Where Nobody Knows Your Name: Life In the Minor Leagues of Baseball (51 page)

That win put the Orioles into the division series against the Yankees, and there was McLouth in left field for five straight nights—two in Baltimore and three in New York—in front of packed houses.

“It was a long way from sitting home in Knoxville in June,” he said, laughing. “It was, to be honest, what I’d always dreamed of. When I
was a productive player with the Pirates, I was on bad teams. Then I went to Atlanta and played on good teams, but I wasn’t a productive player. Finally, I was able to put it altogether—be an important part of a good postseason baseball team. It was a great feeling—and it was everything I ever dreamed it might be.

“When I was younger, I’m not sure I would have appreciated it as much. But to get to play in that atmosphere, looking around the ballpark each night, after I’d wondered if I would ever play in the majors again, was an amazing feeling.”

The Orioles lost the series in five games, but it wasn’t because of McLouth. He hit .318 for the series, including a home run and three RBIs. While the loss was disappointing, McLouth, at thirty, had reestablished himself as a major leaguer.

His contract called for him to become a free agent in November—which he did. But the Orioles made it clear they wanted him back. In December, he signed a one-year contract for $2 million and went to spring training in February knowing he would be fighting for a starting spot in the outfield.

Which was all he could possibly ask for.

M
ONTOYO

Four of the International League’s fourteen managers made it to the big leagues at the conclusion of the 2012 season.

The least surprising promotion was Ryne Sandberg’s move down the northeast corridor of the Pennsylvania Turnpike to Philadelphia, to become Charlie Manuel’s bench coach with the Phillies. Manuel would be sixty-nine on opening day in 2013, and the general consensus was that he was likely to retire at the end of the season. Sandberg was clearly being groomed as his successor. That turned out to be true—but it happened before the 2013 season was over. With the Phillies struggling, Manuel was fired in August and Sandberg was hired to replace him.

The Cubs, who had opted not to hire Sandberg in 2012, went 61-101 under Dale Sveum. Sveum was brought back for 2013, but there
was talk that if things didn’t improve markedly, the Cubs would be looking for a new manager for 2014. Things didn’t get a lot better in Chicago and Sveum was fired, but Sandberg was no longer an option—he already had a big-league managing job.

David Bell also returned to the majors—in Chicago, but not working for his dad on the South Side with the White Sox. Instead, he was hired by Sveum to be the Cubs’ third-base coach. Logistically, the move was perfect for Bell, since the Cubs trained near his home in Arizona, meaning he wouldn’t have to travel until the regular season started.

For Sandberg and Bell, given their playing careers and connections, moving up to the majors wasn’t a big surprise. For Arnie Beyeler and Mike Sarbaugh—career minor leaguers as players and managers—their promotions were dream-come-true moments.

Beyeler had always wondered if his playing career, “the back of the bubble gum card,” would keep him out of the majors. Apparently, his work on the field, leading Pawtucket to the Governors’ Cup title in spite of all the turmoil going on in Boston, didn’t go unnoticed. Shortly after John Farrell was named to replace Bobby Valentine as the Red Sox’ manager, Beyeler was named to his staff as the first-base coach. After twenty-seven years of living the minor-league life, Beyeler would be staying in five-star hotels and riding on charter airplanes in 2013—and, in October, savoring a remarkable World Series win in Boston.

Mike Sarbaugh, also a minor-league lifer, got to live the major-league life too. Sarbaugh was considered a rising star in the managing world, so it wasn’t a shock when Terry Francona asked him to join his new staff in Cleveland. Sarbaugh had moved steadily up the ladder in the Indians’ organization, winning at each stop, so the move made sense.

One other manager left his job: after working for the Braves as their Triple-A manager for six seasons, Dave Brundage opted to accept Sandberg’s job in Lehigh Valley, apparently deciding that playing in front of crowds of close to ten thousand each night was preferable to crowds of four thousand.

There was one other change, but it didn’t involve a managing change. In fact, it involved changing an entire
team
. As often happens in the minor leagues, two franchises were swapped by their major-league teams. The New York Mets had feuded at different times with the locals who ran the Buffalo Bisons, and when the Toronto Blue Jays, looking to move their Triple-A affiliate closer to Toronto than Las Vegas, brought up the possibility of a swap, the Mets agreed.

And so, Wally Backman and all those who had worked for the Bisons in Buffalo—including Chris Schwinden—headed to Las Vegas (which, for the record, is
not
terribly close to New York, but this was the Mets, so logic wasn’t terribly important), while those playing for Las Vegas—where Schwinden had pitched briefly in 2012—headed to Buffalo.

That would mean changes for everyone. The city of Buffalo would now have an American League affiliate in town with an entirely different roster of players and a new manager in Marty Brown. Those who had played in Las Vegas in the PCL a year earlier would be adapting to the International League, generally known more as a fastball league than a breaking-ball league. The opposite would be true for the former Bisons. “Definitely a different kind of pitching out there,” Schwinden said. “The parks are different; I’m sure the umps are different. It will all be new—which isn’t all bad.”

The move of the Mets-Bisons out and the Blue Jays–Silver Stars in meant there would be six new managers in the IL for 2013, starting with Brown in Buffalo and Brundage in Lehigh Valley. The other four new faces would be Randy Ready, the former major-league infielder who left the Texas Rangers’ organization to succeed Brundage in Gwinnett; Chris Tremie, who was promoted from Double-A Akron to take Sarbaugh’s job in Columbus; Gary DiSarcina, an ex–Red Sox infielder who opted to leave a cushy front-office job in Anaheim to get back in uniform and ride the buses in Pawtucket; and Jim Riggleman, a former major-league manager in San Diego, Chicago, and Washington, who succeeded Bell in Louisville.

Riggleman had quit the Nationals abruptly during the 2011 season in a contract dispute and had gone all the way back to Double-A,
managing the Pensacola Blue Wahoos in 2012. At the age of sixty he would be back in Triple-A. Players don’t like to stop playing; managers don’t like to stop managing.

The two longest-tenured managers in the league beginning 2013 were Dave Miley, who had been managing in Triple-A for the Yankees since 2006, and Charlie Montoyo, who had arrived in Durham a year later.

Miley would finally get off the road in 2013. Not only did his team have a newly renovated ballpark; it had a new name: the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre RailRiders, a name selected during an off-season name-the-team contest.

Montoyo had been through his worst season—in terms of wins and losses—as a Triple-A manager in 2012, but he came out of it feeling good about the experience.

“The losing wasn’t any fun,” he said. “We got buried early by that thirteen-game losing streak in April and never really had any chance to do more than try to get to .500. But when the season ended, I was pretty happy with how I dealt with it all. The pressures from the major-league club are always there, but this was even more than normal because of all the injuries they had.

“And I think I can honestly say that none of us [pitching coach Neil Allen and hitting coach Dave Myers] ever let up or complained about everything that was going on. That can happen to anyone at Triple-A, especially during a bad season, and it didn’t happen to us. I was proud of that. I think we went out on September 3 with every bit as much enthusiasm as we did on April 5. We owe that to the players, regardless of whether they’re the next superstar or someone just trying to squeeze one more year out of baseball.”

That didn’t mean Montoyo wasn’t more than ready to go home and see his family after the final out on September 3.

The boys were both in school, and he was hoping that Alexander might somehow avoid a fourth round of open-heart surgery, which doctors had said was a possibility for the spring. It was the first time since he had arrived in Durham that there were no postseason games, so he was home a couple of weeks earlier than normal.

“It actually felt kind of funny to be home that soon,” he said.

The Rays had never pressured him to join the team in September in past years because of his unique family situation. This time was a little different. One week after the season had ended—about the same time that previous seasons in Durham had ended or were about to end—Montoyo got a phone call from Mitch Lukevics, the Rays’ farm director.

“The team’s going to Baltimore and New York,” he said. “We’d like you to go.” He paused. “It would be good for you to be seen.”

Montoyo understood. The Rays—with Evan Longoria back in the lineup—were making another late push for a playoff spot, and the six games in Baltimore and New York would be crucial. But that wasn’t why Lukevics wanted Montoyo on the trip. He wanted Montoyo mixing with major leaguers—from the Rays and from other teams.

“I get it,” Montoyo said. “He wants people to be aware of me. I knew he wasn’t asking me to go because they needed another guy to throw BP or hit fungoes in pregame.”

The trip didn’t go terribly well for the Rays. They dropped five of six and, even though they ended up winning ninety games, came up short of the playoffs. Montoyo headed back to Arizona after the team’s last game in New York and waited to see if his phone would ring during the off-season.

It didn’t.

“Not a big deal,” he said. “The minor leagues is what I know. To me the minor leagues
is
baseball. If that changes someday, great, I’d love the chance. I believe in my ability. But I’m not exactly old yet [forty-seven on opening day in 2013], so I feel if it’s going to happen, there’s still time.”

The most disappointing news of the off-season was that the doctors felt that Alexander needed another round of surgery. It was scheduled for April 15, and Montoyo and the Rays made plans for him to be absent from the Bulls for as long as was needed.

“We’ve been through this enough times that we almost know just how to do it,” he said. “I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. We always schedule the surgery for a Monday because that means the
surgeon will be in the hospital for at least the next four days after the surgery. In April, it means I can fly to Los Angeles [UCLA hospital] after a day game to meet the family.

“Last time I was prepared to be away for a month. After the fifth day, Alexander came home. I hope it goes as well this time.”

Alexander would still be only five on the day of the surgery. “We hope this is the last one,” Montoyo said. “The doctors say if this doesn’t get it done, the next step is to consider a transplant.” He paused for a long moment. “Obviously, we don’t want that.”

As always, Montoyo enjoyed spring training, the feeling of being around the major-league team and players and living the major-league life. In the back of his mind, though, he knew that opening day—April 4—wouldn’t feel as much like a beginning as it normally did. It would be another day in the countdown to what he hoped and prayed would be his son’s last surgery.

“He’s done amazingly well considering everything he’s been through,” he said. “All I want for him is to be a normal, healthy little kid.”

That, very clearly, was far more important than getting a job in the major leagues. Montoyo would sign up for Triple-A life forever in return for Alexander’s good health.

The surgery was a success according to the doctors. After this, everyone just had to wait and see if the fourth time would be the charm. In September the Bulls won the Governors’ Cup once again. Montoyo waited to see if his phone would finally ring.

L
INDSEY AND
S
CHWINDEN

One of the off-season rituals for players is receiving a letter from the team they work for telling them when they are expected to report for spring training and, in some cases,
where
they are to report for spring training.

Those who have contracts guaranteeing them major-league pay know they will report to the major-league camp; they just don’t know what day they are expected, because it changes from year to year.
In 2013, reporting dates were a little bit earlier than normal because the World Baseball Classic was going to interrupt spring training for some in March.

For others, the
where
is far more important than the
when
. Often, veterans sign minor-league contracts with a clause that guarantees they will be invited to major-league camp. Most teams will have anywhere from eight to fifteen “non-roster invitees” in their major-league camp. Scott Elarton and Scott Podsednik had both been non-roster invitees in the Phillies’ camp in 2012.

Everyone else is at the mercy of the organization. “You hope they tell you to report to the major-league camp so you get a chance to show the major-league guys what you can do,” John Lindsey said. “But if you don’t, you just have to go and do the best you can.”

Lindsey was pleased when the Tigers offered him a contract for 2013 shortly after the free-agent-signing period began. That told him he had made a good impression in Toledo and, clearly, Phil Nevin had said good things about him to the organization.

He wasn’t shocked when the letter came in January telling him to report March 10 to the minor-league camp in Bradenton. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what he had expected.

“Maybe I’ll get some at-bats in exhibition games down there,” he said. “But if I don’t, I’ll go back to Toledo and try to put up numbers like last year, and if they need someone, I’ll be right there. It’s not perfect, but it’s a lot better than starting the season in Mexico.”

While Lindsey wasn’t surprised when his letter arrived, Chris Schwinden was. He had thought he had pitched well enough the last two months of the season in Buffalo to earn an invitation to the major-league camp. He’d been there in 2012 after finishing the season in New York and had hoped he would at least get a few weeks with the major leaguers. Like Lindsey, his hope was to make an impression.