Splendor Among the Potted Palms

By B.J. Phillips

At baseball's annual meetings, the elite meet to wheel and deal

It was a deal worth millions, the kind of high-finance finagling that usually takes place in the plush penthouse suites of office towers or aboard private Learjets. In such transactions, aides with bulging briefcases and thick black books usually dance attendance near by, ready to proffer, at a nod from the principals, relevant statistics and legal interpretations. But the deal under discussion did not involve a merger or a stock swap but a swap of a different kind:, a trade for a relief pitcher, a third baseman and young outfielder. And, because baseball men are true to the traditions of their anachronistic business, Whitey Herzog, general manager and manager of the St. Louis Cardinals, and Bob Kennedy, general manager of the Chicago Cubs, sat down at a table in the lobby of a Dallas hotel and, while hundreds looked on, made their deal. Baseball's 79th winter meeting--an annual extravaganza that is part Oldtimers' Day, part industry trade fair and part human flesh market--was under way.

Herzog and Kennedy continued their negotiations for nearly half an hour, pausing to consult with a player's agent (a recent and much resented addition to such discussions) and to check minor-league scouting reports. Abruptly, the men exchanged handshakes, then departed to announce formally that Cubs Relief Ace Bruce Sutler had been sent to the Cardinals in exchange for Third Baseman Ken Reitz, second-year Outfielder Leon Durham and a St. Louis minor leaguer to be named later. That seemingly casual negotiation was symbolic of baseball's return to its old ways after five years of free-agent chaos. For the first time since players won the right to play out their options and sell their services on the open market, owners and executives have slowed the pace of free-agent signing and turned to the traditional methods of swapping players and beefing up farm systems.

When the winter meeting opened in Dallas last week, less than a month after the free-agent draft, only eight of the big leagues' 48 free agents had signed new contracts. (In 1976, 18 of 22 free agents drafted signed fat contracts within a month.) A few, such as San Diego Superstar Dave Winfield, who is reportedly holding out for $20 million, have not signed because they expect the ante to jump with each passing day. But a number are simply finding that the market is less bullish. Furthermore, 18 minor-league players were drafted by big-league clubs during last week's meetings; a year ago, just ten players were selected. The Oakland A's--reviving under General Manager-Manager Billy Martin and flush with funds since Skinflint Owner Charlie Finley sold the team to Levi Strauss Chairman Walter A. Haas Jr. last summer--have passed up the free-agent market in favor of acquiring minor-league clubs to develop young players. Other clubs are following suit.

Trading was on the upswing too. As the deadline for deals approached, 44 players changed clubs last week. Included were such prominent big-league stars as the Padres Reliever Rollie Fingers and Catcher Gene Tenace, Pittsburgh Pitcher Bert Blyleven, Cleveland Pitcher Bob Owchinko, Houston Third Baseman Enos Cabell, Giants Pitcher John Montefusco and Boston Infielders Rick Burleson and Butch Hobson. During the years since free agency began, trading activity during the winter meeting had slumped to a low of 30 players in 1979, compared with 68 in 1972. Pirates Manager Chuck Tanner explains the change: "Clubs are trying to build with their farm teams and trades, then just fill in the spots with free agents. The price of free agents should drop, because instead of four clubs going after one catcher, one club will be looking at four catchers." Says Toronto Blue Jays President Peter Bavasi: "I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that baseball is putting the brakes on the runaway locomotive, but a few passengers are trying to reboard the train. We're scrambling to get back into the caboose in hopes that we can work our way forward to the engine."

The financial underpinnings of baseball are .shaky, Commissioner Bowie Kuhn insisted in his speech opening the meetings. According to Kuhn, only eleven clubs operated in the black in 1979, despite record attendance of more than 43 million. "The prospect of staggering losses for our clubs is emphatically possible," Kuhn asserted. Then he added: "No one should expect new owners to come along and bail out struggling clubs." Kuhn's cry rang a bit hollow when, later in the week, he led a drive to prohibit the sale of the decidedly struggling Chicago White Sox. Ohio Entrepreneur Edward DeBartolo had offered $20 million for the White Sox, but Kuhn objected to DeBartolo's ownership of race tracks. That is a reservation he has not raised about New York Yankees Owner George Steinbrenner, who holds part interest in a Florida track.

Still, little could dampen the mood of the 1,800 baseball scouts, front office executives, managers and owners in attendance as the meeting came to a close. Baseball men, the last bastion of lobby-loitering in an era of drive-to-your-room Holiday Inns, had much to keep them busy. Long accustomed to whiling away the hours before night games on couches shaded by potted palms, they passed on their lore ("Remember the time Scraps Courtney fixed up that hayride in El Paso ..."), renewed old acquaintances ("We used to play together in Class D ball...") and conducted a little business ("We're looking for a righthanded hitter with power ..."). Most pleasing of all was the sight of deals being made once more in straightforward, oldfashioned, cigar-perfumed, backslapping, buttonholing, lobby-sitting style. Said one former minor-league manager, who keeps his hand in by scouting the Tennessee hills for high school prospects: "Didn't you just love to see the Cubs and Cardinals dealing there in the lobby? It's just like the old days, just like the old days."

--By B.J. Phillips. Reported by Jamie Murphy/Dallas

With reporting by Jamie Murphy/Dallas

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