A LANKY SIX FOOT SEVEN, with a clean-shaven head and piercing brown eyes, Jeff Novitzky is hard to miss—unless the Internal Revenue Service special agent is rummaging through a Dumpster in the dead of night, which Novitzky has been doing just about every week since August of 2002. Each time, he meticulously sorts through plastic bags, vials, and torn packages inside the garbage bin behind the Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative—Balco—a nutritional supplement company in an industrial park hard by the San Francisco airport. When he spies anything of interest, he carefully places it in a bag of his own. When done, he climbs back out and drives home to make sense of it all.
The early findings of his “Dumpster diving”—his information-gathering specialty—were intriguing enough to convince Novitzky’s superiors to pursue what appeared to be a small hub for steroid distribution. IRS agents are often key to drug investigations, using their knowledge of the financial system to crack open cases when dealers attempt to launder their drug money. Steroids, though, have rarely made the cut among law enforcement agencies working to stem the decades-long surge of heroin, cocaine, and crystal meth trafficking.
But Novitzky’s case has special appeal. Many of Balco’s clients are high-profile athletes, mostly track-and-field stars who run under the banner of the company’s flagship product, ZMA. Others play for the baseball team 20 miles up the road in San Francisco, including the athlete whose trainer’s SUV—license plate W8 GURU—is often found parked at Balco. Novitzky isn’t the only one who suspects that Barry Bonds owes his late-career power surge to steroids, but he’s the only one who has a handful of narcotics agents working with him to prove it.
Novitzky has followed Bonds just about his entire life. The two grew up about seven miles apart, Novitzky the son of a high school basketball coach in blue-collar Burlingame, Bonds the son of a star baseball player who lived up the San Francisco peninsula in upscale San Carlos. It was clear early on that Bonds, four years Novitzky’s senior, was destined for greatness, starring in baseball, football, and basketball. Bonds also earned a widespread reputation as a boastful player who often taunted his opponents.
Novitzky starred in basketball and track at Mills High School, clearing seven feet in the high jump and graduating in 1986, the same year Bonds broke in with the Pittsburgh Pirates and led all NL rookies with 16 home runs and 36 stolen bases. Novitzky tried and failed to make Lute Olson’s University of Arizona basketball team, then came home to play backup forward and teammate to his big brother at San Jose State. He graduated with an accounting degree, took a job with the IRS’ criminal division in San Jose, and settled into a quiet, comfortable life with his wife and three daughters.
At 31, he was a special agent—top salary $145,000—earning a reputation as someone who paid attention to detail and knew how to close a case. And he continued to follow Bonds, who joined the Giants in 1993 and by decade’s end was being mentioned as one of baseball’s all-time greats.
By then, Novitzky was hearing whispers in local coaching circles that Balco owner Victor Conte was dealing performance-enhancing drugs to elite athletes. The agent grew curious when a bulked-up Bonds, the biggest of Conte’s ZMA endorsers, hit 34 home runs despite missing 60 games with an elbow injury in 1999. In 2000, Novitzky joined the Burlingame gym Bonds used, located right around the corner from Balco, where he observed the 35-year-old star working out with Greg Anderson. When Bonds hit a career-high 49 home runs that season, Novitzky strongly suspected the player was using steroids. When Bonds hit a record 73 a year later, he was all but sure.
And now, after a year of collecting evidence, Novitzky has a warrant to search the company he suspects is supplying Bonds and other elite athletes with steroids. At 12:20 p.m. on September 3, Novitzky arrives at Balco with 24 agents from the IRS, the FDA, and the San Mateo County narcotics squad. A dozen agents wearing protective vests, their 9mm handguns drawn, follow him inside, where Novitzky tells Conte and the two others who work there—Jim and Joyce Valente—that he has a warrant to search the premises.
Five hours later, Novitzky has boxes of vials containing performance-enhancing drugs, including one Conte calls the Clear—a liquid with anabolic properties—and another he calls the Cream, a balm containing testosterone. Both engineered to be undetectable by baseball’s new drug testing program. Novitzky also leaves with several boxes of documents, including medical records for a handful of professional athletes.
Next stop: Greg Anderson’s condo, where Novitzky and two agents find vials and containers of steroids and human growth hormone and more than 100 syringes. The agents also seize $63,920 from a safe and a drawer in Anderson’s kitchen, some of the cash in envelopes with the first names of known athletes written on them.
Of particular interest are documents that appeared to be calendars, listing dates and names of steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs. Several are labeled JASON GIAMBI. Others carry the initials B.B.
The quiet life of Jeff Novitzky is over. The troubles for Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, and Major League Baseball have just begun.
The Yankees hold off one last Red Sox run in early September, clinch their sixth straight AL East title on September 23, and finish 101–61, tied with Atlanta for the game’s best record. By all measures, it is a truly successful season. Jeter hits .324, just missing his first batting title. Leadoff hitter Alfonso Soriano steals 35 bases, belts 38 home runs, and drives in 91. And catcher Jorge Posada hits 30 homers with 101 RBI and will finish third to Alex Rodriguez in MVP voting.
Andy Pettitte wins 21 games, Mike Mussina and Clemens both win 17, and Jose Contreras looks like a future ace after replacing Jeff Weaver in the rotation in late August. Mariano Rivera collects 40 saves, and his 1.66 ERA is a career best.
Despite spending the entire summer in first place, there is little joy for the Yankees. George Steinbrenner’s season-long rants—second-guessing Joe Torre and demeaning his coaches, questioning the heart of his players and berating Brian Cashman—have drained the spirit if not the life from this team. “It hasn’t been fun,” a weary Torre admits.
Steinbrenner is still cracking the whip as the postseason begins, but there are two subjects that remain off-limits. The Boss is silent about his bitter dissatisfaction with his YankeeNets partners (who are equally dissatisfied with him). The truth is, he was never comfortable giving up half the Yankees—despite retaining control and getting the big payday and half the Nets in return—and divorce papers will be drawn up before the year is out.
More immediately, he remains quiet about Giambi’s relationship with Balco, which grows more troubling by the day. Like every owner in baseball, Steinbrenner has been advised by MLB not to comment, so he’s handed the problem to team President Randy Levine.
And it’s Levine who gets the call when federal agents appear at the Stadium a few hours before the Yankees and Twins take the field for Game 1 of the ALDS. They’re there to serve Giambi with a subpoena to appear before the grand jury looking into the Balco case in San Francisco. It’s a clear attempt to attract publicity, but Levine finds a friendly ear at the Justice Department, where he worked during the Reagan administration, and the agents are turned away. Giambi will be served a day later at his Manhattan apartment.
Steinbrenner is more concerned with what happens on the field that day, and he is immediately disappointed. The Boss fumes as Bernie Williams misplays a ball in center field, Soriano throws the ball away at second, and Giambi—who struck out a career-high 140 times this season—strikes out twice more in a dreadful 3–1 loss. “I am not a good loser,” Steinbrenner says, “and I am upset.”
When the Twins pull even with the Yankees in the 5th inning of Game 2, the Boss unleashes a stream of invective at Cashman, and the general manager replies in kind. Things quickly escalate, and the shouting reaches its zenith when Steinbrenner throws down a challenge.
“You want out, fine!” he yells. “You can go take a job with the Mets if you think that will make you happy.”
Word of the confrontation reaches reporters soon after the Yankees beat the Twins, 4–1. And when Steinbrenner hears them buzzing about Cashman and the open general manager’s job across town, he sends out Levine to control the damage and let everyone know the Mets do not have permission to speak with his GM. “On behalf of the Yankees and George Steinbrenner, no permission was granted,” Levine says. “Brian Cashman is our GM.”
The Yankees sweep the next two games to dispose of the Twins, but Steinbrenner goes after Cashman again after the Yankees drop Game 1 of the ALCS against Boston, 5–2. Still steamed hours after David Ortiz hit a two-run homer—his seventh against the Yankees this season—George confronts his GM. “I told you we should have signed Ortiz!” he says. “Why didn’t you listen?” This time Cashman, who’s heard the Ortiz line many times before, walks away bemused.
The rest of the ALCS is a tense, taut affair that goes the distance, punctuated by a brawl in Game 3, superb pitching, and clutch hitting. It’s the series that announces Boston as New York’s equal, and the final game is a classic, its outcome determined by a pivotal mistake and an unlikely hero.
Five outs from the World Series, with a 5–3 lead before an anxious Yankee Stadium crowd, Red Sox manager Grady Little decides to let tiring ace Pedro Martinez close out the 8th. It’s a decision that would cost Little his job. Martinez, who’s already thrown 115 pitches, promptly gives up consecutive doubles to Matsui and Posada, the second tying the game.
Rivera and knuckleballer Tim Wakefield match scoreless innings to keep the game tied. At 16 minutes past midnight, Yankees third baseman Aaron Boone steps into the batter’s box to open the bottom of the 11th. The Fox announcers are still bantering when Boone swings at Wakefield’s first offering and connects. The ball sails through the crisp October night and smacks off the facade of the left-field mezzanine, sending the Yankees to their 39th World Series and whipping the Stadium into a frenzied celebration.
The wild-card Marlins are the Yankees’ unlikely opponents in a World Series that feels like a letdown. Not to Steinbrenner, though—not when it’s the big stage, and certainly not against a team in his adopted home state.
But little goes as planned. The teams split the first two games in New York, and it’s clear the veteran Yankees are having trouble handling the Marlins’ aggressive brand of baseball. Once in Miami, there is little to celebrate. Steinbrenner comes down with the flu and rarely leaves his rented yacht. Worse, news that Giambi and Barry Bonds will appear before the Balco grand jury finally breaks, and it dominates the off-day run-up to Game 3.
“To be honest with you, I don’t know what this is about,” says Giambi, who does know that he stopped taking Balco’s steroids after the All-Star Game out of concern they were wrecking his knee. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The Commissioner jumps to Giambi’s defense. “The people have not been charged with anything,” says Selig. “We’ve got to be careful. It’s unfair to jump to any conclusions about Barry Bonds and Jason Giambi.”
Mussina pitches brilliantly to win Game 3, but the Yankees lose Game 4 when Weaver gives up a home run to Alex Gonzalez leading off the 12th. Giambi asks out of Game 5 with his bum knee, David Wells can’t make it past the 1st inning, and Steinbrenner’s team falls, 6–4, forcing a return to New York with no margin for error.
Steinbrenner is in better health but terrible spirits when he arrives at Yankee Stadium for Game 6. Will your team show up tonight? reporters shout as George strides toward the owner’s gate. “Well, we better,” he says. Pettitte is terrific, allowing just two runs on six hits in seven innings before yielding to Rivera. But the Marlins’ Josh Beckett is even better, scattering five hits while shutting down the Yankees.
The Marlins big right-hander is so dominating that with one out in the 8th and his team down, 2–0, Steinbrenner decides the game is over and seeks out his general manager. “Meeting in Tampa Monday,” Steinbrenner says. “And it’s not going to be pleasant.”
Beckett ends the 8th with a double play, then retires New York in order in the 9th, and it’s the Marlins who celebrate as another Yankees season ends without a championship. An hour and a half later, Marlins owner Jeff Loria runs an ecstatic lap around the bases while outside the Stadium reporters swarm Steinbrenner as he bolts to his limo.
“Will Joe Torre be back next year?” several reporters yell.
“I’ve said many times, yes,” barks Steinbrenner.
“What about Cashman?”
“I’m very satisfied with Joe,” repeats the Boss as he ducks into the limo and drives off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
The entire Yankees front office contingent flies down to Tampa early Monday afternoon, and this time Joe Torre is included. Swindal, growing more comfortable in the role of George’s unflappable adviser, convinces the Boss that the manager’s input is valuable, so there is Torre at Steinbrenner’s regular table at Malio’s on Tuesday night, and he’s ready to speak his mind.
“I will not endure another season like this one,” Torre says. He understands who’s in charge, he tells the Boss, but the second-guessing has to stop. “I don’t want to be here just because I have a contract,” says Torre, who has one year left on his three-year, $15.2 million deal. “It’s important that ownership trusts me.”
Steinbrenner nods and says he understands. But it’s soon apparent that he just can’t make this big of a change. Steinbrenner is in the lobby of the Yankees complex the next morning when a low-level staffer walks in at 9:02 a.m. George fires him on the spot for being two minutes late. After all-day meetings to map offseason strategy, George is persuaded to rehire the young staffer.
Not all George’s impulsive mistakes will be so easily fixed.