IN JUNE OF 1976, Oakland A’s owner Charles O. Finley sold off three stars—all on the same day—from the team that had won three consecutive World Series titles. He sent future Hall of Fame closer Rollie Fingers and All-Star outfielder Joe Rudi to the Red Sox for $1 million apiece, then sent 20-game winner Vida Blue to the Yankees for $1.5 million.
But Commissioner Bowie Kuhn stepped in and voided all three deals, invoking his “best interests of baseball” powers to stop Finley from dismantling the A’s franchise. Kuhn’s right to block the trades was later upheld by a federal judge.
In January of 1994, 16 months after ousting Fay Vincent, the owners gutted the “best interests” clause. It invested far too much power in one man, they explained. The Commissioner, after all, worked for them, not the other way around.
But now, just six years later, many of those same owners have had a change of heart. Today’s game, they say, needs an all-powerful Commissioner—as long as his name is Bud Selig.
That’s the big news coming out of the first owners meeting of 2000. And just to make sure everyone understands whose best interests they’re talking about, they approve a resolution that permits Selig to take from the rich and give to the poor. The Robin Hood measure not only allows the Commissioner to take steps to ensure competitive balance, it asks him to do it.
Equally unusual: these powers will disappear when the current Commissioner leaves office.
“I’m not sure people understand how significant this is,” Selig tells the media after the owners meeting at the Ritz-Carlton in Phoenix on January 19. So he explains. The new rule allows him to take the Yankees’ share of the national television contract and give it to teams he deems financially troubled. And if anyone complains, another resolution gives him the authority to fine a team $2 million and an executive $500,000.
“It’s an awesome responsibility,” Selig says. “There’s no question that the Commissioner’s powers are greater than they’ve ever been, going back to 1921.”
There is only one problem with Selig’s awesome new powers: they are meaningless.
Selig can no sooner change the game’s revenue sharing structure than he can order the Yankees to trade Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera. Any change in revenue sharing must be approved by the players union because it has a direct effect on wages. It was the owners themselves who said so when they claimed revenue sharing and wages were “inextricably linked” seven years ago—a decision reinforced by Federal Judge Sonia Sotomayor.
So even as Royals owner David Glass proclaims this “a great day for baseball,” the owners know it’s all Kabuki theater. They also know the reason for this performance: their contract with the players expires at the end of the coming season. The goal of this show of strength is equally clear: intimidate their players and sway the fans.
What many owners at the Phoenix meeting do not know is Paul Beeston and Rob Manfred are holding secret talks with the union. And they’re not going well. The union has already rejected the increase in revenue sharing that Selig has requested. And Don Fehr has also rejected Selig’s request to make the luxury tax permanent.
But there is some real news coming out of Phoenix. The owners unanimously approve the sale of the Indians to Larry Dolan for a record $323 million. Outgoing owner Dick Jacobs bought the Indians in 1986 for $35 million, realizing a nice $288 million gain. That’s not lost on newer owners like Peter Angelos, who could reasonably expect to double the $173 million he paid for the Orioles just seven years ago if he chose to sell.
The owners officially amend their charter, eliminating the league offices and putting their powers under the Commissioner. And Selig persuades every owner to pool his Internet rights, with each team kicking in $1 million a year for four years for what will be called Baseball Advanced Media, or BAM. Many of these men have little understanding of the Internet in 2000. But they do understand projections that the Internet asset will mean millions for each team down the road.
A reporter asks Selig if he’ll use his new powers to take the Yankees’ share of the Internet profits and split it among the small market teams.
“I’m not going to get into the specific things I can and cannot do,” Selig answers.
A wise choice.
Selig and Fehr do not agree on many things, but they do find common ground on what to do with the results of their joint study on Andro: nothing.
The study conducted by Joel S. Finkelstein and Benjamin Z. Leder of Massachusetts General Hospital found there was no change in testosterone levels—the key to building muscle—when test subjects took the recommended dose of 100 milligrams for seven days. However, subjects who were given a 300-milligram dose—an amount more likely to be taken by an athlete looking for a boost—did see a 34 percent increase in testosterone.
Andro’s capability to build muscle is why the NFL, NCAA, and the U.S. Olympic Committee have all banned its use. But the supplement, made from a naturally occurring hormone the body uses to make testosterone, is legal in the United States. Fehr, himself a member of the U.S. Olympic Committee, is adamantly opposed to banning a product any other American is free to buy. And this is one time Selig is not interested in arguing the point.
On February 8, the two men issue a joint statement.
“We are pleased to have played a role in the contribution to better science that this study represents,” Fehr says in the release. “The study suggests as a next step research into the possible relationship between the use of Androstenedione and athletic performance and we support those efforts, too.”
The Commissioner is equally happy. “While we are pleased to have played a part in the advancement of science, we are also concerned about the effects of Androstenedione use,” the statement quotes Selig as saying. “More research is needed and we support the efforts of Drs. Finkelstein and Leder.”
The message to the sport’s players could not be more clear: no one in charge is ready to power down the game of baseball just yet.
And when the 2000 season begins in April, it’s clear that fans won’t lack for their beloved long ball.
In the top of the 6th inning of a game on April 9, three Twins hit home runs over the course of four pitches from Royals pitchers. Two innings later the Royals hit three consecutive homers of their own. It’s the first time in history two teams have hit back-to-back-to-back home runs in the same game.
April is all about the record book. On April 7, major leaguers smash 57 home runs in a single day. They finish the week with 262 home runs and the month with 931. All three home run totals are the highest in baseball history. The torrid start puts baseball on pace for 6,232 home runs, which would shatter the existing record of 5,528—set last season.
The home run barrage continues into May, with players hitting two or more home runs in 63 games. One of three players to hit three in one game is 35-year-old shortstop Kevin Elster, who did not play at all last season. Elster entered the season with 74 home runs in his 12-year career, including 24 he hit for Texas in ’96.
Everyone has his own pet theory for the continued increase in homers. Smaller parks. Diluted pitching after two waves of expansion teams. Corked bats. And the notion that the ball is juiced attracts enough believers that Selig sends VP Sandy Alderson with former ballplayer turned Rawlings rep Ted Sizemore to the Rawlings plant in Costa Rica to make sure the baseballs are up to spec.
An Associated Press writer comes up with a novel theory. The increase, he says, is due to an aesthetic change in the baseball. The balls used by Major League Baseball now carry the navy blue signature of the game’s Commissioner instead of those of the deposed league presidents.
“I don’t think we can take credit for it,” Selig says, laughing.
But why all the fuss about home runs? “Clearly, the fans are not upset by the higher run totals,” Selig says in mid-May. In fact, the Commissioner predicts another attendance record thanks to the jump in homers. “The fans seem to be enjoying it. We will continue to monitor the situation, but tampering with things at this stage would be pure overreaction.
“I can assure you that I am not spending any sleepless nights worrying about it.”
The last time a team won three consecutive World Series titles, Yankees manager Joe Torre was a hard-hitting first baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals. He can still remember that 1974 season, when he marveled at the talent and focus of the Reggie-Catfish-Bando Oakland A’s, who trounced a 102-win Dodgers team to complete their three-peat.
How different the world was back then. The A’s won a best-of-five first-round series and then the World Series—seven victories in all—to earn their rings. Today, a team needs seven victories just to reach the World Series. In 1974, free agency—the bane of dynasties—was still two years away.
And while Charlie Finley was impetuous and mean-spirited, the A’s owner was but a minor inconvenience compared to Torre’s current boss, whose bluster masks his finely tuned ability to manipulate the media. And manipulating is what George Steinbrenner’s been doing just about every day this season since Torre’s team got off to a slow start in spring training.
Torre is dealing with George’s latest move on the afternoon of June 14 as he holds his pregame meeting with reporters in his Yankee Stadium office. It’s just 12 hours after his team suffered a 5–3 loss to the Red Sox, dropping them into a tie for first place with their archrivals. Many reporters standing in his office now were part of the media pack that tracked down George last night and asked the Boss what moves his two-time champions have to make to right the ship.
“Go talk to the manager and the general manager,” the Boss said. “We better do something, don’t you think?”
Torre hasn’t seen the day’s back pages yet, so he just stares straight ahead, his dark eyes set under his heavy brow, when several reporters relay Steinbrenner’s challenge. Geez, it’s not even the fucking end of June, and these guys are pressing George’s buttons on a daily basis.
It’s not as though Torre doesn’t have enough on his plate. The team learned just one week into the season that pitching coach Mel Stottlemyre has life-threatening bone marrow cancer. Chuck Knoblauch can’t seem to throw the ball to first base again, and David Cone, now 37, is 1–6 after 12 starts with a 6.49 ERA and might be through. Roger Clemens, today’s starter, still hasn’t found the form he showed in Toronto.
Steinbrenner also has a new favorite in recently hired Randy Levine, whose stated role is to grow the Yankees business and groom George’s sons to take over—though Hank and Hal still have shown little interest in running their father’s team. George has also made it clear to all that Levine is his eyes and ears in New York when the Boss is down in Tampa—which is most of the time—meaning Torre has one more person to worry about pleasing.
Then there’s Brian McNamee, who’s become a problem, just as Cashman feared. Cone jumped all over Mac the first day of spring training when he found Clemens’ trainer leading pitchers in calisthenics instead of strength coach Jeff Mangold. That began a split between the pitchers who followed McNamee—in large part because of his relationship with Roger—and those who remained with Mangold.
But the manager knows what the writers are doing today. “You guys have it so easy with George,” Torre says. “You go up to him, and you know you are going to get an answer, and you run with it.”
Baseball rules mandate that managers keep their clubhouses open until 45 minutes before game time. But when batting practice is over an hour and 15 minutes before Clemens’ first pitch against the Red Sox, the Yankees remain behind closed doors.
“Team meeting,” the security guard tells the writers, who stand and wait for the doors to open. But even when one player after another slips in and out and admits there is no meeting, the door remains closed. Torre thinks his team needs a break. The writers will conduct no pregame interviews today.
Nor will they see much of Clemens, who is removed after the 1st inning with a groin strain, the same injury that plagued him last season. Torre is noticeably relieved when Rivera shuts down Boston in the 9th to save a 2–1 win. But the relief is short-lived as Torre watches the White Sox batter Andy Pettitte and three relievers, 12–3, the very next night.
Worse, he has to pull Knoblauch in the 7th after three more throwing errors. The second baseman dresses and leaves the Stadium with the game still in progress. The loss is the first of 10 in the next 13 games, a tumble that drops the Yankees to 37–35 and second place on June 28, three games behind Toronto.
Steinbrenner’s response is predictable: an emergency meeting in Tampa, threats to every Yankees exec, and serious trade talks with the Cubs and Tigers. There’s also a daily “Sosa Watch,” even though Cashman considers Sammy a defensive liability and a hitter in decline.
Cashman deflects Steinbrenner until he can pull together a deal for the player the Yankees really need. The GM thinks the Indians’ David Justice is the perfect fit, and on June 29 the Yankees send left fielder Rickey Ledee and two minor leaguers to be named to Cleveland for the veteran power hitter. Torre is thrilled. He inserts the patient Justice at DH behind cleanup hitter Bernie Williams and watches his team take off. The Yankees win 9 of their next 13 games, take sole possession of first on July 16, and never look back.
The Justice deal is notable for one other reason: the outfielder’s $7 million salary pushes the Yankees’ payroll past the $100 million mark, a baseball first and more than the combined payrolls of Minnesota, Florida, Kansas City, and Pittsburgh. Torre knows this infuriates those who complain that the Yankees buy their championships. Well, let them spend a few days in his shoes and see what they think.
Besides, the battle over money is between the Boss and Bud. Torre’s job is to win ball games. And this year, that means the manager they once called Clueless Joe has a chance to win a third straight World Series and make baseball history.
The Blue Ribbon Panel report on baseball’s economics was supposed to be finished by the beginning of this year. But each time it reached the Commissioner’s desk, it was sent back with a simple message: the small market teams need more help.
The Brewers have a new general manager in Dean Taylor and a new manager in Davey Lopes—the game’s ninth black manager—but the results are strikingly familiar. By the end of June, the team is 15 games under .500 and 15 games behind first-place St. Louis.
Not surprisingly, interest in Milwaukee is fading, with the Brewers failing to draw at least 10,000 fans nine times before the All-Star break. The low point is on May 22, when a major league–low 3,913 fans come out on a dreary Monday afternoon for a rescheduled doubleheader against the equally bad Astros—despite heavily discounted tickets. The financial losses continue to mount as well, with the team’s debt now projected to reach $164 million by year’s end.
But not every low-budget team is struggling. In fact, by the time the owners gather at the Waldorf Astoria in New York on July 14 for the release of the Blue Ribbon Report, it’s Jerry Reinsdorf’s White Sox—whose $31.7 million payroll ranks 26th—who have the game’s best record at 55–33. Oakland, with the 24th-lowest payroll, has the third-best record in the AL, ahead of the Yankees and Blue Jays. And the Angels (18th) and Giants (17th) are both within striking distance in their divisions.
Even the Marlins, whose $20.3 million payroll is the game’s second lowest, are 46–43 and closer to the top of their division than the big-spending Orioles.
Yet when Selig and the four independent members of the Blue Ribbon Panel—George Mitchell, Paul Volcker, Richard Levin, and George Will—address the media gathered at the Waldorf, they seem convinced that the sky is falling.
“The 18-month study left absolutely no doubt that large and growing revenue and payroll disparities exist in Major League Baseball, causing chronic problems of competitive imbalance,” Mitchell says. “The economic data clearly substantiate the widespread notion that the problems have become much worse and seem likely to remain severe unless Major League Baseball undertakes remedial actions proportional to the problem.”
The Commissioner agrees. “We’ve never had a report like this,” Selig says. “I was struck when I read it for the first time at the power of it.”
It’s also a farce. The report is based on financials provided solely by MLB—no outside input was permitted. It analyzes only the five seasons following MLB’s costly decision to shut down the game, when big market teams with their deep pockets had a big advantage. And it assesses the success of the game’s revenue sharing system a year before the system is even fully implemented.
Mitchell, Volcker, Will, and Levin unquestioningly accept baseball’s assertion that only three teams—the Yankees, Indians, and Rockies—made a profit during the last five seasons. Even the Braves—who won their division in each season under review, opened a new stadium, and have their own television network—somehow managed to lose money. So did the Cubs, whose owners also have a superstation and play to a full house every game. Yet research done by Forbes indicates that both teams turned a profit—as did at least a dozen other franchises.
The four experts also accept MLB’s claim that it lost $1 billion during these five seasons. By contrast, the financial magazine estimates a $400 million profit. Selig brushes off the story as shoddy journalism.
The panel’s report offers several solutions to the problems they’ve uncovered, but only two really matter. One is a huge jump in revenue sharing—from the current 20 percent of local revenues to 50 percent. The other is a 50 percent luxury tax—renamed a “competitive balance” tax—on portions of payrolls above $84 million, a measure clearly targeted at the only team surpassing that threshold each of the past two seasons: the Yankees. Had the tax been in effect this year, it would’ve cost Steinbrenner at least $8 million.
Though the panel’s recommendations are overreactions, the 87-page report is revealing in several ways:
It’s the obvious blueprint for Selig’s bargaining position for the next labor contract, which all but ensures the union will exercise its option to extend the current contract through 2001 and sets the stage for another acrimonious negotiation.
It’s the first official recognition of “contraction,” sending a loud message to the players about the growth of wages and to any city that refuses to build a taxpayer-financed stadium: give us what we want or we may fold your team.
It’s a clear shot across the bow of the game’s two biggest spenders, Steinbrenner and Peter Angelos. Either agree to higher revenue sharing and lower payrolls or we will put teams in the New York–New Jersey and Washington–Northern Virginia markets.
And it serves as Mitchell’s debut as a staunch Selig ally. The highly respected former Senator has been renting out his credibility ever since leaving Congress in 1994. Among Mitchell’s clients: RJR Nabisco, Philip Morris, and the three other tobacco companies negotiating with the attorneys general of 40 states to reach a settlement after lying to Americans for decades about the dangers of cigarettes; the Chocolate Manufacturers Association, which needed the former Senator to lobby Congress after the industry was caught using child slave labor in Africa; and General Electric, which is trying to avoid paying to clean up the Hudson River after dumping poisonous waste into the famous waterway for years.
Mitchell is the voice presenting the Blue Ribbon Report. If baseball follows the report’s findings, the Senator says, it will rescue the game from financial ruin and give every team “hope and faith” of reaching the postseason. Some teams may have to relocate, he says, but the panel’s remedies will eliminate any need for contraction.
Selig knows the mention of contraction will grab the attention of Congress. That’s why baseball’s lobbyists at the influential Washington law firm BakerHostetler are currently putting the report in binders and delivering it to every member of Congress. Baseball will go on to spend almost $4.5 million lobbying Congress over the next four years, more than the NFL, NBA, and NHL combined.
One of the lobbyists is Lucy J. Calautti, wife of Senator Kent Conrad (D-ND) and former chief of staff for North Dakota’s Byron Dorgan, the ranking Democrat on the Senate commerce committee. Both politicians are keenly interested in the baseball team that plays in neighboring Minnesota, which is a prime candidate for contraction. It won’t be long before members of Congress are also talking about baseball’s “competitive balance problem.”
Don Fehr is dismissive when the media asks for his response. “We always get some report like this before a negotiation,” he says.
Steinbrenner, the only owner not present at the Waldorf, goes one step further: he refuses to answer media calls. The Yankees paid $22 million in revenue sharing last season and expect to pay another $25 million or more this season. The Blue Ribbon plan would more than double that bill—before the competitive balance tax. What the hell do reporters expect him to say?
Steinbrenner has other fights on his hands at the moment. While Selig is taking aim at his bank account, Cablevision’s Chuck Dolan is doing all he can to prevent YankeeNets from partnering with mega-talent-agency IMG to build a regional sports network around the Yankees and Nets. Cablevision’s owner insists the IMG deal violates the clause in his contract with the Yankees that allows him to match any offer for the team’s television rights. State Supreme Court Justice Barry Cozier soon rules in Cablevision’s favor.
Dolan continues to tell Steinbrenner his grand scheme to build a regional sports network will never work, especially since George keeps complaining to him about his YankeeNets partners. And George is listening to his old friend. Truth is, the differing philosophies and big egos on both sides of YankeeNets have clashed from the start. Even things as simple as the logo on the company stationery and who sits where on the team bus for the Yankees’ ticker-tape parades have been subjects of tense, high-level debates.
But it’s the decision to purchase the New Jersey Devils that creates a deep rift between Steinbrenner and Chambers, the two anchors of this partnership. Chambers wants the team as part of his plan to build a new sports arena in Newark, while Steinbrenner argues loudly that it’s a bad investment. When the deal closes on August 22, YankeeNets puts up only $40 million, with Chambers and Lewis Katz paying the balance of the $176 million purchase price. And there will be no cash calls made on YankeeNets, either. The terms grate on Chambers, giving Katz—a sworn George adversary—more ammunition to use against Steinbrenner.
Dolan steps on another Yankees-IMG deal in the fall, matching IMG’s $52 million offer for the team’s 2001 television rights. But the deal contains a clause that would end Cablevision’s right to match any offer, and Dolan heads back to court seeking to reinstate his advantage. This time Cozier tells both sides to work out their differences or he’ll hear the case in court come spring.
With freedom from Dolan within its grasp, YankeeNets hires star lawyer David Boies. The two sides come close to a joint venture, with YankeeNets buying half of Cablevision-owned Fox Sports New York in exchange for a long-term rights deal. But Dolan pulls out after a handshake deal, leaving many on the YankeeNets side thinking it was all a ploy to delay the search for investors and shake up Steinbrenner, who is already worried about meeting payroll if Boies wins YankeeNets its freedom.
No one else shares George’s concern—Chambers comes from the investment world and is confident they’ll have their pick of investors. And Boies lays down an edict: do not talk to anyone at Cablevision—especially Chuck Dolan—until this is settled. “They’re all very crafty guys,” Boies says.
The partnership is paying Boies, one of the country’s foremost litigators, $1,000 an hour for his work, so it would seem logical to follow the lawyer’s instructions. Thing is, George Steinbrenner has never been especially good at following orders, even from someone as smart as David Boies. He has Dolan on speed dial, and that can only mean trouble for the future of YankeeNets.
Joe Torre knows these are not the record-setting Yankees of 1998—or even the Yankees of last season—who fly out to Oakland the first week of October in their quest for a place in history. His earlier teams rolled over opponents in the regular season, then won all but three postseason games, going eight for eight in the World Series. This team has 87 wins, the fewest of any playoff team, including the youthful, low-budget A’s, who won 91 games and the AL West.
To be sure, any team with the Jeter-Rivera-Pettitte-Posada core is going to contend. But it was David Justice who made the difference between making the playoffs and going home early. The veteran supplied the power Cashman wanted without Sosa’s drama, hitting 16 home runs and driving in 49 to spark a 45–23 run. And Clemens was a different pitcher when he returned from the disabled list, going 9–0 with a 2.19 ERA during the streak that lifted the Yanks atop the AL East, nine games ahead of Boston.
Cashman also made several strategic moves, including picking up outfielder Glenallen Hill, who hit 10 home runs in his first 51 at bats, and Cincinnati’s All-Star pitcher Denny Neagle, who stabilized a rotation weakened by injuries. In all, the Yankees added $20 million in salary once the season started, more than the $17.5 million Twins owner Carl Pohlad is paying his entire team.
But this is still an aging team that has its share of holes in its $112 million roster. David Cone, whom the Boss brought back for $12 million on Cashman’s recommendation, pitched so poorly he was almost left off the postseason roster. Tino Martinez and Scott Brosius combined for only 32 home runs. Ten different players have played left field.
New York staggered into the postseason, dropping 13 of its last 18 games, many by wide margins. Fittingly, they were losing to the Orioles, 13–2, on September 29 when a Boston loss flashed on the Stadium scoreboard. The AL East title was theirs, but the Yankees hardly knew what to do with the Champagne in their clubhouse after their fifth straight loss.
Only three teams in the past 50 years had losing records in September and went on to win the World Series. The last: the A’s in 1974, when they completed their run of three straight titles. The Yankees will follow Oakland’s path, but it isn’t easy. Jason Giambi and the A’s push them to five games. They need six games to escape Alex Rodriguez and the Mariners. The World Series matchup with the Mets is every Yankee’s worst nightmare. Really, what player wants to be anywhere near the Boss if the team were to lose the title to the Mets?
For the fans and media, this five-game Series will be remembered for the Roger Clemens–Mike Piazza confrontation. In July, Clemens beaned Piazza while trying to brush him back, a play the media—and Piazza—hyped for weeks. Their rematch in Game 2 receives enormous attention, revving the always emotional Clemens well into his red zone.
Clemens opens with two strikeouts, and then the much-hyped Game 2 confrontation begins. Piazza swings at the Rocket’s second pitch and shatters his bat, sending a large, jagged piece bouncing toward the mound. Piazza jogs to first and an overamped Clemens grabs the broken bat and flings it toward the Yankees dugout. He misses Piazza by a foot, which empties both dugouts and touches off a heated debate about the Rocket’s intentions, his aim, and his sanity.
When order is restored, Clemens hurls eight shutout innings before leaving with a 6–0 lead. The Yankees survive a Mets rally for a 6–5 win and a 2–0 Series lead. The Mets climb back into the Series with a win in Game 3, but it’s Clemens v. Piazza that dominates conversation for days.
Yet for many Yankees, this October will be remembered for Cone’s final pitch as their teammate. It comes in the 5th inning of Game 4, with Neagle clinging to a 3–2 lead with two out and none on. In steps Piazza, who’d crushed a two-run homer in the 3rd. Out of the dugout pops Torre, signaling for Cone.
Torre has a special place in his heart for Cone, who’s patrolled Joe’s clubhouse from Day One. Coney’s a winner, too—until this season, when his fastball rarely broke 90 and he could no longer locate his breaking pitches. The result: 11 losses in the first 12 games and an ugly 4–14 season.
Still, Torre considered starting Cone in Game 4 at Shea. But Cone advised his manager he couldn’t go deep into a game anymore. “I can help you in relief,” he told Torre before the game. And now is his chance. “There’s two outs,” Torre tells him. “We need one more.”
Cone works Piazza to a 1–2 count. His next pitch is a fastball—“no better than 86, but just up and in enough,” he says—and Piazza pops up to second. Cone leaves the game when Torre pinch-hits for him in the top of the 6th.
“Thank you,” he tells Torre.
One game later, Rivera is again on the mound for the season’s final out, throwing up his arms in celebration of the Yankees’ 26th World Series title and the three-peat. The team joins Finley’s A’s, the 1949–53 Yankees (five straight), and the 1936–39 Yankees (four) as the only teams to win as many as three consecutive titles. This time these Yankees know exactly what to do with the Champagne waiting in their clubhouse.
An emotional Steinbrenner stands in a corner of the packed clubhouse moments later, dripping with the bubbly Jeter once again poured over his head. “This was a great one to win,” the 70-year-old owner says. “This team showed me as much heart as any team I’ve ever had.”
George chokes on the last few words, then his chin drops to his chest as he weeps. It’s a few moments before he looks up again. “We’ve been down a tough trail,” he says. “Okay?”
Steinbrenner’s more composed a few days later, when he picks up the phone and calls Rivera. The two men have grown close over the past few years, a relationship Rivera both treasures and keeps private. The star and the owner had made a wager before the season began. If the Yankees repeated, Steinbrenner would pay the airfare back to Panama for Rivera, his wife Clara, and their three young sons. If the team fell short, Rivera would buy George dinner anywhere the Boss wanted.
“Well, I’m ready to pay up,” says Steinbrenner when Rivera answers the call. Five first-class tickets arrive a day later. The Boss knows how much Clara hates to fly and hopes the extra expense makes the experience a little more bearable.
As for making things a little more bearable for Selig and baseball’s other owners? That’s another story entirely.