CHAPTER 6

BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE

8:45 P.M.

Cubs Lead, 1–0

Facing Kyle Hendricks on the mound, Cleveland’s Coco Crisp led off the bottom of the third with a double down the left-field line. Roberto Perez followed with a sacrifice bunt that advanced Crisp to third. On a 1-0 count, Carlos Santana stayed back on a curveball and laced a single to right field to easily score Crisp and tie the game.

The Indians appeared poised for a big inning when we muffed a potential inning-ending double-play ball. Jason Kipnis hit a ground ball to shortstop Addison Russell that caught the lip of the infield grass and dirt. But Addy fielded the ball cleanly and flipped it to Javier Baez at the bag. Javier tried to catch it barehanded with his right hand as he crossed the bag, but he dropped the ball. Santana was initially called out, but after an official’s review of the play, all runners were ruled safe.

Emotions are running so high and you are locked into every pitch. My heart was already racing, and now things looked like they were going to get a little hairy. Hendricks fell behind 2-0 to Francisco Lindor. Our pitching coach, Chris Bosio, made a mound visit as relievers Mike Montgomery and Carl Edwards Jr. started to throw in the bullpen. After Hendricks threw ball three to Lindor, the young left-handed hitter swung away and fouled the next pitch back for strike one. He flied out to left field on the next pitch for the second out. That brought up Mike Napoli, who worked the count to 1-2 but lined out to Kris Bryant at third base to end the threat.

I considered it the greatest of compliments when, following my retirement, some of my peers raised the notion that I might be a worthy candidate to manage a Major League Baseball team. I gained valuable experience from playing under some of the great managers, guys like Joe Maddon, Bobby Cox, Bruce Bochy, Terry Francona, and John Farrell, among others.

It’s true that my behavior on the bench as a player could be a bit manager-like at times. When I was on the bench, I was always trying to figure out a way to beat the other team. I’d think about what coaches and players on other teams I’d like to have on my team if I were the manager. I always observed the opposing team to see how they handled themselves and played the game. That was always fun to me.

During Cubs games, I sat behind the dugout rail between assistant hitting coach Eric Hinske and first base coach Brandon Hyde. When we were on defense, I picked their brains and talked strategies. Eric always stood in the stairwell toward the back of the dugout and I sat next to him on a stool. Anytime a situation came up in the game, I asked Eric, “What would you do right here?” or “Why would you do this?” He asked me the same questions, and we went back and forth like that over the entire course of the season.

Apart from the squatting, playing catcher was the best seat in the house as far as I was concerned. I also wanted to be in that seat to show my teammates I was invested in them and cared about how they played that day. I wanted to do everything I could to help us win.

My teammates knew they had to be on their toes around me. Professional baseball is not a real rah-rah game, like European soccer or even the NFL or NBA. But I was loud. I always tried to yell positive encouragement from the dugout—you know, some “attaboys!”—and cheer for the guys. I also always tried to make sure my teammates were doing the right thing. I didn’t want them messing up because I wanted to win. Physical errors are part of the game; everyone makes them, and I made my share during my fifteen years in the major leagues. But I wanted to make sure the guys didn’t repeat mental errors. Like where a player was supposed to be on this play or this count. What’s the situation? What are we trying to get done here? It was always “we.” Selfishness doesn’t work in baseball. There are times when players had to sacrifice themselves and give up an at-bat to advance a runner or to score a run. I think managers watched for the same things.

There was a time when major-league teams seemingly only hired a manager who had managed in the big leagues before. That is no longer the norm. For instance, from 2010 to 2013, fifteen new managers had no—or virtually no—previous big-league experience. My good friend and former Los Angeles Dodgers teammate Robin Ventura was among that group when he was hired by the Chicago White Sox in 2012. Another good friend, Dave Roberts, led the Los Angeles Dodgers to the National League Championship Series in his first season in 2016 after he served as the bench coach in San Diego for six years. (We beat Dave and the Dodgers in six games in the NLCS.)

Mike Matheny of the St. Louis Cardinals probably has enjoyed the most success as a first-time manager. I’ve always believed catchers make good managers because they are involved in every pitch and just about every aspect of the game. It’s the only position where you face the entire field, every play and decision is in front of you. A catcher who played thirteen years with four organizations, Mike coached Little League baseball after his playing career ended. The Cardinals hired him following the 2011 season and in 2015 he became the first manager in Major League Baseball history to lead his team to the playoffs in each of his first four seasons.

Joe Maddon’s career path was much different, and his advice to me if I really wanted to be a big-league manager was to get into the game first as a scout or as a manager at the minor-league level. Joe was a catcher in the minors, but he never made it higher than Class A. He worked in the Angels organization for thirty-one years and wore a number of different hats. He was a minor-league manager, a scout, a roving minor-league hitting instructor, and an assistant coach on the major-league team. His first chance to manage on the big-league level was with the Tampa Bay Rays from 2006 through 2014, winning the 2008 American League pennant, before he opted out of his contract and signed with the Cubs. Joe said scouting was probably the most important part of his background. That’s because he knows what a player looks like at a young age and he knows how to be patient.

Managing a Major League Baseball team is no walk in the park. You have to deal with big personalities, find the right match-ups, and maximize players’ talents.

I think Joe nailed it too on how we needed to handle our emotions after games. He wanted players to respect their teammates in wins and losses. We may have won a game but maybe one particular player had a bad day at the plate or made an error on the field, and didn’t feel good about himself. Maddon’s approach was give that guy thirty minutes to gather his thoughts. Then, by the time you got to the car or on the plane, it was “Let it go, let it go. We have tomorrow.” That might be easier said than done, but I thought players grew into that mindset. It worked for me, and I encouraged it. And as a veteran, to help set that example, I always reminded the guys, “Did you do your best? Let’s learn from our mistakes and move on.”

Joe often used the word authentic when he described me and the 2016 Cubs team. Joe believed that 95 percent or more of players and employees on our team were authentic. He also knew that I didn’t bullshit people. I was straight up with everyone. I was blunt and, at times, a sledgehammer. Joe told me that quality would benefit me if I were to become a manager. But he also always tried to impart on me that “honesty without compassion can equal cruelty at times.” He believed that if I became a manager I would need to lighten the message a bit on occasion. As a player, I could be as blunt as I wanted to be and players accepted it. But being a manager was different. He was blunt, but he wasn’t blunt in a manner that felt oppressive. If that happened, he felt he could start losing a player or have him so concerned about what Joe was thinking or saying to him that he couldn’t refocus on his game.

Of course, I didn’t always agree with Joe’s decisions as a manager, especially when he lifted me for a pinch hitter in games that I started. When I only got four at-bats a week or so as a backup, I wanted every single one! (Unless it was some nasty closer throwing gas; then someone else could have it.)

In Game Five of the World Series at Wrigley Field, I was frustrated about being lifted for a pinch hitter (Miguel Montero) in the bottom of the sixth inning. Jon Lester started for us on the mound and went six innings, and Joe had decided to go to the bullpen for the seventh (Carl Edwards Jr. got one out in the seventh, and Aroldis Chapman threw the final two and two-thirds innings in the 3–2 victory that sent the Series back to Cleveland). I had a couple of good at-bats and knocked in our third run with a sacrifice fly in the three-run fourth inning to erase a 1–0 deficit. Joe knew I wasn’t happy but I wasn’t going to be negative about it either. Still, later that night on the charter flight to Cleveland, Joe fired me a text that read, “Hey brother… my screw up… didn’t process everything.… I am sorry.” It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to me.

Probably the toughest conversation I ever had with Joe during my two seasons with the Cubs happened in 2015. It only was the eleventh game of the season—and my eleventh game with the Cubs—and we played an afternoon game at Wrigley against the San Diego Padres. Jon Lester had started the game and was lifted with one out in the top of the sixth. I was scheduled to lead off the bottom of the sixth—we trailed 3–2 at the time—and Joe lifted me for a pinch hitter who was a young prospect. I had walked my previous two times at the plate and thought I saw the ball pretty well.The pinch hitter struck out and we eventually lost the game 5–2. I was ticked about being lifted and really didn’t understand the move. It wasn’t anything against the pinch hitter but I didn’t think hitting him gave us the best chance to win. I wouldn’t have minded if it had been Miggy Montero or somebody else, but the prospect had been struggling, batting .077 in eleven games.

Joe sensed I was upset so he called me into his office after the game. He said, “Let’s talk, you good?” I said, “Yeah, I’m good.” Of course, Joe knew I wasn’t. He wanted to talk and he wanted the conversation to be open and candid, man to man. That was nice to hear, especially since some of my manager talks in the past had not gone well for me. I told Joe I didn’t understand his move to have the young prospect hit for me. I said, “I’m watching the same game you are and he’s not having good at-bats. He’s been lost at the plate his last few at-bats and I didn’t think he gave us a better chance to win.” Joe answered and said he wanted to get him some at-bats. Before Joe could get out another word, I stopped him. “Whoa. Okay, I’m talking to the wrong guy then,” I said. “If we’re here to get guys at-bats, I’m in the wrong place. I signed with the wrong team, and I need to go talk to Theo [Epstein] and get out of here.”

I told Joe that my response wasn’t anything against him. But I wanted him to know if the plan in place was to get guys at-bats, then I was in the wrong place. I wasn’t here for that; I came to win. I was grateful Joe allowed me to speak openly. I was a little nervous when I left his office. But I didn’t need to be. Joe’s plan all along had probably been to simply let me get it off of my chest and say my piece. That’s why he’s so great; he doesn’t let things stew.

When I came up early in my career, it always seemed there was a separation between the coaches and the front office and the players. The best organizations I played for, like the Cubs, were places where everybody worked together and depended on one another. In those organizations, the coaches and front offices would ask for honest feedback from the players. There was a give-and-take, and it felt like everyone was on the same page, all working toward the common goal of winning. When everyone communicates, everyone is on the same page and pulling together. There were some organizations that were secretive, but Chicago wasn’t one of them.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

3/16/16

Busy week, family in town. Had Cole and my Dad at the field with me the last few days. Cole is getting much better. I am much happier with them here, feel complete. Think I like hanging with Hyla the most. Miss our time to catch up. She truly is my best friend. Got to hang with Brett Eldredge and his brother Brice for a few days. They came over to Lester’s and sang while we played guitar. Was one of the best nights yet. Baseball is going well. Guys are starting to play together more now that they are making cuts. We have a lot of talent at all levels. Very impressive. Think guys are starting to get excited about the season. I know I am. Pitchers are starting to get stretched out and hit. I have been playing much better this week. Arm feeling much better and feel good at the plate. Got a birthday coming up Saturday. Will be 39! Hadn’t thought about it until we went to dinner for Caitlyn Motte’s birthday last night.

I can’t talk about managers without saying a few more words about Bobby Cox, the Hall of Fame coach who happens to be one of the nicest human beings I have ever met. Bobby was so positive and really cared about the players and everyone within the Atlanta Braves organization. Now, don’t get me wrong, he was really competitive, too. There’s a reason why he is ranked fourth all-time on baseball’s managerial win list with 2,504, behind Connie Mack (3,731), John McGraw (2,763), and Tony La Russa (2,728). I can still remember a game with the Braves when we were getting blown out—I think it was against Philadelphia, with Roy Halladay on the mound. We were down big early and it only got worse. It was one of those games where you try to play it out and “Hey, let’s go get ’em tomorrow.” After the last out of the game was made, Bobby was down at the end of the dugout with the lineup card in his hand. As he walked down the steps into the locker room, he dropped an F-bomb and threw his lineup card to the ground. I was like, “What the hell?” I had been checked out of the game mentally by the third inning. But Bobby’s reaction showed me how much confidence he had in the team and that he managed until the last out, no matter what the scoreboard read. No matter what the scoreboard said, Bobby always looked and thought that somehow, someway we would find a way to come back and win that game.

In Chicago, we had hitters’ meetings and a pitchers’ meeting separately where we went over individual scouting reports. In Atlanta, meetings before games were held in the locker room and all the players attended. Coaches would go over how we intended to pitch to this guy or how we intended to play that guy. Both the pitching coach and the hitting coach would usually talk. Bobby always started each meeting with a short message, where he’d say something like, “Hey, guys, you are playing really good, keep it up,” or “Hey, I know we’re going through a rough stretch but I see you guys are playing hard and I really appreciate it. Keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll come out of this.” It was a quick message, but it was always a confidence builder. If we were struggling at that time, we knew from his message that he wasn’t down on us and believed in us.

Bobby wasn’t ever-present. He would hole up in his office, out of your way, or hunker in the tunnel smoking a cigar right before the game. But when he talked, it was purposeful—and he always had something positive to say. That was his manner, his personality. Bobby might have seen me in the food room and said, “Hey, Rossy, way to go.” As a player, you might think, What did I do? I didn’t get a hit last night. But I appreciated that the Skipper was fired up for me. It was a simple but effective way in which he changed your mindset.

I remembered one game where I went 0-for-4 with three punch-outs and didn’t even sniff the pitcher. Bobby stood on that dugout perch during games and he’d pat players on the shoulder or say something quick. I was down about my at-bat as I walked by Bobby, who said, “Man, Rossy, that guy is nasty today.” Bobby had a way to send a positive message even under negative circumstances, and that really stood out to me. Once, when we were in the middle of an eleven-game losing streak, I remember Bobby saying, “Guys, I know we are going through a rough stretch but we have twenty-three, twenty-four guys playing hard and we need all twenty-five. And if we can’t have all twenty-five, there’s plenty of guys in the minor leagues that will want to come up here.”

It was Bobby’s polite way of telling us to get it together. Even when you’re losing, that doesn’t mean you stop playing hard. We should never lose focus of what we are doing. Bobby always told us that when we hit that clubhouse door, whatever happened that morning or that afternoon or the night before was all history. He wanted players to walk into that clubhouse with a smile—and to be ready to go to work.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

3/23/16

WOW!!! What a busy time with my family! We did so much. Top golf, movie, hiking, lots of pool time, great team parties, and a few nights out with mamma! This has been the best spring of my life. Doing more than ever before and feels great. Joe really looks out for his players. Probably why his teams always play well late in the year. Think the kids had a great trip, feel bad for Hyla going home with two kids and a newborn. All that being said, it feels like everyone is starting to dial it up a bit. Camp’s getting smaller and drills are running smooth. Our lineup looks really nice. Jeff Passan wrote a nice “Grandpa Rossy” article. Going to Lakers game tonight with Dex!

Bobby Cox never considered me a backup during my two seasons with him even though I was signed to back up Brian McCann. Bobby looked at me as an everyday guy. He liked the way I caught, managed pitchers, and managed the game. I rediscovered my power stroke in Atlanta. Bobby hadn’t heard about the rumor that had started in Cincinnati about me being a bad teammate. But it was under Bobby and in Atlanta that I really hit the turning point in my career. You know, you have to ask yourself, Do I want to go home or do I want to embrace what is happening to me? I checked my ego at the door every day and asked myself what I could do to help this team win. Under Bobby and the Braves, I understood I had value. But, even more important, I also watched how Bobby managed the game and managed people. He was a huge influence for me, just watching how he communicated with everyone. Bobby knew everyone’s name. That really made an impression on me and it’s where I started to take the same approach of making sure I introduced myself and said hello to everyone within the organization.

Bobby knew everyone, down to the ushers and the guys who were cleaning the seats. From the top of the organization all the way down to the bottom, Bobby treated everyone equally. And he always had a nice word to say to everyone. During games, some managers always seemed to have their minds made up. But I felt like Bobby and Joe did a great job of watching the game. They let the game dictate what they wanted to do. If you watch the game intently, a lot of times it makes the decision for you.