Moneyball by Lewis, Michael (mobile ebook reader txt) 📕

Beane compensated for by fanatically heeding the other four. His approach to the market for baseball players was by its nature unsystematic. Unsystematic—and yet incredibly effective.

The absence of cash is always a problem for a man on a shopping spree. Ricardo Rincon would be owed $508,000 for the rest of the season, and that is $508,000 the Oakland A’s owners won’t agree to spend. To get Rincon, Billy must not only persuade Indians GM Shapiro that his is the highest bid; he must find the money to pay Rincon’s salary. Where? If he gets Rincon, he doesn’t need Mike Magnante. No one else does either, so he’s unlikely to save money there. No matter what he does, the A’s will wind up eating Magnante’s salary. But he might well be able to move Mike Venafro, the low-budget left-handed reliever he had just sent down to Triple-A. Venafro is a lot younger than Magnante. Other teams might be interested in him.

This gives Billy an idea: auction Mike Venafro to teams that might be competing with him for Ricardo Rincon.

He knows that the San Francisco Giants are after Rincon. He knows also that the Giants don’t have much to spend, and that, if offered a cheaper option, they might be less inclined to stretch for Rincon. “Let’s make them skinnier,” he says, and picks up the phone and calls Brian Sabean, the GM of the Giants. He’ll offer Venafro to the Giants for almost nothing. In a stroke he’ll raise cash he needs to buy Rincon (because he won’t have to pay Venafro’s salary) and possibly also reduce his competitor’s interest in Rincon, as they’ll now see they have, in Venafro, an alternative.

Brian Sabean listens to Billy’s magnanimous offer of Mike Venafro; all Billy wants in return is a minor league player. Sabean says he’s interested. “Sabes,” Billy says, after laying out his proposal, “I’m not asking for much here. Think it over and call me back.”

The moment he hangs up he calls Mark Shapiro, current owner of Ricardo Rincon, and tells him that he has the impression that the market for Rincon is softening. Whoever the other bidder is, he says, Shapiro ought to make sure his offer is firm.

As he puts down the phone, Paul pokes his head into the office. “Billy, what about the Mets on Venafro? Just to have options.” Sabean is the master of the dry hump. Sabean is always expressing what seems like serious interest in a player, but when it comes time to deal, he becomes less serious.

“The Mets could be after Rincon,” says Billy.

The phone rings. It is Mark Shapiro, calling right back. He tells Billy that, by some amazing coincidence, the other buyer for Rincon has just called to lower his offer. Billy leans forward in his chair, chaw clenched in his upper lip, as if waiting to see if a fly ball hit by an Oakland A will clear the wall. He raises his fist as it does. “I just need to talk to my owner,” he says. “Thanks, Mark.”

He puts down the phone. “We have a two-hour window on Rincon,” he says. He now has a purpose: two hours to find $508,000 from another team, or to somehow sell his owner on the deal. Never mind that his owner, Steve Schott, has already said that he won’t spend the money to buy Rincon. He shouts across the hall. “Paul! What’s left on Venafro’s contract?”

“Two hundred and seventy thousand, eight hundred and thirty-three dollars.”

He does the math. If he unloads Venafro, he’ll still need to find another $233,000 to cover Rincon’s salary, but he isn’t thinking about that just yet. His owners have told him only that they won’t eat 508 grand; they’ve said nothing about eating 233 grand. He has two hours to find someone who will take Venafro off his hands. The Mets are a good idea. Billy picks up the phone and dials the number for Steve Phillips, the general manager of the Mets. A secretary answers.

“Denise,” says Billy, “Billy Beane, Vice President and General Manager of the Oakland Athletics. Denise, who is the best-looking GM in the game?” Pause. “Exactly right, Denise. Is Steve there?”

Steve isn’t there but someone named Jimmy is. “Jimmy,” says Billy.” Hey, how you doin’? Got a question for you. You guys looking for a left-handed reliever?”

He raises his fist again. Yes! He tells Jimmy about Venafro. “I can make it real quick for you,” he says. He knows he wants to trade Venafro, but he doesn’t know who he wants in return.

How quick?

“Fifteen minutes?”

Fine.

“I can give you names in fifteen minutes,” says Billy. “Yeah, look I’d do this if I were you. And I’m not shitting you here, Jimmy. I’m being honest with you.”

Paul sees what is happening and walks out the door before Billy is finished. “I gotta find some more prospects,” he says. He needs to find who they want from the Mets in exchange for Venafro.

Billy hangs up. “Paul! We got fifteen minutes to get names.” He finds Paul already in his office flipping through various handbooks that list all players owned by the Mets. He takes the seat across from him and grabs one of the books and together they rifle through the entire Mets farm system, stat by stat. It’s a new game: maximize what you get from the Mets farm system inside of fifteen minutes. They’re like a pair of shoppers who have been allowed into Costco before the official opening time and told that anything they can cart out the door in the next fifteen minutes they can have for free. The A’s president, Mike Crowley, walks by and laughs. “What’s the rush?” he says. “We don’t need Rincon until the sixth or seventh inning.”

“What about Bennett?” asks Paul.

“How old is he?” asks Billy.

“Twenty-six.”

“Fuck, he’s twenty-six and in Double-A. Forget it.”

Billy stops at a name and laughs. “Virgil Chevalier? Who is that?”

“How about Eckert?” says Paul. “But he’s twenty-five.”

“How about this guy?” says Billy, and laughs.