“All I’m saying, Mr. Friedman, is that he’s the best player I’ve ever seen,” Donovan Rogers said.
“You mean that he’s the best prospect you’ve ever seen,” Friedman said without looking up from the scouting report.
“No,” Rogers said slowly. “He’s the best player I’ve ever seen.”
Friedman looked up from the scouting report at the aged scout. He looked at Rogers for five seconds and turned his attention back to the report. He read for a minute while scribbling some notes on a Blackberry.
“This time down the line can’t be right,” Friedman said. “No one’s that fast.”
“This kid is.”
Friedman made a few more notes and then put down the report.
“Would you stake your entire reputation on this kid?” Friedman said. “Would you be willing to stand up in front of the entire press corps like I have to do and say this kid is going to be the second coming of Babe Ruth?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Rogers said. “I’d say he’s going to be Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron and Lou Brock combined. The major league record book will be called the ‘Diary of Dale Elison’ before he’s done.”
“Let me guess,” Friedman said with a laugh. “He’s signed with Boras.”
“No,” Rogers said. “Right now he doesn’t have an agent.”
“What?”
“He’s not signing with an agent because his intention is to go to Penn State,” Rogers said.
“Oh, this is this the Philly kid,” Friedman said.
“Yeah.”
Friedman picked up the report and gave it another look.
“If we don’t draft him we’re going to take a lot of heat,” Friedman said. “Even if the fans and the media know there’s no way we can sign him they’re going to be calling for our heads if he goes second to Pittsburgh and they somehow land him.”
“Yep.”
Friedman’s secretary came in with a tray of sandwiches and drinks. The two men moved to a conference table and ripped into their early dinner.
“So we have the first pick in the draft and we’re going to have to willingly throw it away,” Friedman said. “What did we do to get God so angry with us?”
Rogers laughed so hard he almost choked on a bite of his roast beef sub.
“Maybe we can sign him,” Friedman said. “He knows full well it’s a crap shoot that he can sign with Philly in three years. He could get hurt. He’s passing up millions.”
“I tried all of that,” Rogers said as he reached for a Barq’s root beer. “The kid doesn’t respond when I bring that up but he still hasn’t wavered in his position that it’s Philly or college.”
“There’s a way around that,” a man’s voice said from the doorway. Friedman and Rogers turned to see Rays’ owner Stuart Sternberg. “We just turn the media against him.”
“How do you mean?” Friedman said. “He hasn’t really done anything we can use against him yet.”
“Sure,” Sternberg said as he walked in and took half of Rogers’ sub. “All we do is make it appear he’s a punk kid who is blowing a chance at his future. We make him look greedy and selfish. He’ll be so weighed down by the pressure that he’ll have no choice but to sign.”
“Won’t make him like us very much,” Friedman said. “What good does it do to piss him off at the beginning?”
“He’s a kid,” Sternberg said. “A kid with absolutely no bargaining power. He’s not going to go to college when there’s millions in front of him because no one will back him up on it.”
“I still think that’s pretty risky,” Friedman said. “But if we could get it going now that would give us about a month to really get the screws turned on him.”
“I’ll get RJ to leak to the press that the kid’s scouting report says he’s a potential troublemaker,” Steinberg said. “That he can be stubborn and doesn’t always listen to his coach’s sound advice. Even if his coach denies it, when he says he won’t sign with us it’ll look like the rumors are true. Then we’ve got him.”
“That would be a mistake, Mr. Sternberg,” Rogers said. “You don’t know this kid. He’s not your typical teenager.”
“Bull,” Sternberg snapped. “I guarantee right now he’s sitting in his room playing a Wii with his girlfriend
and talking about the things he’s going to buy with his money.”
5:11pm; Bellefonte, PA, Dale Elison’s bedroom
“See the way he leans like that?” Dale said. “He’s going on this pitch.”
“No way in hell,” Dale’s teammate Rob James said. “You don’t steal on a 3-0 count when you know the fastball’s coming down the pipe for a called strike.”
“Ten bucks says he goes.”
“You’re on.”
Arizona Diamondbacks pitcher Chad Qualls went into the windup and Shane Victorino took off from first and slid into the second with a stolen base.
“Damn,” Rob said as he took out his wallet.
“I told you,” Dale said. “The lean.”
“You know way too much about baseball,” Rob said as he handed over the ten bucks.
“Eh, I know enough,” Dale said. “I’m sure there’s more I don’t know though.”
The two friends fell silent as they watched more of the Diamondbacks-Phillies game. At the end of the seventh inning, Dale’s mom came in with a plate of pizza bites and flavored water.
“Are you watching this game again?” Sandra said.
“No,” Dale said as James sat up in his chair.
“You watched this last night,” Sandra said.
“You scumbag,” Rob said as he hit Dale with a pillow. “I want my ten bucks back.”
Sandra gave Dale her mom look and he handed back the ten bucks.
“That Rogers guy from Tampa called for you today,” Sandra said as she turned to leave. “He really wants to sit down with you and talk about money. He said they’ll make you the richest rookie in history.”
“It’s not all about money, Mom.”
“No,” Sandra replied as she paused at the door. “It’s not.”
“But?” Dale asked.
“It can make things a lot easier.”
Sandra walked out.
“You really going to pass up the money?” Rob said.
“I don’t want to play for Tampa,” Dale said. “They suck.”
“Yeah, they do,” Rob said. “But a few million can help ease the suck.”
“No,” Dale said. “I can’t stand to lose. You know that.”
“I know,” Rob said. “But you can’t be the one who turns around a franchise if they don’t need to be turned.”
Dale picked up a pizza bite and tossed it at Rob.
“Can’t turn a Titanic.”
