for Alderson moving forward. Back in the Bay Area his sense of humor was a major asset for him and for the A’s. Mets fans have seen some pretty good tweets, but Alderson can and must step it up. We all know Jon Stewart is a huge Mets fan, as David Wright told me. Why not have Alderson go on The Daily Show early in the 2015 season? If Stewart quizzed Wright about the Mets in the green room for half an hour before they did the show, he might keep Alderson in there five or six hours. He’d have a lot of questions, that’s for sure. When it came time to tape the segment, Alderson being Alderson, he’d be sure to get off some one-liners and he’d excel at the rapid, unpredictable back-and-forth that is one of the most enjoyable parts of watching The Daily Show.

  “I’d love to see that,” said Billy Beane. “Talk about being in Sandy’s wheelhouse.”

  “Or he could go on with Stephen Colbert,” Paul DePodesta said. “He totally gets Colbert’s humor and would be able to play into it.”

  The Mets went through many years when they were afraid of the laughs. They worried that once again, as the little brother of New York baseball, they were being kicked around. The Mets under Alderson have learned to relax and just be themselves. That patience and quiet confidence earned them the chance to reload the right way, through a combination of deals and building through the system. Now is the time to take it to the next level. That all starts with leadership. Sandy Alderson’s fearlessness may not always have been his best quality. What exactly was he thinking bluffing his way into the war in Vietnam? That could have worked out badly. But it didn’t. He lived to tell the tale. He’s been through far more than the rest of us, far more than other baseball men, and that does give him perspective and a kind of confidence that can rub off. Moving forward he has to show that confidence—in his team, his players, his people. He has to get them riled up now and then. He has to pick some public battles to rally the troops. “I haven’t been provoked,” he told me. “There really hasn’t been anything that has caused me to go after anyone. I’m also aware that that kind of humor can make you vulnerable if you’re not careful. Maybe I have been more cautious about it.”

  There is no more room for caution. If Alderson wants to get back to the World Series, he’s going to have to leave caution far behind—in his deal-making, in his public posture, and even in his relations with players and the coaching staff. That’s not quite a Ferrari he’s built for himself. Or not unless Harvey comes back, deGrom picks up where he left off in 2014, Wheeler continues his progress, and Syndergaard makes a splashy debut in 2015. But it’s a car with some power under
the hood. It’s time to do some driving.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d first like to thank Morgan Entrekin, Grove Atlantic publisher, for being the kind of reader who gets excited about writers and looks for ways to make things work. He decided he wanted to publish me based on the first chapter of Reading in Place, a memoir-in-books I’m writing, and suggested we meet to kick around ideas for my next sports book. As Morgan and I ate lunch, Sandy Alderson was across town in Queens interviewing for the job of Mets GM. I’d been studying Alderson since the mid-1990s and sparred regularly with him; he once tried to get me reassigned from my job covering the A’s as beat writer for the San Francisco Chronicle. Thanks, Sandy, for agreeing to make yourself available for more than a hundred interviews for this book, for sitting with me to watch games together from Port St. Lucie and Cincinnati to L.A. and Oakland, and for doing your best to maintain wan good cheer even during some grim stretches. Thanks to June Napoli for always doing her best to connect us and for her warm heart and sense of humor, and to Jay Horwitz (keep tweeting, Jay!) and Shannon Forde.

  I was lucky to be teamed up with an editor as brilliant and as committed to the long, slow build of book writing as Jamison Stoltz. He’s an editor of the old school, comfortable enough to be grumpy at times, almost giddy in his enthusiasm at others, and he took on the onus of living and dying with the Mets during the four years we worked on this book. I only hope that his son Oscar, a little Mets fan, will live to see his wishes fulfilled “at the baseball stadium.” So many at Grove are both talented and go the extra mile, but I’d like to thank in particular Allison Malecha, Deb Seager, John Mark Boling, Amy Vreeland, and Judy Hottensen (I look forward to more Bay Area dinners). My longtime agents Jane Gelfman and Heather Mitchell are two of my favorite people.

  Billy Beane was generous with his time and insights. We’ve been talking about everything but baseball for twenty years now, but especially books and soccer, and it was fascinating to revisit his early days with the A’s. To my best friend in baseball, Pedro Gomez, I can only flash back to 1995 when it was KGB: you, me, and the Island of Bitikos, talking ball until closing time most nights on the road (“I don’t have a car!”). I’d have never had a clue about navigating a major-league clubhouse if not for Pedro, but above all, he passed on a passion for the game and for the quiet human drama behind the game. That’s how I feel about many others from Oakland days: broadcaster Ken Korach, a future Hall of Famer, I’m just sure; Mickey Morabito, traveling secretary and best dinner companion ever; Steve Vucinich, equipment manager, team historian, and in so many ways, the soul of the A’s along with Mickey. Wally Haas has so many stories, thanks for letting me share a few of them. Getting to know Roy Eisenhardt was a highlight of this project; thanks, Roy, for making me a little smarter. Thanks to Debbie Gallas and Bob Rose of the A’s, and Jim Moorehead of the Giants.

  My first sports editor, back at the Daily Californian in the 1980s, was Pete Danko, also a great sportswriter: I’ll never forget a column he wrote as a student that was partly in the voice of Joan Didion. Pete, who went on to write for the New York Times and Riverside Press-Enterprise, was hugely helpful in reading versions of the manuscript, as were my other readers, Steve Vucinich, Ken Korach, Pedro Gomez, George Vecsey, Bryan Curtis, David Davis, and Danny Knobler.

  Bronwen Hruska not only invited me into the sitcom of her life (and oh what a sitcom) during my many New York visits on this project, she was the ultimate sounding board for getting past the doldrums along the way; she’s never at a loss to shed light on a writerly quandary and offer possible solutions. Also, her novel Accelerated reminded me of the power of imaginative, well researched storytelling. Thanks to my companions at Citi Field, the incomparable Dave Blum (not Darth Vader), future ace sportswriter Sam Blum, Nick Kulish, and Clay Risen for sharing insights or just humoring me. I’ve been a baseball fan since I was a kid growing up in San Jose, thanks to my family: my late sister, Janette Kettmann Klingner of Colorado; my parents, Gerard and Nancy Kettmann; brother Jeff, so loaded with sports insight he should have a talk radio show; and brother Dave, always my favorite choice for taking in a game at the ballpark.

  It’s hard to explain to a German why I think baseball matters. When Sarah Ringler and I founded the Wellstone Center in the Redwoods in Northern California in 2012, it was our hope to inspire people. It’s been a challenge, but we’ve made some early progress. San Francisco Magazine named us to their “Best of the Bay” issue for my “Find Your Voice” weekend writing workshop; we’ve begun to host writers in residence for one month at a time; and our Wellstone Books publishing arm is off to a good start with some exciting titles on the way in 2015. We’ve been lucky to share our project with so many who have lent a hand and made our lives richer: Thanks to Renee Anderson, Liz Olds, Ariel Jelsma, Josh Barron, Doug Moore, Claire Sorrenson, Drew Mitchell, James Ward, Ashleigh Lowe, Drew Goldstein, Kelsey Eiland, Danielle Lerner, and so many others. We work to nurture young writers and encourage creativity in others, but so often we’re the ones who gain.

  Above all, thanks to you, Sarah Lisa. I can probably never persuade you to read this book, but thanks for inspiring me to put so much into trying to tell this story right. You truly do inspire me, every day, with your strength and your creativity and your beauty. We were probably crazy to move from Berlin to start a new life in California, and I hope we can always be that crazy. You and Coco make me happy like I never thought I could be. I’m already looking forward to Coco’s first baseball game.