Read Online The Extra 2% by Jonah Keri - Free Book Online

His own employees felt Naimoli’s presence most of all. He sat in on sales and scouting meetings. He frequented the press box, presumably on pizza patrol. He’d sometimes fly on the team plane and even ride the team bus, especially when the D-Rays were in New York. That way he could hitch a postgame lift from the stadium to his NYC apartment—which was completely out of the way for everyone else—rather than spring for cab fare.
    In his defense, Naimoli’s attention to detail made it clear that he cared. He remained oblivious to numerous problems, though. The Trop aged quickly under his stewardship, for one. Bob Andelman, author of the book about Tampa Bay’s quest to get a stadium,
Stadium for Rent
, once joked that the bathrooms were so poorly maintained that “there’s a sink … that’s been running since 1998.” When Sternberg finally took over for Naimoli in 2005, the new regime spent eight figures just to perform basic maintenance and aesthetic upgrades such as painting and repairs.
    Naimoli’s unique brand of ownership made the Devil Rays’ offices a miserable place to work. Even those who got along reasonably well with Naimoli, or had little contact with him, felt the effect of his presence. The boss’s big temper and quick trigger finger put everyone under him on edge. Blaming others gave you a chance to survive the latest rampage; acting surly became a natural reflex.
    “There was just this
toxicity
to the office environment,” Whaley winced.
    This wasn’t Naimoli’s problem, as far as he was concerned. “You know, Harry Truman said it right,” he once told a reporter. “ ‘The buck stops here.’ ”
    If the buck stopped with Naimoli, the Devil Rays’ credibility also ended with him. Every year several baseball teams will put up lousy records, play uninspiring baseball, and fail to attract fans. But the Devil Rays became something worse: hated by the community and the laughingstock of baseball. What could you say after Naimoli spotted a Mets scout coming out of his private bathroom, then threw him out of the stadium and banned him for life? Or when he punted a Japanese reporter from the Trop for the same reason? When, during a mop-up relief appearance by disappointing first-round draft pick Dewon Brazelton, he incited fans around him to boo his own player? When, after his assistant received a set of chairs as a gift for her office, Naimoli screamed and threatened to fire her if she kept the chairs, since they’d prevent her from doing work?
    One fifteen-word remark perfectly captures the essence of Naimoli’s reign. In July 2004, St. Petersburg police officer Scott Newell stopped Vince’s wife Lenda for running a red light. Naimoli stormed out of the car and blew up at Newell, then tried to scare him off. Finally, Naimoli pulled out his ace in the hole.
    “Do you know who I am?” he shouted. “I’m Vincent Joseph Naimoli, owner of the Devil Rays!”
    What Naimoli needed more than anything was someone who could rein in all his worst tendencies so that his attributes—his commitment to the team, his shrewd negotiating skills, his ability to get more bang for his bucks—could shine. At first, he did have a few people around who could stand up to him. The Devil Rays’ ownership group included several seasoned local business leaders. But the franchise’s escalating money problems, the unique challenges of owning a ball club, and the change of going from men in charge to partners with vastly different opinions gradually caused the group to splinter.
    A few other people looked like they might make worthy foils for Naimoli, in the process softening some of his harder edges. As head of marketing, Veeck would frequently overrule Naimoli’s decisions, then let him know exactly why he disagreed. But friction betweenVeeck and others within the organization, along with a family illness, drove him out after just seven months.
    In April 2001, Naimoli appeared at a surprise press conference.