Las Vegas Gold (4 page)

4

Construction of the brand new Malone Stadium in Las Vegas was moving along rapidly. The contractors assured Mike Malone the showpiece stadium would be ready in plenty of time for its grand opening the following April, when the new Las Vegas Gold would take the field for the first time.

In the meantime, activity in the front office was also moving apace. General Manager Larry Henderson had hired a couple of knowledgeable baseball men as Assistant General Managers, and all three had been busy negotiating Minor League franchises.

Some of the 51s' players appeared to be ready for a move to a big team; others appeared to be trade material by the following year. Henderson negotiated the purchase of a Double A franchise in Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada which was in reasonable shape for playing facilities, and took over the franchise there. They had also secured a Double A franchise in the Southeastern League to establish a second. And they found a Single A team in Kansas and a rookie league team on the east coast. Eddie Harper, the AGM for Player Personnel, was busy at filling rosters for the new teams, which would also begin operations in the following spring. He had found some good managers, known as teachers of young players, and let them choose their own coaches. Some of the Double A players would be selected from drafts and others upgraded from the Single A franchise which was in the final stages of a purchase agreement.

Vic Harrington, the AGM who would work primarily on negotiations for salaries and contracts, was not yet so busy, although he did have some overseeing work with the new Minor League franchises, working with Aritha on possible salary figures. Most of those contracts were in the hands of the General Manager of each team. Vic and Aritha huddled several times a week over possible budget figures for the draft choices, as well as trades and the free agents to be chased down following the World Series. Larry Henderson would handle the bulk of the negotiations, with assists from both Vic Harrington and Molly.

Molly had already drawn up the list of players she wanted, and all three knew the cost of getting those players would be high. She called her father away from his main office in New York and told him she needed him for at least two and maybe three days to talk about the problem, and she and Larry spent almost the entire time with him, occasionally joined by Aritha, going over figures.

Molly was well prepared to defend her choices. Big Mike, his ever-present cigar stinking up the small office, protested very little and gave in eventually on every request, especially after being reminded several times of his promise: money would be available. They settled on a hundred million dollar salary budget for the Gold, with a possible ten million dollar contingency fund for somebody yet unknown whom they found absolutely necessary to sign. When the meetings were finally concluded, he congratulated the three on the job they were doing and took them out to a celebratory dinner.

The biggest surprise Molly threw into her list was the name of Tabby O'Hara. Not a free agent, Tabby would have to be obtained through a trade with the Dodgers.

“What? Are you kidding? You out of your mind?” Mike grew loud and red in the face over that name. “He's nothing but trouble in the clubhouse. He's as strange as a three-headed prairie dog. And the Dodgers will want a fortune to let a 20-game winner go.”

“Maybe, Dad. But I've got some information they'll be darn glad to get rid of him for the right price.”

“But how in the name of all that's high and holy will you ever handle him? I know I said you can manage a team of men, but that guy is no ordinary man. He's trouble, Molly, mark my word.” Mike sat back in his chair, his cigar puffing an extra cloud of smoke and fumes. “However….” He was clearly unhappy.

“Molly and I have been all through this, Mike.” Larry Henderson waited until Mike had quieted down. “I had the same basic objections you have, but we talked it over from a number of angles, and I think we can work it out okay. The big problem will be finding the right players to trade, and we are already working on that angle. In fact, I'm flying out to LA tomorrow to begin talks with Jo-Jo McKennie about it.”

“Well, bloody good luck to you, Larry. Keep me posted. I want to know before I read it in the papers and have a heart attack!”

“Just calm down, Dad. You gave us carte blanche to run this team. So let us do it. Okay?”

Mike grumbled, but he didn't mention the matter at dinner that evening, and the four had a very pleasant couple of hours together.

5

The previous spring draft of college and high school players had gone well. Eddie Harper and his organization of scouts had found a number of possible draftees who could fill Class A, and even some of the spots of Double A rosters. And wonder of wonders, one of the scouts had discovered a high school player who had all the possibilities of jumping immediately to the big team. That type of player is a rarity in Major League Baseball. Hall of Famer Al Kaline, who jumped from a Baltimore high school directly to the Tigers and played his entire career in Detroit, was a notable example. Another notable was big Johnny O, John Olerud, who had gone from Stanford directly to the Blue Jays, where he had won an AL batting title, moved on to the Mets, and then to the Mariners, having banner seasons each year.

Diego Martinez appeared to be one more such player. A nineteen-year-old outfielder from a small town in Southern California, he was a lanky six foot six who could cover ground all over the outfield with tremendous speed, could hit and had an arm like a canon. He sounded unbelievable until Eddy Harper himself saw him play a couple of games and insisted Molly take a look as well.

The Gold, as an expansion club, had first pick, and young Martinez happily signed as number one overall. He probably would have signed even without the big bonus, because baseball was his life. He played basketball during the winter, he said, just to keep in shape, but agreed to give that up as too dangerous. He was assigned to the Triple A team, now the Vancouver 51s. There he only hit .376, with 31 home runs, and had a fielding average of .998, the result of two errors all season.

“A routine season,” he calmly told reporters! After his season was over, Larry Henderson called him in for a career talk and asked him to play some winter ball, but above all be careful not to get hurt. He was slated to be the center fielder for the Gold in their opening season. Diego Martinez was one happy young man!

During the summer, Molly also assembled her coaching staff. She had thought long and hard during the previous winter about this most important preparation for her first term as a big league manager. Her first choice was a long-time coach, minor league manager and one time short-tenured general manager. Kenny Boyce was fifty-eight years old, a ginger-haired man in trim shape who knew baseball and had always been known as a players' manager. He and the red-haired Molly hit it off from their first meeting, and Kenny eagerly took her offer of being bench coach.

“If you get the players you're planning on, Molly, we can give all the naysayers a real boot in the bum,” he said as they shook hands on the deal. “Who else are you thinking about for your staff?”

When she named the two base coaches, he gave his immediate approval as being, in his opinion, good choices. Molly called him two days later to say both candidates had agreed. Willie Chavez, a former infielder and recognized as a prime base-stealer, would coach at first and be responsible for the infield. Jerry Haley would be the third base coach and responsible for the outfielders. He, too, had been an outstanding player, steady as a rock in the outfield for the White Sox in the '60s and '70s. He had been in the Sox scouting system since then and was delighted to return to a Major League team.

She talked to a couple of possible pitching coaches, and the second one accepted the job with alacrity. Willie Fontana had been a catcher in his playing days, an outstanding handler of pitchers. He had been a Minor League pitching coach for the past five years and was familiar with several of the prospective free agent pitchers Molly hoped to sign in the fall and winter. She asked Willie for a recommendation for bullpen coach, “since you're going to be working closely with him.” He named Art Bandaro, a long-time relief pitcher presently working as a scout for the Pirates, and Art took the job quite happily.

Now only a batting coach was needed to round out the staff. Herb Germaine had retired as an active player only two years previously, and Molly had heard he was fretting to get back into baseball. Herb had a lifetime batting average of .311, and, very important to her game plan, had been notable as a capable bunter who could lay down a successful bunt on either baseline on his next at bat after chowdering a home run. How well he could teach was yet to be discovered.

When Molly presented her coaching list to her father and Larry Henderson at dinner, the only comment came from her dad. Mike wanted to know how come she hired a former catcher as a pitching coach.

“Why not, Dad? You've worked with catchers. You know he has watched a heckuva lot of pitchers during his lifetime. He knows more than just throwing fastballs and sinkers, because he knows how they look to a batter. You wait, Dad. Willie Fontana is going to be a big success, and he will work well with the rest of us. Why don't you call him up and have a talk with him? He'd like that.”

There was no further argument, and the entire coaching staff assembled for the anticipated free agent discussions. Finally came the end of the World Series, and players began to declare free agency. Molly and Larry wanted to begin with the biggest name available in order to impress other free agents and
their
agents they meant business. They went after a catcher from San Diego, Bobby Joe Comingo, who could hit and field his position with the best of them and had a reputation for being an excellent handler of pitchers. Comingo was also known as a catcher who enjoyed teaching younger catchers on the way up.

Comingo was asking for $75 million over a five-year contract, and with only brief negotiations he was signed. That contract signing brought a number of calls from agents all over the country, and by the end of January, with free agent signings and judicious trades, the Gold had filled their roster for their first season. Molly was confident when she spoke to the media that the Gold would not be the usual expansion tail-enders, but would be immediate contenders. She promised one more surprise signing, but gave no hints.

* * *

That major surprise was also one troubling Molly and Larry. The Dodgers were holding out for a large amount of talent in order to relinquish Tabby O'Hara. Neither team had mentioned the negotiations to the press, in case the LA fans would rebel, unless the new players would have to be top drawer, The Gold's desire for secrecy was a necessity to have a bombshell surprise to offer.

When it came, both teams achieved their desires. The Gold traded two pitchers, one of them a previous nineteen-game winner, Harry Mendoza, and three high minor league outfielders. Along with Tabby O'Hara, they received Jiggs Kelly, an experienced utility infielder who could play second, short or third.

Mendoza was irate when Molly told him about the trade. More than irate, he was absolutely furious. He stormed out of her office and went stomping into Larry Henderson's office, and loudly declared he wasn't going to report. “I've played for the Dodgers before. They're a rotten organization. I was never so glad in my life as when they traded me to the Giants. Then I was a free agent, signed with what I thought was going to be a good organization, and you guys send me right back to LA. No way! No way at all! I'll retire first.”

“Now hold on, Harry. Think about it. You've got a contract for fifteen million dollars over three years. You're twenty-nine years old. And you want to retire? Why don't you save your ranting and threatening for the Dodgers? There's nothing I can do. The trade's made. Ask them for a trade back to the Giants or somewhere.”

“I ain't goin' back to LA begging for a trade again. Been there. Done that. They kept putting me off and putting me off until I benched myself. I may be just a baseball pitcher, but I've got some rights, and one of them is not to pitch where I don't want to.”

“Not any more. You have a signed contract and that contract has been assigned to the Los Angeles Dodgers. They must want you. They were anxious for the trade.”

“They were anxious, all right! They wanted to get clear of that bum, O'Hara. Good bloody luck to you with that guy. But I ain't gonna be the fall guy. I want out.”

“Sorry Harry. It's a done deal. Now get out of my office. I can't help you and I'm busy.”

“You're just covering up for that red-haired bitch who thinks she can be a big league manager. Well, you'll get yours, and she'll get hers.” And he stomped out of the office, his furious anger unabated.

By the first of February, neither the Dodgers nor the Gold had heard a word from Tabby O'Hara. Nobody knew where to find him. Molly flew out to LA on the third day of the month to try her hand at locating the elusive pitcher. After two days, on a tip from a reporter, she found him one evening about nine o'clock, sitting in his favorite bar near Dodger Stadium. He was at his usual remote booth nursing his usual beer. Molly walked over and sat down. Tabby didn't look up or give any recognition of her presence. She introduced herself.

“Hi there. My name is Molly Malone. I'm the Manager of the Las Vegas Gold.”

“I know who you are. Whadda ya want?”

Molly decided to react with as miserable manners as he had shown her. “What the hell do you think I want? I'm the Manager of the Gold. You've been traded to our team and we haven't heard a word from you. Spring training begins in Arizona in three weeks and I want to know if you intend to report.”

“Nope. Not without a new contract.”

“Is that all that's bothering you? Why didn't you have the decency to let us know so we could work it out?”

Tabby got up and went to the bar, returning with a fresh beer. He didn't have one for Molly. She waited until he sat down and asked, “Where's mine?”

“Get your own,” he replied, and then continued where the conversation had been interrupted by his trip to the bar. “Not up to me to go after you. You want me, you pay me. And it's going to cost you big bucks. I need money.”

“You didn't play the ponies, you wouldn't be broke.”

“None of your bloody business.”

“It
is
my business, but it's not my first priority. I want you in my office in two days time if you have any intention of signing a contract to play baseball this year.” She reached across the table and snatched his full glass of beer and poured it over the top of his head. “And learn some manners!” With that she got up and left. Tabby sat and dripped beer for about a half hour, making no effort to mop himself up. Then he also departed, leaving the bartender shaking his head in wonder.

Two days later, late in the afternoon, Tabby appeared in Molly's office at the new stadium. He didn't knock, just walked in and sat down without a word. Molly said nothing, either. She picked up her phone and tapped in Larry Henderson's number. “Tabby's here. You want us to come over?”

Receiving an affirmative, she got up and walked out the door. Tabby slowly got up and followed, still saying nothing. Down the hall, Larry stood at the door to his outer office waiting, his hand stretched out in greeting. “Hi Tabby. I'm Larry Henderson. Glad to meet you.” Tabby ignored the hand and said nothing, just stood and waited.

Shrugging, Larry turned and led the way into his office. Tabby pushed in ahead of Molly, totally ignoring her, and slouched into the first chair he saw. Nobody spoke for a couple of minutes. Finally, Larry asked, “Tabby, do you have an agent?”

That brought forth a short burst of profanity. “What do I need an agent for? All he'd do is suck off a big percentage of my money. I'll tell you what I want. Take it or leave it. No pay, no play. Y'unnerstand?”

“Sure I understand. I just wanted to know whether we deal directly with you or with an agent.”

“Well, now y'know. The figure is one hundred mil over ten years, and a no-trade clause. No haggling. No BS. Just yes or no.”

He sank back into his chair, staring straight at the General Manager sitting across the desk. Henderson didn't bat an eye.

“That sounds reasonable. Why didn't you tell us long ago what you want?” O'Hara shrugged. “How do we get in touch with you when the contract is ready to sign?”

“Ya don't. I ain't got a clue where I'll be. I got no place to live around here. I'll be at spring training and sign the contract then—if you got it ready. If it ain't ready, I leave for a week.” He paused, then looked back at Larry Henderson, continuing to ignore Molly. “And then I come back and give you a second chance.”

“The contract will be ready. If you want a place to live, the housing office down the hall can find you a good real estate agent who can show you houses, apartments, condos, whatever you're interested in.”

With that, Tabby got up and walked out with no further comments. Molly got up and followed him down the hall, indicating the office of the executive assistant who handled housing inquiries. So much for the arrival of the man who was supposed to be the Gold's top pitcher.

* * *

Spring training began in Arizona in the last week of February. Pitchers and catchers were supposed to show up between the 12th and 15th. The rest of the players would assemble on the 17th. All the pitchers were in camp on the 12th except one—as Molly expected, Tabby O'Hara chose to set his own timetable. On the 20th, Molly and her coaching staff were having a mid-morning meeting, jammed into the cubbyhole that served as her spring training office. As they were talking about strategies, the door burst open, hitting Kenny Boyce, who was sitting closest to the door, in the knee.

“Hey!” began the bench coach before Molly raised her hand to shush him.

“We're busy in here, O'Hara,” she said. “When I want to talk to you, I'll rattle your chain. Get out of here and get dressed for some calisthenics. Get some clothes from the clubhouse man. And get rid of the Dodger jacket and cap you're wearing. Next time I see you wear them, it's going to cost you a thousand bucks. I don't care what you do with them. Give them to some kid in the stands, chuck them in the garbage, whatever. Just don't show up around here with them again. You hear me?”