(Editor's Note) Please join me in welcoming future Hall Of Fame pitcher Jimmy Scott to the Gotham family of writers. He's been a terrific pitcher for so long, and we've developed a great friendship over the years. It's a pleasure to have him on board. His perspective on all things baseball is quite amazing - MH
There are lots of rumors floating around. With the trading deadline coming upon us rather quickly, I thought this would be a good time to talk about something other than a team’s place in the standings. Today, I want to let you in on what it's like to be traded. I'll do it from three perspectives - Player, Wife and Kid.
PLAYER I've been traded once and "on the block" too many times to count (eleven). I know guys who have been traded totally out of the blue. One told me that every time he plays for a new team, he thinks he’ll end his career with them. The last time he was traded, I asked him if he was surprised. He said no. The team was $9 million over budget. He earned $9 million that year. He was a goner. And he knew it.
I’ve got a no-trade clause, so if the team wants me outta here, they have to ask me real nice and send me a large fruit basket to jumpstart negotiations. They know I’ll say no, so I never get the free kiwi and mango delivered to my house or locker by Edible Arrangements. And if they did want to trade me and I wanted to go, you wouldn’t hear me spouting off about how I’d only be traded if the team got some real good prospects in return. Quite frankly, if the team wanted me gone and I wanted to go, you could trade me away for a bag of balls and some infield dirt and I’d be happy. But I’m not going anywhere, so this whole paragraph is hypothetical. Just like most of the trade rumors we’re hearing every day.
WIFE One former teammate’s wife once commented that she'd had to move 47 times in 14 years of marriage. That included minor leagues, spring training, big leagues... I know she was a little more than tired of it.
When I was traded from Chicago to New York in mid-'94, it was mine and my wife Vanessa’s fifteenth move since getting married at the ripe old age of 20 in 1988. I've been fortunate to have been able to stay in one place ever since, but I know a trade, while part of this business we call baseball, can wreak havoc on a marriage. Many wives have problems making new friends or getting jobs of their own because of the instability of a player's life. That's why I've never revoked my no-trade clause. I love New York, but most important, this is my family's home. Which brings me to...
(MY) KIDS Alyssa and Grace were only 2 when we were traded here. Too young to consciously understand much of anything (potty training, Vanessa recalls, took 5 years), they don't remember the move from Chicago. They do remember the possible trade to Detroit three years ago and how they told me if I accepted they'd disown me. Twelve year old girl-twins are not to be reckoned with, especially when they take after their mother, who, in this case, is my wife. Detroit stayed in Michigan and we stayed in New York (actually a suburb in NJ).
Long ago, I was but a child. Born to a father who himself was a big league pitcher, my mother and I suffered through an intolerable number of moves. Dad was one of those guys who was cut or traded every year. In '76 he was traded twice in one day. My mother likes to tell friends the true story of how she broke our apartment lease in Milwaukee, verbally committed to one in St. Louis, then turned around, broke that and still found us a place in Atlanta, all in the space of about three hours. My dad responds, if he's within earshot (Dad likes to have the last word. You should listen to him call a game.), that his wife did what she had to do. It's not like she was a superhero or anything. She knew what she was getting into. I admire her for it just the same.
As I got older, I realized there was something about my right arm that let me throw a baseball really fast and wiggly. But the moving from place to place didn't stop. Dad, or "Red" as he tells me and anyone within earshot to call him, became a broadcaster; first radio then TV. The number of people within earshot of his now famous "It's a can of corn" proclamations grew exponentially as his jobs moved to larger and larger cities. He didn't realize I needed stability. I was in high school. Scouts couldn't see me if they couldn't find me.
We argued constantly. He has a booming voice, strong vocabulary and, like I mentioned earlier, always gets in the last word, so he won most arguments. Eventually, we stopped talking altogether, ironic for a man who now made a living using his vocal cords.
Fast forward to today. “Red” and I get along because we have to. 1976 was 32 years ago, but I still think three teams in three hours was the greatest day of his life. “Two teams wanted me enough to deal for me,” he still says. “I treated it like getting asked to the same dance by two different girls.”
Baseball is a game, but it's a job too. To compare it to civilian life, being traded to another city is like getting a new job or being transferred somewhere else. Some guys quit after a while, other thrive on it. Their families? Innocent bystanders at a drive-by shooting, dodging the bullets and sometimes getting hit. Only, in baseball we’re probably making a lot more money than you. Kind of softens the impact, wouldn’t you say?
(Editor's Note) 