Master of All He Surveyed

As was George Steinbrenner a paradox, my feelings about him were as well. I have lauded him and cursed him, sometimes within the same breath. Words that spring to mind when asked about him would depend entirely on the year. Loathing, hate, revile, admire, respect, honorable, dishonorable, magnanimous, generous, spiteful, bombastic, compassionate, cantankerous, gracious, determined…you see what I mean. At any given time, depending on the topic, any of these words I may use to describe my feelings about George Steinbrenner.

Never to be upstaged, in typical Steinbrenner fashion, he died yesterday on the day of Major League Baseball’s showcase of talent; the All-Star game. His team was in first place of its division. A mix of home grown talent, players acquired through trades, and pricey free agents, have melded together to make a patented Yankee run at securing the American League pennant. Nothing could be viler in my sports world than another World Series appearance. If that team from the Bronx does indeed secure the flag, it is due to what George Steinbrenner created, and will endure as long as a member or members of his family own the team. For this George Steinbrenner is to be lauded and commended…hated, detested, and abhorred; oops, there I go again.

As a Mets fan, I am not jealous of the Yankees success. I wish the Mets brass and ownership were as shrewd and driven as Steinbrenner. Though I must say; I find many Yankee “fans” nauseating. It’s as if they are personally responsible for the team’s achievements. This group of “fans” swear they have been loyal since the days of Babe Ruth. Some of them will attest after having consumed enough alcohol, to having seen Ruth play though they may have been born in 1980. This phenomenon George Steinbrenner is also responsible for. Good for him, the sly bastard.

Yes sir, Steinbrenner was one sharp individual. His Dad was wealthy, but not rich by any means. His father, after graduating from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), ran a shipping enterprise that was started by his grandfather which managed traffic through the Great Lakes. It provided the family with all the amenities a successfully maintained business is expected to. However, George received no allowance. Instead, he was given chickens as a form of payment for the duties assigned by his father. Inventive George, instead of selling the chickens for his spending money, started an egg selling business. He was so successful, when he left to attend military school; he gave the business to his sisters. This business acumen would serve both George and his father well one day.

Steinbrenner was an avid sportsman, running track and playing football while at Williams College, a very prestigious small private institution. After a stint in the military, Steinbrenner went on to receive his master’s degree at Ohio State University (I refuse to use “The”…). There, he assisted legendary taskmaster and football coach, Woody Hayes. Steinbrenner briefly served as an asistant coach at Purdue and Northwestern. The sports bug had bitten George.

Against his father’s wishes, Steinbrenner bought the Cleveland Pipers franchise of the fledgling ABL. He also hired the first black head coach in professional sports. I bet you didn’t know that. The minor league basketball team promptly collapsed after two years. Rather than file for bankruptcy, Steinbrenner paid off his investors the $25 million they had coming to them. It took several years.

When his father’s shipping business radically declined, George stepped in to save it. He convinced investors on his plans for the future of the company, renamed it American Shipping, brought his father out of retirement to help run things, and both men became quite wealthy. His father owed George a debt of thanks, but one never came.

Undaunted by his failed basketball enterprise, Steinbrenner made a play to buy the Cleveland Indians. When that was unsuccessful, in 1973, a consortium headed by him and Mike Burke, bought The New York Yankees for the tidy sum of $8.8 million dollars. The rest they say is history.

Players could now become free agents due to the perseverance of Curt Flood, Andy Messersmith, and Dave McNally. Steibrenner had the vision to seize this opportunity as to where Major League Baseball was heading. The days of sole ownership were numbered. After eighty-eight years of relegating players to subservience, owners reaping huge profits while crying poverty, while the men who put the asses in the seats made whatever the owners felt like paying them; the jig was up. Steinbrenner, for all intents and purposes said, “Okay fellas, put on your big boy pants, there’s a new Sheriff in town, he wants to win, and he’s got a lot-o-money to spend.” With that money Steinbrenner signed some of the biggest names in baseball, and he reaped the fruits of their labors. However, for every Reggie Jackson there was a Dave Justice. For every Jim “Catfish” Hunter, there was an Ed Whitson. But Steinbrenner didn’t care.

Baseball had finally been declared a business by the Supreme Court of the United States, and George ran his team just like his shipping business. If you didn’t perform, you were fired and replaced by someone who would; to George’s specifications. You’ve got to spend money to make money, and make money he did. That baseball team investment of $8.8 million dollars is now worth well over $1 billion. The New York Yankees have the highest value of any professional sports franchise. Fuck the Cowboys. As an added sweetener, the YES network that broadcasts all Yankee game is also owned by Steinbrenner. When combined with the Yankees, that package now has a price tag of over $3 billion.

Steinbrenner saw pay TV coming and he invested. Just like he saw that the anti-trust exemption wasn’t going to pertain to baseball forever. Those owners who weren’t willing to open their checkbooks and play by the new rules sold out. George just said “Too bad.” He probably said something a little more colorful than that.

Just like his shipping business, at the Yankees George surrounded himself with the best and the brightest. He was just as notorious for overpaying his employees as he was for making “unreasonable demands. However, it was never anything more than he asked of himself. He was notoriously loyal to those who were loyal to the Yankees save Yogi Berra, and that fence has been mended.

He believed in second chances. Just ask Dwight Gooden, Darryl Strawberry, and Dale Berra. He believed in giving some of his good fortune to those who weren’t fortunate at all, and if you were fortunate, he gave you more so others could give more.

Steinbrenner built a new building on the University of Florida campus that now bears his name. He never played in a band, but sang in the glee club. He never went to the University of Florida, but Florida was his primary state of residence. That’s all the connection Steinbrenner needed to make life a little better for others.
Each year Steinbrenner allowed the Florida State High School Baseball Finals to be played at Steinbrenner Field (formerly Legends Field) the Yankees training and minor league facility. He didn’t charge the state a dime.

He had his personal secretary with the Yankees scour the papers daily for someone in need that had nowhere else to turn. Steinbrenner then would step forward –anonymously if he could get away with it- and offer financial assistance.
In homage to his father, George built a brand new baseball stadium and facility on the campus of MIT. His father’s response? “That’s the only way you’d ever get onto the MIT campus.”

Steinbrenner saved the family business, made his father wealthier than he ever imagined, and built a tribute to him on the campus of his father’s alma mater. Yet, whatever George did was never good enough for his father. A close personal friend of Steinbrenner’s said that George would have traded all of his championship rings just to hear his father say “I love you.” Steinbrenner lived the life he did because of, and due to, his father. The elder Steinbrenner taught him a toughness that never allowed for second best, but for some reason even being the very best wasn’t enough.

My fiercest resentment toward Steinbrenner perhaps mirrors Steinbrenner the man. I was not a Yankee fan, but I was a devout fan of Reggie Jackson. I went to nearly thirty games at Yankee Stadium each year Reggie played in pinstripes. At the end of his contract, and two World Championships, and a World Series performance for the ages, under his belt; Steinbrenner let Reggie go the way he came, via free agency. Reggie went from working for one of the strictest most difficult owner’s, to one of the nicest in Gene Autry (yes, the cowboy), owner of the California Angels. I vowed I’d never go back to Yankee Stadium except for Reggie’s first game there in an Angel uniform.

True to my promise, I was in attendance that night with my now ex-wife. Reggie did not disappoint. He hit a home run in the rain off Yankee ace Ron Guidry. As Reggie rounded the bases to thunderous applause; I stood on my seat and chanted at the top of my lungs, “Steinbrenner Sucks!” Like a rising tide, the chant was duplicated throughout the ballpark (Reggie makes mention of this in his biography). Still standing, I turned to Steinbrenner’s suite to give him the middle finger salute only to find Steinbrenner was not in attendance that evening. The Boss had the foresight to not be there that night, a big enough man to silently admit he made a mistake, and a wise enough man not to be shown up by someone lesser than he.

Years later, as my toddler son and I drove past Yankee Stadium on one of our many trips to Shea Stadium to see our beloved Mets, Cory asked me,

“Who plays there?” I replied “The Yankees.”

“How come we never go there to see them?” he continued.

“Because a bad man owns them” I said sternly.

Steinbrenner changed the game I loved, and as I saw it then, not for the better. He deprived me of witnessing my favorite player work his magic on baseball’s most hallowed ground. My pettiness came from a lack of understanding a man that couldn’t be understood by what you read in the press. I commend the man I know of now. May he rest in peace; he’s done the game of baseball a great service. Many have offered their thanks in and outside the realm of baseball. Too bad his father missed the boat. No pun intended.