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Authors: Ian O'Connor
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shortstop when the Reds already had a young All-Star there, Bennett argued that Jeter could play center field and then move to short when Larkin broke down.
Mock wasn’t so sure. Without Larkin, he told himself, Jeter would have been the guy hands down. But Larkin was there, and Mottola had already given a verbal to a price out of a small-market team’s dream, $400,000, a steal at number 5.
Mock had seen Jeter once, and Bennett had pleaded with him to go back a second time and see the shortstop on a healthier ankle. The scouting director never returned to Kalamazoo, other than to meet with Jeter’s parents.
So as Mock gathered with nine or ten other Reds officials in a conference room, gathered around a speakerphone that symbolized the outdated way baseball’s elders conducted the draft (they practically used carrier pigeons to report the results), the guardians of his favorite boyhood team were holding their breath.
In Tampa, Yankees executives were huddled around their own speakerphone inside the Harbor View Room at George Steinbrenner’s Radisson Bay Harbor Hotel. Those executives were feeling good after Bill Livesey, scouting director, made a morning phone call to his peer in Houston, Dan O’Brien, to ask what the Astros were planning to do at number 1.
O’Brien and Livesey shared a mutual respect, so the Houston scouting director told Livesey the truth: he was taking Phil Nevin. Livesey confessed he was hoping Jeter fell to number 6, and before their brief exchange ended, they both agreed the shortstop would develop into an outstanding pro.
Suddenly the outstanding pro-to-be was one pick away, and a wave of great anticipation roared through the Yankee room like a freight train in the night.
As soon as the Orioles made Hammonds official, a voice from the commissioner’s office announced on the speakerphone that the Cincinnati Reds would select next. The Yankees had some twenty officials in their draft room, including regional scouting supervisors, a national cross-checker, Livesey, and Brian Sabean, the vice president for player development and scouting.
Days of mass coffee consumption and passionate debates had taken their toll. Nerves were frayed as the Yankees waited for the sound of Julian Mock’s voice. Club officials were staring blankly at the boards in the front of the room that ranked the prospects by position, from top to bottom.
“We beat up those boards for three or four days,” Livesey said. They kept changing the rankings, erasing names, restoring names, leaving at night, and then returning the next morning to do it all over again.
On draft day, Jeter’s name was atop the list of shortstops, and everyone in the room agreed the Yankees should have and would have taken him had they owned the number-one pick. Livesey ran the strong preference for Jeter by Steinbrenner, which was an odd turn of events.
Commissioner Fay Vincent had banned Steinbrenner for life from the day-to-day operations of the club for paying a gambler, Howie Spira, $40,000 to dig up dirt on Dave Winfield, who happened to be Jeter’s idol. Yet everyone knew the Boss was in full control of a shadow government.
“It’s not like George disappeared by any means,” said David Sussman, the Yankees’ general counsel and chief operating officer. Steinbrenner readily offered his opinions on significant player transactions at quarterly partnership meetings (Vincent had allowed this). “George made it known in those meetings that he still owned the team,” Sussman said.
Steinbrenner also made it known he was not especially fond of paying superstar wages to kids who had not proved a thing. The Boss came down hard on subordinates over the decision to pay Brien Taylor his record-shattering bonus.
But when Livesey ran Jeter up Steinbrenner’s flagpole, assuring his employer the shortstop would be in the majors within four years, the Boss approved.
The Reds were about to make their move, and the Yankees’ hour of reckoning
Mock wasn’t so sure. Without Larkin, he told himself, Jeter would have been the guy hands down. But Larkin was there, and Mottola had already given a verbal to a price out of a small-market team’s dream, $400,000, a steal at number 5.
Mock had seen Jeter once, and Bennett had pleaded with him to go back a second time and see the shortstop on a healthier ankle. The scouting director never returned to Kalamazoo, other than to meet with Jeter’s parents.
So as Mock gathered with nine or ten other Reds officials in a conference room, gathered around a speakerphone that symbolized the outdated way baseball’s elders conducted the draft (they practically used carrier pigeons to report the results), the guardians of his favorite boyhood team were holding their breath.
In Tampa, Yankees executives were huddled around their own speakerphone inside the Harbor View Room at George Steinbrenner’s Radisson Bay Harbor Hotel. Those executives were feeling good after Bill Livesey, scouting director, made a morning phone call to his peer in Houston, Dan O’Brien, to ask what the Astros were planning to do at number 1.
O’Brien and Livesey shared a mutual respect, so the Houston scouting director told Livesey the truth: he was taking Phil Nevin. Livesey confessed he was hoping Jeter fell to number 6, and before their brief exchange ended, they both agreed the shortstop would develop into an outstanding pro.
Suddenly the outstanding pro-to-be was one pick away, and a wave of great anticipation roared through the Yankee room like a freight train in the night.
As soon as the Orioles made Hammonds official, a voice from the commissioner’s office announced on the speakerphone that the Cincinnati Reds would select next. The Yankees had some twenty officials in their draft room, including regional scouting supervisors, a national cross-checker, Livesey, and Brian Sabean, the vice president for player development and scouting.
Days of mass coffee consumption and passionate debates had taken their toll. Nerves were frayed as the Yankees waited for the sound of Julian Mock’s voice. Club officials were staring blankly at the boards in the front of the room that ranked the prospects by position, from top to bottom.
“We beat up those boards for three or four days,” Livesey said. They kept changing the rankings, erasing names, restoring names, leaving at night, and then returning the next morning to do it all over again.
On draft day, Jeter’s name was atop the list of shortstops, and everyone in the room agreed the Yankees should have and would have taken him had they owned the number-one pick. Livesey ran the strong preference for Jeter by Steinbrenner, which was an odd turn of events.
Commissioner Fay Vincent had banned Steinbrenner for life from the day-to-day operations of the club for paying a gambler, Howie Spira, $40,000 to dig up dirt on Dave Winfield, who happened to be Jeter’s idol. Yet everyone knew the Boss was in full control of a shadow government.
“It’s not like George disappeared by any means,” said David Sussman, the Yankees’ general counsel and chief operating officer. Steinbrenner readily offered his opinions on significant player transactions at quarterly partnership meetings (Vincent had allowed this). “George made it known in those meetings that he still owned the team,” Sussman said.
Steinbrenner also made it known he was not especially fond of paying superstar wages to kids who had not proved a thing. The Boss came down hard on subordinates over the decision to pay Brien Taylor his record-shattering bonus.
But when Livesey ran Jeter up Steinbrenner’s flagpole, assuring his employer the shortstop would be in the majors within four years, the Boss approved.
The Reds were about to make their move, and the Yankees’ hour of reckoning
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