This week’s New York sports news centers on the most important baseball player the city has seen over the past 15 years. It seems inconceivable, yet the New York Yankees have chosen to play hardball with Derek Jeter in contract negotiations, with the owner even going so far as to warn us all that this could get “messy.”
Hal Steinbrenner and associates are apparently working hard to avoid overpaying the face of the franchise. New York has won five championships during Jeter’s tenure as starting shortstop, captain and overall role model for the pinstriped club. Apparently, Jeter’s clutch play and classy professionalism are not enough to stand in the way of his drop in offensive statistics last season. The Yankees have reviewed the data, and have decided the best way to do business is by making the ultimate stand-up guy sweat.
It’s true that Jeter has earned more money than any of us need in a lifetime, and it hardly seems productive for any of us to worry about the salaries of multimillionaires. But sometimes, we follow these contract talks not out of any concern for the salaries awarded, but more out of a genuine interest in knowing how much loyalty and integrity are worth these days.
I don’t think the Yankees could have ever dreamed they’d have a more impressive team leader in the astounding run of success they’ve experienced in this past decade and a half. When you are running the most profitable franchise in the history of professional team sports, you honor that success by going ahead and paying the man who symbolizes everything there is to like about you. There are some athletes and entertainers who transcend the word “overpaid” – the Jordans, the Ripkens, the Bradys, the Gretzkys. No one cares how much they made – only that they stayed put.
In 21st-century baseball, statistics rule the day. Yesterday, Felix Hernandez of the Seattle Mariners won the American League’s Cy Young Award with just 13 wins – the lowest total in history for a Cy Young-winning starter. While Tampa Bay Rays starter David Price won 19 games for a division-winning team, Hernandez received the award based on his overall numbers. And it’s true that Hernandez gave up fewer runs per game than Price and struck out more batters. But it’s also true that Price won numerous big games in a pennant race, with constant pressure. He was stronger in September than in any month of the year, and he continually found a way to win. Yet that was not enough to make up for the fact that the computer screen tells us Hernandez was better.
Derek Jeter was not the best player on anyone’s fantasy baseball team last year, and he won’t be the best next year, either. But if you think the Yankees will be a better team without him next year, or the year after that, then you aren’t watching the game – you’re just looking at statistics. There is a lot more to a great athlete than numbers. And if you’re going to use the numbers as the foundation for your negotiations, then you can assure yourself that you’ll build a team with no chemistry and no intangibles. Just a half-decade ago, the Yankees gave Jeter supremely talented teammates such as Randy Johnson, Gary Sheffield, Alex Rodriguez and Jason Giambi – only to see those players bring New York no further than the first round of the playoffs in their time together.
There is something more to life than mere numbers. If stats were everything, then colleges would ask only for students’ SATs, discarding all those essays and recommendations that give us a much closer look into the minds and hearts of these kids. Data assessment may drive the working world of 2010, but if you don’t look up from your spreadsheet once in awhile, you can miss some pretty amazing things.
Like Derek Jeter singling to the opposite field on a 3-2 count in the late innings of a playoff game. Or Jeter knowing just what to say to calm a rookie starter before a game against the Red Sox in Fenway Park. Or Jeter taking the time to work with children in need on an off-day. Or Jeter nodding his head to the young fan who calls out his name as he jogs back to the dugout.
The Yankees are crunching numbers and eyeing the bottom line. In so doing, they’re trying to reduce the price of true professionalism. If you can glance away from the data for a moment and look more deeply into the value of the man, you’ll see that this is one mistake that no one should even consider making. You can’t get a class act like Derek Jeter on clearance. And you really shouldn’t be trying.
Showing posts with label Jason Giambi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jason Giambi. Show all posts
Friday, November 19, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Just a Number (One Sixty-Two: Day 87)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Eighty-Seven: Jason Giambi, Colorado Rockies
Yesterday, I hit the halfway point in my final year as a 30-something. There’s no turning back now, like it or not. The age-39 roller coaster is in that moment of uneasy calm between the ominous climb and the terrifying fall.
Oh, it’s not that bad, I know. Forty is just a number. Of course, it didn’t help that my haircutter told me yesterday that she was skipping the step of thinning my hair after the cut, since it appears that the thinning process is now happening naturally. Nice. Thanks, here’s your tip.
So many people fret over 40 because they know that they will probably experience the aging process more distinctly during the next 10 years than they did during any of the previous four decades. There are reasons why most pro athletes retire around this age, if not earlier. And yet, there’s no one saying you can’t look and feel great while also accommodating the changes that will be there. And life in our 40s brings all kinds of exciting moments with family, careers, vacations and community involvement.
It’s just a number; that’s my mantra. Baseball-Reference.com has a list of all the big-league players born in 1971, and it shows that 14 players of that birth year have played in the majors this year. They range from Ivan Rodriguez of the Washington Nationals to Billy Wagner of the Atlanta Braves to Jorge Posada of the New York Yankees. Most of the players who are still around are either veteran catchers, like Rodriguez, Posada or Gregg Zaun of the Milwaukee Brewers, or specialized relief pitchers, like Wagner, Jose Contreras of the Philadelphia Phillies or Ron Mahay of the Minnesota Twins. In fact, there is only one active 1971 baby who doesn’t play either pitcher or catcher.
It’s a bit ironic that this individual is Jason Giambi, now a backup first baseman and pinch-hitter for the Colorado Rockies. For the past six years, Giambi’s name and his overall health have been sports-headline material, much of it related to steroid investigations taking place in and around baseball. The left-handed slugger has experienced severe blows to his reputation and career statistics over these half-dozen years, enough to ensure that his 412 career home runs, .405 career on-base percentage and seven years as a New York Yankee will not be enough to land him in the Hall of Fame. The latter half of Giambi’s career has not been without its highlights – he did, after all, slug 32 or more homers three out of four years from 2005-08 – but his life as a 30-something will always be connected with what-ifs and whys.
And yet, here he is, still suiting up to swing for the playoff contenders in Denver. Come January 8 of next year, Giambi will turn 40. While his career may be winding down, a new decade might provide him with a chance to contribute more positively to baseball, and perhaps to improve his overall reputation in the game. Maybe Giambi will coach a team’s hitters, and give them advice fueled by his own mistakes, successes and incredible batting eye. Perhaps he will find a way to pass along the competitive fire that guided him through those tough at-bats against Pedro Martinez back when the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry was white hot. Or maybe he’ll move away from baseball altogether, and instead help individuals who live their lives outside the white lines.
A few days after Giambi turns 40, I will follow suit. I don’t have a baseball career to look back on, nor have I ever found my name on the back page of the tabloids. That’s OK, actually. I’ll be moving on in my own way, as a teacher, writer, father, husband, son, friend. There’s so much to do, and so much to look forward to, that I wonder if I’ll even have time to count the years. Maybe the real number that matters when you start your fifth decade is 24 – as in the number of hours each day carries in it. If you’re as busy as many of us are at this age, you may find yourself wishing for 40 hours in a day more than you find yourself wishing against 40 candles on a cake.
Day Eighty-Seven: Jason Giambi, Colorado Rockies
Yesterday, I hit the halfway point in my final year as a 30-something. There’s no turning back now, like it or not. The age-39 roller coaster is in that moment of uneasy calm between the ominous climb and the terrifying fall.
Oh, it’s not that bad, I know. Forty is just a number. Of course, it didn’t help that my haircutter told me yesterday that she was skipping the step of thinning my hair after the cut, since it appears that the thinning process is now happening naturally. Nice. Thanks, here’s your tip.
So many people fret over 40 because they know that they will probably experience the aging process more distinctly during the next 10 years than they did during any of the previous four decades. There are reasons why most pro athletes retire around this age, if not earlier. And yet, there’s no one saying you can’t look and feel great while also accommodating the changes that will be there. And life in our 40s brings all kinds of exciting moments with family, careers, vacations and community involvement.
It’s just a number; that’s my mantra. Baseball-Reference.com has a list of all the big-league players born in 1971, and it shows that 14 players of that birth year have played in the majors this year. They range from Ivan Rodriguez of the Washington Nationals to Billy Wagner of the Atlanta Braves to Jorge Posada of the New York Yankees. Most of the players who are still around are either veteran catchers, like Rodriguez, Posada or Gregg Zaun of the Milwaukee Brewers, or specialized relief pitchers, like Wagner, Jose Contreras of the Philadelphia Phillies or Ron Mahay of the Minnesota Twins. In fact, there is only one active 1971 baby who doesn’t play either pitcher or catcher.
It’s a bit ironic that this individual is Jason Giambi, now a backup first baseman and pinch-hitter for the Colorado Rockies. For the past six years, Giambi’s name and his overall health have been sports-headline material, much of it related to steroid investigations taking place in and around baseball. The left-handed slugger has experienced severe blows to his reputation and career statistics over these half-dozen years, enough to ensure that his 412 career home runs, .405 career on-base percentage and seven years as a New York Yankee will not be enough to land him in the Hall of Fame. The latter half of Giambi’s career has not been without its highlights – he did, after all, slug 32 or more homers three out of four years from 2005-08 – but his life as a 30-something will always be connected with what-ifs and whys.
And yet, here he is, still suiting up to swing for the playoff contenders in Denver. Come January 8 of next year, Giambi will turn 40. While his career may be winding down, a new decade might provide him with a chance to contribute more positively to baseball, and perhaps to improve his overall reputation in the game. Maybe Giambi will coach a team’s hitters, and give them advice fueled by his own mistakes, successes and incredible batting eye. Perhaps he will find a way to pass along the competitive fire that guided him through those tough at-bats against Pedro Martinez back when the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry was white hot. Or maybe he’ll move away from baseball altogether, and instead help individuals who live their lives outside the white lines.
A few days after Giambi turns 40, I will follow suit. I don’t have a baseball career to look back on, nor have I ever found my name on the back page of the tabloids. That’s OK, actually. I’ll be moving on in my own way, as a teacher, writer, father, husband, son, friend. There’s so much to do, and so much to look forward to, that I wonder if I’ll even have time to count the years. Maybe the real number that matters when you start your fifth decade is 24 – as in the number of hours each day carries in it. If you’re as busy as many of us are at this age, you may find yourself wishing for 40 hours in a day more than you find yourself wishing against 40 candles on a cake.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Baseball, Meet Peanut Butter
I keep looking for reasons to feel proud of baseball. I peak at the headlines, in search of stories that will make this beautiful game look as gorgeous to me now as it was when I was 8 or 9. But I keep falling short.
I see the same names in the headlines each day, and for the same reasons: Alex Rodriguez, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Miguel Tejada, Mark McGwire, Jason Giambi. Some days, I wonder why anyone would choose to become a fan of a sport in which there has been so much cheating.
I look a little further, and I see a general manager resigning amidst allegations of kickbacks from signing bonuses. I glimpse deeper, and I see stories of men signed to contracts in the millions, yet club employees fired in order to pinch pennies. Every day, I see a new story about a man who, in the midst of a global recession, continues to turn down an offer to earn $45 million over the next two years, just to play left field and hit baseballs.
What is the point? Why am I still reading about this sport? What would be the reason to follow a game that has lost its way so wildly?
I can’t say I have a convincing answer to these questions. I don’t think I can persuade anyone why this sport is worth their time more than, say, watching a movie or tooling around on Facebook or iTunes.
But, then again, I’ve been thinking about peanut butter lately.
It’s been a couple of months now that we’ve been reading about the salmonella outbreak traced to a peanut company in Georgia. We’ve seen hundreds of peanut-butter products recalled, and read of hundreds stricken and several believed to have been killed by the salmonella, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Federal investigators are now claiming that the Peanut Corporation of America plant in Blakely, Georgia, knowingly shipped contaminated peanut butter, and had mold growing on its ceiling and walls. The company has filed for bankruptcy protection.
Unethical actions have led to sickness, death, fear and unemployment. Another national shame has enveloped our country.
And yet, I do love my peanut butter.
I have, of course, made sure to avoid all recalled peanut-butter products. But as for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, they remain a staple of my lunchtime diet. I expect they always will.
I am separating the product itself from those responsible for manufacturing and selling some of the said product.
Peanut butter, like baseball, is rather lovely in its essence. It’s got a simple, homespun elegance that has attracted devotees for decades. We know the sticky-sweet taste of a PBJ, so much that here in New York we’re even willing to spend several dollars for a sandwich at the high-end Peanut Butter & Co. restaurant in Greenwich Village.
And we know the simple elegance of baseball as well. We know the dash from first to third on a hit-and-run. The pickoff at first base. The shoestring catch. The squeeze bunt. The ground-rule double. The pitcher who escapes a bases-loaded, nobody-out jam.
It is a fabulous product, this game. It will be so forever. The scandals will come and go, as will the unsavory characters. Many of them will do their best to ruin the game itself.
But we will demand better. Just as the president must confront this peanut butter scandal with improvements in federal oversight of America’s food, so will the government and sports world at large demand that Major League Baseball right its ship.
These demands have already begun, and they will continue. Because, no matter what the product, it is always the consumers who hold the ultimate power. You can try to fool us, and sometimes you will. But in the end, our voices will be heard.
So go ahead, buy me some peanut butter (and Cracker Jacks). Because you do care if I ever come back.
I see the same names in the headlines each day, and for the same reasons: Alex Rodriguez, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Miguel Tejada, Mark McGwire, Jason Giambi. Some days, I wonder why anyone would choose to become a fan of a sport in which there has been so much cheating.
I look a little further, and I see a general manager resigning amidst allegations of kickbacks from signing bonuses. I glimpse deeper, and I see stories of men signed to contracts in the millions, yet club employees fired in order to pinch pennies. Every day, I see a new story about a man who, in the midst of a global recession, continues to turn down an offer to earn $45 million over the next two years, just to play left field and hit baseballs.
What is the point? Why am I still reading about this sport? What would be the reason to follow a game that has lost its way so wildly?
I can’t say I have a convincing answer to these questions. I don’t think I can persuade anyone why this sport is worth their time more than, say, watching a movie or tooling around on Facebook or iTunes.
But, then again, I’ve been thinking about peanut butter lately.
It’s been a couple of months now that we’ve been reading about the salmonella outbreak traced to a peanut company in Georgia. We’ve seen hundreds of peanut-butter products recalled, and read of hundreds stricken and several believed to have been killed by the salmonella, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Federal investigators are now claiming that the Peanut Corporation of America plant in Blakely, Georgia, knowingly shipped contaminated peanut butter, and had mold growing on its ceiling and walls. The company has filed for bankruptcy protection.
Unethical actions have led to sickness, death, fear and unemployment. Another national shame has enveloped our country.
And yet, I do love my peanut butter.
I have, of course, made sure to avoid all recalled peanut-butter products. But as for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, they remain a staple of my lunchtime diet. I expect they always will.
I am separating the product itself from those responsible for manufacturing and selling some of the said product.
Peanut butter, like baseball, is rather lovely in its essence. It’s got a simple, homespun elegance that has attracted devotees for decades. We know the sticky-sweet taste of a PBJ, so much that here in New York we’re even willing to spend several dollars for a sandwich at the high-end Peanut Butter & Co. restaurant in Greenwich Village.
And we know the simple elegance of baseball as well. We know the dash from first to third on a hit-and-run. The pickoff at first base. The shoestring catch. The squeeze bunt. The ground-rule double. The pitcher who escapes a bases-loaded, nobody-out jam.
It is a fabulous product, this game. It will be so forever. The scandals will come and go, as will the unsavory characters. Many of them will do their best to ruin the game itself.
But we will demand better. Just as the president must confront this peanut butter scandal with improvements in federal oversight of America’s food, so will the government and sports world at large demand that Major League Baseball right its ship.
These demands have already begun, and they will continue. Because, no matter what the product, it is always the consumers who hold the ultimate power. You can try to fool us, and sometimes you will. But in the end, our voices will be heard.
So go ahead, buy me some peanut butter (and Cracker Jacks). Because you do care if I ever come back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
