TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/081390/0813260.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 7.7 KB | 166 lines

                                                                                SPORT, Page 62

The Artful Pick-Off


How Commissioner Vincent rid the Yankees of their hated boss

By WALTER SHAPIRO -- With reporting by Kathleen Brady/New York


    You can measure a baseball fan by his boyhood heroes. On the
wall behind Fay Vincent's desk is the original artwork from
Whitey Ford's 1953 Topps baseball card, a talisman of the
bygone era when the New York Yankees symbolized success,
stability and smug superiority. If Joe DiMaggio personified
grace, and Mickey Mantle represented God-given talent, then
Ford, the gritty little lefty ace of the pitching staff, was
guile elevated to Hall of Fame standards. This quality is not
lost on the baseball commissioner, who says with reverence, "He
had the greatest pick-off move to first."

    The image is worth savoring. A pick-off can be a thing of
beauty: the pitcher leans in toward home plate, spies the base
runner overreaching himself, then suddenly wheels and fires to
first to nab him by half a step. Artful misdirection plus exact
timing equals a dramatic out; Vincent understands that baseball
equation. For never in the game's history has there been a
pick-off move as adroit and emotionally satisfying as the one
the commissioner executed last week when he threw George
Steinbrenner out as the principal owner of the Yankees.

    July 30, V-S Day (Victory over Steinbrenner), may become a
patriotic holiday in New York City and wherever the proud
traditions of baseball are honored. That evening, the
commissioner announced the glorious news: "Mr. Steinbrenner
will have no further involvement in the management of the New
York Yankees." At Yankee Stadium, where the last-place club
that Steinbrenner has assembled (a Mercenaries Row of no-talent
free agents, high-priced castoffs and rookies) was playing the
Detroit Tigers, the crowd rose in a standing ovation when the
news spread that the familiar chant "the Boss must go" would
actually become reality.

    For most fans the formal rationale for the commissioner's
decision was as irrelevant as the details of the government's
tax case against Al Capone. What mattered was that
Steinbrenner's 17-season reign of terror was finally over, and
the Yankees were liberated from the egomaniacal whirl of
managerial musical chairs, maladroit trades and the public
castigation of star players and pitching coaches alike.

    The commissioner, of course, must play within the white
lines, balancing his freedom to act in the "best interests" of
baseball with constraints on his power to deprive an owner of
his property rights over a $200 million franchise like the
Yankees. Steinbrenner's transgression was giving $40,000 to
admitted gambler Howie Spira. The money was almost certainly
payment for Spira to delve for dirt on Dave Winfield (now with
the California Angels), whom the Boss publicly plotted against
from the moment he signed the star rightfielder to a 10-year
contract in 1980. If this sounds confusing, take comfort that
the commissioner saw in Steinbrenner "a pattern of behavior
that borders on the bizarre." But the Yankee owner's payoff to
a gambler, with its echoes of Pete Rose's bookie season, gave
Vincent the disciplinary leverage he needed.

    "My feeling was that having him permanently removed from the
management of the Yankees would be a very good result," Vincent
explained afterward in his understated, lawyerly fashion. "And
the only way to get it was to propose it. I couldn't make that
part of the sanction because I can't order him to become a
limited partner." Instead the commissioner devised his pick-off
play, designed to snare Steinbrenner into voluntarily giving
up his majority (55%) control of the Yankees.

    When Steinbrenner arrived at Vincent's office last Monday,
he was presented with the draft of an order suspending him for
two years. As expected, Steinbrenner's lawyers protested. At
that moment Vincent unveiled his counteroffer, scribbling the
terms on a yellow legal pad that should be enshrined under
glass in Cooperstown. The agreement called for Steinbrenner to
acknowledge wrongdoing, become a minority owner, forgo any
possible litigation and agree to a lifetime ban on even
discussing the Yankees with the new managing partner.

    Why did Steinbrenner, 60, choose perpetual exile into
irrelevance over a two-year sentence? The commissioner guesses
that Steinbrenner believed the fig leaf of continuing as a
silent partner in the Yankees would allow him to hang on to his
other sports post as a vice president of the U.S. Olympic
Committee. But that is a dubious proposition, since there are
already loud rumbles within the Olympic Committee that
Steinbrenner will be pressured to resign. Deciphering
Steinbrenner's motivations has never been easy, since there is
always a peculiar disconnection between his words and his
deeds. But last week he was uncharacteristically inaccessible;
a press release, which might charitably be described as
disinformation, made it seem as though baseball had given him
a gold watch and a retirement party. "For some years now I have
been preparing to turn over the operation of the Yankees to my
sons and sons-in-law," read Steinbrenner's statement. "My son
Hank, subject to league approvals, will become general partner
at this time."

    Hank Steinbrenner, 33, has been running his father's
horse-breeding farm in Florida and moonlighting as a high
school soccer coach. His baseball experience consists of a
limited apprenticeship, not entirely remembered fondly. Dave
Righetti recalls that in mid-season 1986, the year he set a
record with 46 saves, Hank Steinbrenner proposed that the
Yankees' ace reliever be immediately replaced by a career
minor-leaguer who had just saved his first and only game in the
majors. "I don't mind that from George. He signs the checks,"
says Righetti, the senior statesman among the denizens of
baseball's Bronx Zoo. "What got me was how quick Hank was to
react. He didn't have any patience either."

    A well-positioned baseball executive predicts that the
chances are no better than even that Hank will be permitted to
follow in his father's impetuous footsteps. The first hurdle
is winning a two-thirds majority of the Yankees' 18 limited
partners, but in this election Papa George still casts 55% of
the votes. Far more onerous is the requirement that Hank
Steinbrenner garner the approval of both major leagues. Some
unidentified owners have been quoted as expressing reservations
over the propriety of Steinbrenner's being allowed to bequeath
control of the Yankees to his son. But other baseball insiders
caution against exaggerating the possibility of rejection.
"You'd be wrong," stressed one, "if you thought that George
still didn't have friends in baseball and people didn't owe him
favors." A compromise might require Hank Steinbrenner to bring
in an experienced senior baseball official before the son is
allowed to rise in the Bronx.

    Vincent, who inherited the job as commissioner after the
sudden death of Bart Giamatti last September, has endured one
of the roughest baptisms by fire since Harry Truman became
President. His sensitive handling of the earthquake-ravaged
1989 World Series and his role in saving the 1990 season by
helping bring labor peace to baseball were collective
endeavors. But by single-handedly orchestrating the abdication
of King George, the commissioner has revived dreams of a final
arbiter who cares more about the game than about profits and
promotion. Vincent disagreed with his dear friend Giamatti on
only one crucial matter: Giamatti rooted passionately for the
Red Sox, while Vincent was a Yankee fan. Last week he proved
it.