A STUNNED AND tired Wisconsin Senate Majority Leader Mike Ellis walks to the podium to make an announcement he did not think he would be making. The bill to finance a new stadium for the Brewers has just been defeated, 16–15. It’s the second failed vote—by the same margin—of this session, one that started 12 hours ago, on Thursday, October 5.
It is 12:38 a.m. on Friday, and it is now dawning on everyone in this chamber that there’s a very real chance the Senate will not approve this bill. Which could very well mean that, for the second time in the city’s history, Milwaukee could lose its baseball team. And this time for good.
The room turns to chaos as reporters rush into the hallway to get reactions before filing their reports, trying hard not to trip over the cables from the dozen television stations broadcasting live. Milwaukee Mayor John Norquist tells them the stadium plan is “dead.” Aides to Governor Tommy Thompson are predicting the Brewers will pack up and leave Wisconsin.
Bud Selig, his face flush with anger, brushes past reporters, refusing to talk. It’s a smart decision, given what Selig wants to say. Taking no chances, Selig’s public relations man Carl Mueller pulls Bud down the hallway and into the Assembly wing of the State Capitol.
“How the hell did we lose this vote?” Selig says when he’s out of earshot of reporters. “What the hell is Thompson doing now? He can’t get us one more damn vote?”
It wasn’t supposed to play out this way after the Assembly passed the stadium bill nine days ago. That was a hard-fought win, one that also went deep into the early morning hours. Selig and his daughter Wendy had literally gone door-to-door at the Capitol earlier that day, talking to each Assembly representative, lining up votes. It’s the kind of retail politics Bud does best, and in the end he secured approval for the $250 million domed stadium by a comfortable margin, 52–45. Even Ellis, the stadium’s fiercest opponent, conceded Selig would have smooth sailing in the Senate.
Now this.
Selig had hoped to ride a winning season into the stadium vote, but his team collapsed down the stretch, losing 25 of its last 32 games to finish far out of the wild-card race. The Yankees won 22 of their last 28 to grab the first-ever AL wild-card ticket to the postseason, and they’ve just won the first two games of the best-of-five playoff series against the Mariners.
But it’s the Indians who grab Selig’s attention. Flush with cash from record attendance at their two-year-old stadium—they’ve sold out every game since June 12—the Indians have a bevy of young stars, went 100–44 to run away with the AL Central, and hold a 2–0 lead on Boston in the American League Division Series, their first postseason appearance in 40 years.
Selig envisions a new stadium energizing his franchise in just the same way. But now all that is in doubt. Earlier in the week, Thompson and other stadium supporters were stunned to learn they were at least three votes short. Hank Aaron made an appearance to ask for support, and so did Robin Yount, but the Democrats remain staunchly opposed to raising taxes. They still want the ballpark built downtown. And Racine’s George Petak, who is managing the bill for the Republican majority, changed his vote to no when his district became the fifth to be hit with an increased sales tax to pay for the Brewers’ new home.
Assembly leader David Prosser tells Bud to use his office and says Ellis will call for a third vote soon. It’s almost 2 a.m. when word reaches Selig that the Republicans are working on an amendment to allow each of the five districts to hold a referendum on raising their sales tax. But that falls apart, too. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Selig says to his wife. But Sue preaches patience. “We can’t leave now,” she says.
Selig is pacing the hallways when he tells Carl Mueller he wants to see Norquist. Though the mayor has lobbied for the stadium, he’s always wanted it to be built downtown. As the hours slide by, Selig is beginning to think Norquist is working against him. By the time Norquist arrives, he’s sure of it.
“You’re the one who’s going to be held responsible for this!” Selig yells. “You killed baseball in Milwaukee!”
Norquist is shocked. Yes, the two men don’t care for each other. And yes, he wants the stadium built downtown. He’s pushed through a host of projects that have pumped new life into Wisconsin’s largest city. The ballpark could be the centerpiece, if only Selig would get on board.
But Selig has never changed his mind. And Norquist has worked hard to get this bill passed. It’s been a long day—and night—and Selig’s attack has a liberating effect on Norquist.
“You’re ripping the people off!” Norquist shouts back.
The two men continue trading verbal punches for several minutes before they’re pulled apart by aides worried the media will hear the angry exchange. Norquist storms off, leaving Selig to wait for news of his fate.
Ellis calls for a third vote at 4:56 a.m., and he has to concentrate to hear the votes being cast over the voices of TV reporters doing live reports from the chamber. It’s going to be tight again, but Petak has suddenly had a change of heart, and his yes vote swings the balance. The bill passes, 16–15.
When Selig gets the news, he walks quickly through the halls and into the Senate chamber, shakes Petak’s hand, and hugs several other Senators. There are tears in Selig’s eyes as he keeps repeating, “This is a great day, just a great day.”
Selig is soon talking to a throng of reporters. It’s been seven years since he started down this road. It was never a sure thing, no matter how obvious it was to him that a new stadium was the only way he could keep his team in Milwaukee. Thank God for George Petak.
“I had a different speech prepared about an hour ago,” Selig jokes as he finishes up. “You’ll never know how grateful I am I didn’t make that speech.”
There are going to be changes.
Big changes.
It’s the final game of the playoffs’ opening round, and one only has to watch George Steinbrenner squirming in his seat at Seattle’s Kingdome to know that change will soon be sweeping over his Yankees. Or listen to his angry words, as the men forced to sit in this suite with him—Gene Michael, Brian Cashman, David Sussman, and Reggie Jackson—have done for the past three days.
Manager Buck Showalter has been the focus of Steinbrenner’s anger, as he’s been for most of the season. Steinbrenner tortured his manager with near-daily second-guessing and threats about his contract, which runs out at the end of this month. Only on the final day of the season, when his team clinched the wild-card spot in Toronto—the Yankees’ first postseason berth in 14 years—did George relent.
“Buck has been simply brilliant at the end of the season,” a teary-eyed Steinbrenner said in the SkyDome locker room. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know firing Buck was never considered.”
Steinbrenner’s sudden affection aside, Showalter knows full well he is managing for his job against the Mariners. Things looked good when the Yankees won the first two games in New York. But Randy Johnson beat them when the series shifted to Seattle for Game 3, and they blew a 5–0 lead in Game 4 and lost 11–8. Now Game 5—and most likely Showalter’s job—seems to be slipping through his fingers.
Mariners manager Lou Piniella—a former Yankees player, GM, and manager—has been the club Steinbrenner has used to beat Showalter with for the last three games. He didn’t have much reason to use it tonight until Ken Griffey Jr. slams a monstrous home run off David Cone—the pitcher’s 124th pitch—with one out in the bottom of the 8th.
“Piniella’s fucking pulling Buck’s pants down,” Steinbrenner grumbles as he watches Griffey circle the bases after his fifth homer of the series. “This isn’t even close.”
The Yankees still lead 4–3, but Cone is clearly shaken by Griffey’s blast. He gets Edgar Martinez to ground out but loads the bases on a single and two walks. Piniella sends up Doug Strange, a .236 hitter, to pinch-hit for catcher Dan Wilson. Showalter stays riveted on the bench, choosing to go with Cone, who’s now thrown 142 pitches, over closer John Wetteland, who gave up a game-winning grand slam in Game 4.
Cone throws a strike, then three straight balls. A called strike brings the count full, but his next pitch is a splitter that bounces at Strange’s feet for ball four, forcing in the tying run. Cone all but falls over exhausted, Steinbrenner throws up his arms and curses, and Showalter finally makes a move.
In comes rookie Mariano Rivera, who’s been a revelation. Rivera gave up 11 home runs in 67 innings this season, had a 5.51 ERA, and is no one’s idea of a rising star. But he was brilliant in the 15-inning Game 2, keeping the Mariners scoreless over the last 3½ innings while striking out five for the win. He tossed another scoreless 1⅓ innings in Game 4.
And now Rivera strikes out Mike Blowers on three pitches, leading to the instant second-guessing of Showalter for not lifting Cone sooner.
Both managers go to their Game 3 starters to get out of jams in the 9th, and it’s soon clear they’re going to let Randy Johnson and Jack McDowell determine who advances and who goes home. Johnson cracks first, allowing a run on a walk and a single in the 11th to give the Yankees a 5–4 lead.
But McDowell gets in trouble immediately when Joey Cora and Griffey both single to put runners on the corners for Martinez. Seattle’s DH has 11 hits and eight RBI in this series, but Showalter stays with McDowell, again ignoring Wetteland, who throws up his arms in frustration. Steinbrenner sits in his cramped suite, arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched tight.
McDowell gets the first strike, but Martinez rockets the next pitch down the left-field line, and the race is on. Cora scores easily, and here comes Griffey, charging around second and third, cutting each bag in perfect stride. Yankees left fielder Gerald Williams fields the ball cleanly, but Griffey is a blur as he gallops the final 90 feet, sliding in well ahead of the relay throw. The Mariners pile on top of Griffey at home plate, fireworks explode inside the dome, and 57,411 fans go wild as the shell-shocked Yankees trudge off the field.
The celebration is still audible inside the somber Yankees clubhouse when Showalter orders the room cleared to address his team. It was a spectacular series, filled with terrific performances and dramatic moments that quieted the critics of baseball’s new playoff format. It’s a series many will credit with saving baseball in Seattle when the King County Council approves a new stadium 15 days later.
But it does little for Showalter’s job security or that of many of the 20 Yankees without a contract for next season. More than a few have tears in their eyes as Buck walks to the center of the room. “I want to thank you all for everything you did for me,” says Showalter, struggling to choke back tears of his own. “Who knows where we’ll be next year? But I want you to know how proud I am of everything we have done.”
Steinbrenner walks in and heads directly to Mattingly, who played brilliantly in the first postseason games of his career, hitting .417 with five extra-base hits and six RBI. The Boss and the Captain speak quietly for a few moments before Steinbrenner reaches over, puts his hand on the back of Mattingly’s neck, and squeezes gently.
It’s almost midnight when the Yankees board their plane for the long flight to New York. Once inside, the jet’s cabin grows as quiet as their Kingdome locker room. Cone and McDowell are sitting in the back, drained and pitching arms aching, when Mattingly walks down the aisle. He settles into the seat between the two pitchers and puts an arm around each of them.
“I just want to thank you for everything you did this season,” Mattingly tells them quietly. “We wouldn’t have reached the playoffs without everything you two did, and I wouldn’t have had this experience. This really meant a lot to me.”
The three men then sit in silence, wondering if this is the last time they will call each other teammates.
When things go wrong, Steinbrenner always feels the need to mete out punishment. The first to be summoned is general manager Gene Michael, who arrives in Tampa nine days after the Yankees’ loss in Seattle. Michael’s always had a special relationship with Steinbrenner, who values Stick’s judgment, respects his backbone—their shouting matches are legendary—and enjoys his company. But this team underachieved, damn it, and there’s a price to be paid.
Michael, the architect of a team that’s 41 games over .500 the past two years, earned $550,000 this season. He has an option for next season, with a raise to $600,000, but Steinbrenner tells Michael he’ll only bring him back as GM under one condition: “I’m cutting your salary to $400,000,” he says.
“George, I don’t deserve that and you know it,” Michael says.
“Well, I’m not going to pay you $600,000 just to fight with you all the time,” says Steinbrenner. He then makes Michael another offer.
“You should go back to scouting,” he says. “You won’t have to be in the office as much, I’ll pay you $150,000, and you can sit with me and second-guess everyone, too.”
It doesn’t take Michael long to agree. He, too, is tired of fighting, and truth be told, evaluating talent is what Michael loves, and freedom from the office—and George’s endless phone calls—is what he craves. On October 17, Stick agrees to a two-year deal for $300,000 as director of scouting and a seat at the decision-making table.
But before Michael can leave his current position, says Steinbrenner, there are two more things he has to do: One, find his replacement. Two, put together a list of candidates to replace Buck Showalter.
Michael’s not surprised Steinbrenner wants to ax Showalter. Steinbrenner has never felt comfortable with the tightly wound manager. And Michael’s heard George complain about all the credit Buck has received for turning the Yankees into a winning team. That’s never a good sign for anyone working for the Boss.
But Steinbrenner is also aware that Showalter is popular with the fans, and ditching him is going to require a bit of finesse. So Steinbrenner lets Showalter twist in the wind for 11 days—never once speaking with him—while he gauges the reaction to stories he’s planted about Buck’s possible departure. He also gets a little help from an October 12 episode of Seinfeld, when the back-to-the-camera Steinbrenner character blurts out to George Costanza that he’s firing Showalter as the comedy show’s credits roll.
He finally brings Showalter to Tampa on October 20, and the two men spend the next two days talking about what went right last season, what went wrong, and how to improve the team. Showalter asks for a three-year deal with a meaningful raise, and wants to know who the next GM will be before making any decision. Steinbrenner offers him a two-year deal for $1.05 million—a nice bump over the three-year, $1 million contract Buck just completed—and tells Showalter he’ll consider adding a third season.
But there’s a catch: Steinbrenner wants the freedom to dismiss any of Showalter’s coaches, at any time, without objection. And he doesn’t want to bring back hitting coach Rick Down. It’s a poison pill, designed to push Showalter into rejecting the deal. And George can see by Showalter’s struggle to remain calm that the ploy is working. “Think it over,” George tells him, “and let me know your decision.”
Meanwhile, Steinbrenner also wants to know who his next GM will be. “I know you won’t believe this,” Stick told him last week, “but no one wants the job.” What does Stick mean, no one wants the job? This is the Yankees! Michael told him that experienced execs like outgoing Tigers GM Bill Lajoie and top assistants like the Angels’ Mike Port said no without hesitation. Joe Torre was in last week and told Michael that all the headaches of dealing so closely with Steinbrenner aren’t worth the $400,000 the Yankees are offering.
But on October 22, Stick calls Steinbrenner with good news: he’s spoken with Houston’s Bob Watson, and the game’s only black GM is interested. George is intrigued. Watson, a two-time All-Star first baseman, played for the Yankees for two of his 19 seasons. He’s produced a winning team in his two years as GM in Houston—on a tight budget—and he knows baseball.
“Offer him the $400,000 you turned down for two years,” Steinbrenner says.
Michael and George’s son-in-law, general partner Joe Molloy, spend five hours on the phone the next day banging out a deal with Watson. Steinbrenner phones in late in the talks to add an important detail. “Bob, it’s time for me to take a step back,” Steinbrenner tells the 49-year-old Watson. “You and Joe Molloy will run this team. I will only be involved in the major decisions.”
Watson knows full well that Steinbrenner has burned through 15 general managers in 23 years. But Watson enjoyed his two seasons in New York. He was grateful in 1982, when Steinbrenner had three trades lined up for him and allowed Watson to choose where he wanted to go. (He chose Atlanta, so he could play under Joe Torre.)
And these are the Yankees. How can you turn down a chance to join the Yankees?
He tells Steinbrenner he wants the job, and that’s when George gives Watson his first assignment. “Give me a list of who you want as your manager,” Steinbrenner says. “Buck Showalter is not coming back.” There has been no announcement about Showalter’s future, so Watson asks how this will be handled. “I’ve had some conversations already, and Buck and I have a long-standing relationship,” Steinbrenner says. “Let me handle it.”
Watson is soon on a conference call with the media from his home in Houston, describing his new position as the most prestigious in baseball, and telling reporters he wouldn’t have taken this job if he didn’t think he could handle the pressure. Watson’s whirlwind day complete, the Yankees’ new GM gives Molloy his list of managers—with Torre’s name at the top—and flies to Cleveland for the World Series.
Steinbrenner checks in on Showalter a day later. We’ve named a general manager, the Yankees owner tells him—it’s time to make your decision. “I need more time, Mr. Steinbrenner,” Showalter says. “I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.” And when Showalter calls Steinbrenner the next day, the conversation focuses on Buck’s coaching staff. Showalter still wants to protect them all.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to that,” Steinbrenner tells him. “Some of them have to go, especially Rick Down.”
Showalter is not willing to sacrifice his hitting coach. Or any of his coaches. “I can’t agree to the contract as it is structured,” he tells Steinbrenner, who can almost hear the door of his trap snap shut. “Mr. Steinbrenner, I’m sorry, but I have to turn down this offer.”
“Well, if that’s the way you feel, I understand,” says George, and their 10-minute conversation is over. And so is Showalter’s 17-year career with the Yankees organization.
Baseball instituted a rule a while back mandating that no major announcements be made during the World Series. Steinbrenner already ignored the rule on Monday when he announced Bob Watson as his new GM. Now it’s only an hour before the Braves and Indians take the field for Game 5 in Cleveland when the Yankees release a statement:
Buck Showalter, last season’s AL Manager of the Year, has resigned as manager of the New York Yankees.
“We tried but were unable to dissuade Buck,” Steinbrenner says in the statement. “I have nothing but praise for Buck and the job he did for us, and I told him I am very upset by his leaving. I wish Buck and his fine little family nothing but the best.”
At first glance, baseball executives think the release they’ve been handed is a joke. Watson knows otherwise and remains silent. Showalter’s wife Angela hears the news from reporters, then calls her husband as he’s driving home from a round of golf. Showalter is incredulous when he returns reporters’ calls.
“I have never resigned a job in my life,” Showalter repeats to each reporter. “I thought all I’d done was reject the offer on the table.”
The war of words is still raging the next day—Steinbrenner insists Buck resigned; “Heavens, no,” Showalter tells reporters—when Watson flies into Tampa to sign his contract and meet the Boss. Steinbrenner welcomes him to the Yankees and once again tells Watson that he’ll be stepping back. “It will be you and Joe Molloy who will be running the team,” George repeats.
And now he wants to talk about the man who will replace Showalter. Watson and Gene Michael are pushing for Torre. The Boss has reservations about the manager who was fired by St. Louis in June, has an 894–1,003 career record, and not a single postseason win to his credit. Hell, despite making nine All-Star teams in his 18-year playing career, Torre’s never once played in the postseason.
“The guy’s a loser,” George tells Watson. “He hasn’t won a World Series.”
“No, he’s not a loser. A lot of people haven’t won a World Series,” Watson says. “I’ve played for him, I’ve coached for him, and if we put the right people around him, he’ll do a great job for the Yankees.”
“All right,” Steinbrenner says. “But if this doesn’t work, it’s on you.”
It’s only a matter of days before the 55-year-old Torre, comforted by having his friend Watson between him and George, agrees to a two-year contract that will pay him $500,000 the first season and $550,000 the second. Torre and Watson both meet the media on November 2 at Yankee Stadium, and their reception is less than warm. Steinbrenner is absent, and both men are grilled about working for a man who fires general managers and managers seemingly on a whim.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime situation,” Torre says. “When you walk into Yankee Stadium, you get goose bumps.”
“What about when you walk into Steinbrenner’s office?” he’s asked.
“When you get married, do you think you’re always going to have a great relationship?” says Torre, whose third wife is pregnant with the couple’s first child. “To have an opportunity to win is worth all the negative sides you want to talk about.”
Then it’s Watson’s turn. Yes, says Watson, he’s aware this is the 20th time Steinbrenner has changed managers. Yes, there were other managers on his list. But he’s convinced Torre is the right man. “I did not bring in any other candidates after speaking to Joe,” Watson says. “I really feel this is the right man to lead the Yankees.”
“When Bob called me, the realization of what the Yankees organization means hit me,” Torre tells the skeptical media. “I was in the office where the World Series trophy sits. That’s the missing piece in my career.”
What about working for a man who will often treat you as a child? another reporter asks. “We all have bosses,” Torre says. “I can’t be concerned until something happens I think isn’t right.”
Headline writers and columnists have a field day in the papers, especially the New York Daily News, which runs a picture of a smiling Torre under a big, bold headline: CLUELESS JOE. The subhead reads: TORRE HAS NO IDEA WHAT HE’S GETTING INTO.
“He thinks he knows, but he has not a clue,” columnist Ian O’Connor writes. “It is always a sad occasion when a man becomes a muppet.”
But Torre and Watson shrug off the media and get to work. Their first move is trading for defensive-minded catcher Joe Girardi. Wade Boggs re-signs for two years and $4.05 million on December 5. Two days later, the team replaces the retiring Don Mattingly with Tampa native Tino Martinez, who Steinbrenner personally signs to a five-year, $20 million extension after acquiring the 27-year-old power hitter in a five-player trade. Watson signs veteran infielder Mariano Duncan on December 11.
Steinbrenner signed Doc Gooden, another of his rehab projects, in mid-October, but the team still needs pitching. The Yankees and Cone are close to a deal when Steinbrenner, frustrated that his ace is taking so long to decide, tells Watson to reduce their offer. An angry Cone renews talks with Baltimore. Alarmed at the news, Steinbrenner calls the pitcher from a pay phone in a Tampa hospital, where he’s visiting a friend.
“David, there must have been miscommunication—our original offer stands,” Steinbrenner tells him. “I will also include a no-trade clause.
“And David, you have to understand that New York is where you belong. Mattingly is retired, and you are going to be Mr. Yankee. You’re a leader, and that is what this team needs. I want you to play for the Yankees for the rest of your career.”
The deal also includes two option years, which would keep Cone a Yankee through 2000. He agrees on the spot. Steinbrenner calls Watson soon after he finishes with Cone.
“Well, you got him,” Steinbrenner says.
“Got who?” Watson asks.
“You got Cone,” Steinbrenner says. “I gave him a no-trade clause, and he signed.”
“No, George—you got him,” says Watson, who’s beginning to understand that George will always be his own GM.
The Yankees trade for Tim Raines, then sign free agent left-hander Kenny Rogers to a four-year, $19.5 million deal before the year is out. The spending spree pushes the Yankees’ payroll well past the $39 million budget Steinbrenner gave Watson, prompting Bud Selig to complain to his friend that he’s once again out of control. Watson learns two more things about his new boss: the man ignores budgets, and he ignores the Acting Commissioner.
In the space of three months, Steinbrenner has opened his wallet and pulled together many of the ingredients that will soon turn his Yankees into the finest franchise in the game. “Oh, don’t worry about the money,” Steinbrenner tells his GM.
Especially when it is money well spent.