Tampa Bay Rays

A Quick Joe Maddon Story

/ Carter Gaddis / 3 Comments

Joe Maddon’s mind doesn’t work like yours and mine.

There is high intelligence. There is wit. There is humor. There is flexibility. There is nuance. There also is a stubborn streak that served him well with the Tampa Bay Rays.

I don’t believe I’ve ever been around someone who so deftly combines those traits with an uncanny ability to recall memories, down to the slightest detail, and have them at his disposal whenever he needed to make a point or reinforce a seemingly outlandish statement.

He’s through with the Rays after nine years, which is a little hard to believe right now.

It was one of the great pleasures of my career to be able to know Maddon for a while.

I was there, in my role as a baseball writer for the Tampa Tribune, during the early years. In 2006 and 2007, when the Rays were still be-Deviled, Maddon said all the right things. Even as Tampa Bay stumbled to awful seasons, and even though it looked much the same as it had under previous managers, Maddon never wavered.

Things were getting better, he said. There was an organizational plan, he insisted. The Rays Way of playing the game would one day take hold, was already taking hold, and soon we all would witness a real transformation on the field.

He said these things so often, and with such conviction, that I sometimes wondered about his grasp on reality. To that, I’m sure he would respond: “So do I sometimes.”

It’s all coming back to me now: the crazy road trip dress-up days, the wild defensive shifts based on statistical probability, the unwillingness to publicly criticize his players individually, the occasionally myopic-seeming optimism.

Maddon was right, of course. The Rays did turn into contenders, becoming a model franchise under the guidance of vice president of baseball operations Andrew Friedman and Maddon.

Now? Friedman is gone, lured away by the Dodgers. Maddon is gone, choosing to leave when he was unable to reach an equitable agreement on a contract extension. I wonder if what they built will endure.

I guess we’ll find out. I sincerely hope that things don’t go back to the way they were before. The Tampa Bay area doesn’t deserve that. I believe owner Stu Sternberg and president of baseball operations Matt Silverman know what they’re doing. They’ve earned a lot of trust, just as Friedman and Maddon did.

Yet, it’s going to take some time to get used to the Rays without Andrew and Joe. It’ll be weird for a while.

Meanwhile, I’ll share a personal anecdote that gives you a small glimpse into Joe Maddon’s decency.

In 2006, on a visit to Fenway Park, my father-in-law was with a group of his clients on the field next to the visitors dugout during batting practice. He had leased the Legends Suite, and this was one of the perks.

After the writers were done with Maddon’s daily briefing in the dugout, I took the liberty of asking Joe if he had a second to say hello to my father-in-law. He said sure, and we walked up the steps to the roped-off area where they kept the fans on the field during pregame activities.

I introduced my father-in-law to the Tampa Bay manager, who proceeded to shake hands and pose for photos with every member of my father-in-law’s party. Joe spent 10 minutes with the group, and I scored major points with my wife’s dad.

That is only one, small, personal example of Joe’s kindness. His philanthropic efforts in the Tampa Bay area already are legendary. I hope he keeps Thanksmas going.

You’ll want to remember Maddon, Rays fans. Remember him, and appreciate him. His love of good wine, his unorthodox managing methods, the twinkle in his eye as he answered questions, his erudite approach to the game and life — we had it good with Joe Maddon.

We had it real good. Some team somewhere is about to get a Hall of Fame-caliber skipper.

 

 

My 2014 Baseball Hall of Fame Ballot

/ Carter Gaddis / 12 Comments
Baseball Hall of Fame

My 2014 Baseball Hall of Fame ballot. I voted for nine players, including electees Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine and Frank Thomas.

I’m not smart enough to solve all of the problems that plague the voting process for baseball’s Hall of Fame. I’ve given my opinion, which is just that — one opinion. I think much of the angst and hand-wringing could be eliminated if they simply eliminated the voting rule that states we have to factor in sportsmanship, integrity and character. It works for the Pro Football Hall of Fame — which certainly doesn’t have things exactly right, but at least the process doesn’t force the voters to make educated guesses about who did and did not do things that were against the rules or the law.

It’s high time the voting process was revamped, anyway. If an attention-seeking sports columnist and TV personality from South Florida can thumb his nose at the process by giving his vote away to readers of a satirical sports news website, something clearly is wrong.

Still, it’s a process I feel compelled to take seriously. I spent 1999-2009 covering baseball, 11 consecutive seasons as a card-carrying, hard-traveling member of the Baseball Writers Association of America. Yes, it was a truncated career. It wasn’t my choice to leave newspapers, any more than it was the choice of so many others whose careers went south when the print industry imploded. I hung around long enough to meet the requirement for 10 consecutive years of uninterrupted membership. Growing up, I lived the game. I love it still, and that decade-plus I spent roaming clubhouses and press boxes was the culmination of a dream come true in a lot of ways.

So, I’ll keep voting until they tell me I should stop.

Here are my 2014 selections (I voted for nine players, one fewer than the 10-player limit):

  • Greg Maddux, RHP
  • Tom Glavine, LHP
  • Frank Thomas, DH/1B
  • Craig Biggio, 2B/C/CF
  • Jeff Bagwell, 1B
  • Fred McGriff, 1B
  • Lee Smith, RHP
  • Mike Piazza, C
  • Edgar Martinez, DH

This is my sixth year as a voter. My thoughts on the PED users already have been documented. And you can see by my ballot that my thoughts haven’t changed. I won’t vote for Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Mark McGwire or Sammy Sosa. I never voted for Rafael Palmeiro, who fell off the ballot this year. Rumor and innuendo are not necessarily enough to convince me to not vote for a player (witness my inclusion of rumored users Piazza and Bagwell). What separated those two from Bonds and Clemens? The overwhelming preponderance of circumstantial evidence against the all-time home run leader and the greatest right-handed pitcher in baseball history. Simply, the rumbling and whispers about Piazza and Bagwell just weren’t loud enough, and I think their numbers and contributions to their teams made them Hall of Fame players.

A few other notes.

I vote for Martinez because I believe that if we’re going to put relief pitchers into the Hall, all specialists should be included. This argument about “only” being a hitter and not contributing with a glove doesn’t make sense to me. Are we going to exclude pitchers because they can’t hit? Outfielders because they don’t pitch? Nonsense. Baseball specialists who excel at an extraordinary level should be considered for the Hall. Extraordinary specialists whose achievements are historical (such as closer Lee Smith) should be elected.

There’s also this: Martinez won the 2004 Roberto Clemente Award, which is bestowed upon the major leaguer who best combines giving back to the community with excellence on the field. Biggio won it in 2007. Why does this matter? Because if factoring in sportsmanship, integrity and character means Bonds and Clemens are out, how can we not take into account exemplary displays of those qualities? In other words, the way the rule works now, being a good guy during a playing career meant something. That’s one reason I voted for Dale Murphy for five consecutive years before his candidacy came to an end in 2013.

So far, I haven’t deviated from the belief that if a player is a Hall of Famer, there is no reason to leave him off the first year. I re-evaluate each candidate with each new ballot, but unless some new evidence came up the last time I voted, there is virtually no chance I’ll include him.

I’ll finish with this: If the integrity, sportsmanship and character rule was eliminated, I would not hesitate to vote for Bonds and Clemens. I didn’t ask to be some sort of moral cop when it comes to Hall of Fame voting, but as long as that rule is in there, I feel like it’s my responsibility to make as informed a decision as possible. Ultimately, it’s a futile exercise, because as I’ve written before — here and in my old life as a sportswriter — no one who didn’t see PED use happen knows for sure if it did. We’re guessing, at best. I hope I’ve made the right choices, and I hope the process is reformed soon.

Two Lives Collide at the Ball Park on Father’s Day

/ Carter Gaddis / 16 Comments

My two lives collided today when we took the boys to Tropicana Field for a game between the Rays and the Marlins. It’s still weird going back to that place.

Did you ever go back to your old high school for a visit in the years shortly after graduation? You feel like an interloper in a place that once was so familiar. Even though they might greet you with warm handshakes and smiles, you know it’s only for a minute because there are other, more-pressing demands at hand. You are no longer an integral part of the décor. Everyone has moved on without you.

It’s like that when I go back to the Trop, the place I used to call my office.

This was the AP version of Father’s Day for the DadScribe family: A near-sellout crowd saw the Rays defeat the Marlins, 3-0, on the strength of seven shutout innings for starting pitcher Alex Cobb and a leadoff home run for center fielder B.J. Upton.

The optional write-through would lead with my sons going off for an hour with their mom to play in the many kid-themed areas they’ve stuffed the Trop with over the years. Meanwhile, I popped into the press box for a quick chat with an old acquaintance or two. I didn’t bother the other writers, because they were busy. They had other, more-pressing matters at hand. I’m no longer an integral part of the décor.

So, we all went to the ball game. A co-worker has access to fantastic tickets in the lower bowl, slightly down the first-base line behind home plate and about 10 rows from the field. This was good, because there’s no way the boys would’ve been able to follow the game from the nosebleeds. Come to think of it, though, My younger son could’ve done exactly what he did at those seats if we’d been in the upper deck – play round after round of Angry Birds on my old iPhone. At least my older son was a bit more engaged. When Upton hit his homer, he jumped out of his seat and pumped his fists. I’m sure it had as much to do with the general air of excitement around him as it did his actual reaction to the hit, but it was a great moment, nonetheless.

The best moment had nothing to do with the game. During the pregame circus at the Trop, dancing girls toss t-shirts and little foam baseballs into the stands (The ghosts of Branch Rickey and Kenesaw Mountain Landis are surely tormented by the fact that, in the 21st century, dancing girls throw t-shirts and little foam balls into the stands during pregame). One of the little foam balls landed at the feet of an elderly gentleman a few rows in front of us. He picked it up, made his way to our seats, smiled, and wordlessly handed the ball to my older son. We thanked him, and my kid immediately stood up and tossed me the ball. Then he held out his hands for me to throw it back to him. That’s right. Our first game of catch at an actual major-league stadium came courtesy of those dancing girls and that kindly old man. Another great moment in a day full of them.

Still … every now and then, I couldn’t help gazing over my left shoulder at the press box. Before the game, as they went through the usual loud and (frankly) obnoxious pregame preparations, I pointed out the press box to my older son.

“See all those guys sitting up there, buddy? That’s where I used to work. Right up there.”

He looked at the heads of the writers and broadcasters, just visible above the front lip of the press box. His question astonished me. Sometimes I have to remind myself he’s only 6.

“Daddy, do you wish you still worked up there and you were still a writer covering games?”

I didn’t even have to think about my answer.

“No way, buddy. If I still did that, I’d be on the road all the time. And even when I was home, I’d be here almost every night, and you’d almost never see me. I like it just the way it is right now.”

And I meant that. It’s never going to be “just a trip to the ball game” for me when I go to the Trop. Every nook and cranny of that place is absolutely stuffed with memories. I wrapped so much of my self-identity into my former profession, and visiting Tropicana Field reminds me of the guy I used to be. I didn’t always like that guy, and I wasn’t always happy in that profession. But man, it was glorious.

I don’t know. Maybe now that I’ve introduced the boys to that part of my former life, we’ll start to go to the Trop more often as a family. They certainly seemed to enjoy it. And who knows? Maybe the more I go with them, and the more I begin to see the Trop, and baseball, through their eyes, the less awkward it will feel for me to be there.

And one day, maybe we’ll sit in our seats and enjoy the game and the company and I won’t be tempted to gaze wistfully up at the press box. Instead, maybe I’ll think back to the time when we were there and my son tossed me that little foam ball, and my younger son sat quietly and played Angry Birds, and my wife and I smiled at each other and knew it was a good day.