The Owner's Whiskey; 2039.3

[shoeless.db]

"Come on in, Shoeless."

"Thanks," I say, hesitating in the doorway of the massive owner's suite overlooking home plate at South Pacific Field. Crusader's team owner, Brian Dyer Jr., stands with his back to me from his fully stocked African Blackwood bar, pulling the top from a glass decanter. "Did you need to speak with me about something?"

"Whiskey?" He asks, ignoring my question.

"Yeah, absolutely."

Dyer pours two glasses, walks over to me, and hands me a glass of deep amber whiskey. I lift the drink to my nose and take in the rich, almost floral, aroma.

"Take a seat," he says.

The last several weeks were both the best and the most trying weeks of my life. I was fully invested to turn the Mumbai Metro Stars into an emerging and respected baseball organization. The midnight phone call from Dyer changed it all. Six short hours later I was at the Mumbai airport running for my gate to begin the three-connecting-flight-trek to California. The new opportunity was what I wanted. It was the reason I had worked so hard, yet, as I lower myself into a fine leather armchair in my new boss's suite, I feel broken.

"You look like you're going to need more than one whiskey," he says, grinning. He tips his glass to me then takes a slow, healthy sip.

"I feel like I'm making mistakes," I say. "I mean, I had to sign Ramos to that extension. He's young and talented and can front our staff for many years to come, but I just feel that with Gracia that I should have ..."

"Should have what?" Dyer interrupts. "I told you I wanted him to remain a Crusader."

"I know, but ..."

"But, what? That was the first thing I told you I wanted." He says, stopping me again. "It was the only specific thing I told you I wanted, and you did it. Good work."

"I just think I should have worked harder at getting it to three years or convincing him of that team option. I just couldn't get the numbers to work. I let us all down."

Dyer doesn't respond. Instead, he gets up from his chair and walks to the large pane windows overlooking the ballpark. He stares out towards the field for several moments, like he's looking at it all for the first time. Finally, he says, "Look out here with me, Shoeless."

I set my drink on the side table and walk over to where he's standing.

"You know, I never get over just how beautiful the playing field is," he says. "You can take away all the seats, all the luxury boxes, the advertisements, the scoreboard, even the fences. It's just the shape of the field, the color of the dirt, the richness of the green grass. It makes me feel calm. It makes me feel full."

I try to focus on his words, but the detailed workings of the recently signed contracts still spin in my head.

"Look over there at those fans touring the ballpark," he continues. "The two in the back, father and son, I'm guessing. Looks like the son is, what, a senior in high school?

I pull myself from my thoughts and look out over the group walking out from our home dugout. I spot the two he's referencing.

"What jerseys are they wearing?" He asks.

I look closely. "The father has a number 81 jersey -- Diaz. The son's is number 9 -- Gracia."

"Exactly," he says. "Do you think either of them care whether we could have saved a couple hundred thousand by negotiating down Gracia or even Ramos further?"

I laugh. "Probably not."

"Look, grown men don't wear another man's jersey because they're a fan of the guy," he says. "A grown man will wear a jersey like Diaz's for the rest of his life because of what that jersey and the man who wore it in games represents. It's all just an idea. It's the idea of strength; of being part of something; the awe of the man by himself on the field. It's the idea of what the man is that matters. It's also the idea of loyalty."

I take a deep breath and try to take in the words he's saying.

"We kept Diaz around until he decided to hang up his cleats because of this idea -- the idea of what he represents, what he is," he says. "I don't want the idea of what Gracia is and what he represents to that father and son down there to be tarnished by Gracia donning an ugly Yellow Springs or Omaha jersey. Sure, on paper or in one of your spreadsheets, the contract likely doesn't make a ton of sense. It may even be a mistake. But baseball -- the idea of baseball -- isn't played out as some computer simulation. Baseball isn't even really played out on this field. It's being played inside of us. It's the idea of it, and ideas are beautiful."

I walk back and pick my drink up from the side table. With one swig, I down the glass.

"Manage this team like the idea of what baseball is when you close your eyes, Shoeless," he says. "What is baseball like inside you? I know it's not just numbers."

"Thanks," I say, setting my glass back down. "I needed to hear this."

Dyer turns from me and stares out the window again. A content smile fills his face.

[usnspecialist]

I love the Gracia deal

[felipe]

Very nice

Love it

[HoosierVic]

Exactly.

[RonCo]

I think California got the right guy for the job.