Francona: The Red Sox Years (33 page)

It didn’t stop there. Fenway was the site of the Baseball Beanpot and soccer games, the NHL’s Winter Classic (Bruins-Flyers on national television on New Year’s Day), college hockey, public skating . . . even a citizenship swearing-in ceremony. Ballpark tours ($16 per adult by 2012) attracted more than 200,000 people annually. Fenway never slept.

Every game Terry Francona managed at Fenway Park was a sellout. The streak started on May 15, 2003, and was at a major league record 712 when Francona and the Red Sox parted ways at the end of the 2011 season. (The streak became an albatross in September 2012 when the moribund Sox played in front of announced “sellouts” that included thousands of empty seats.) The ever-bigger Fenway allowed the Sox to break the 3 million mark for the first time in franchise history in 2008. Fans who couldn’t score tickets to a Fenway game had the option, on some nights, of going to a local movie theater and paying $7 to watch a live telecast of the Red Sox game. There was nothing like it anywhere else in major league baseball.

Fans at Fenway were more a part of the action than at any other time in the ballpark’s first century. Under Lucchino and Steinberg, whose motto was “We’re in the ‘yes’ business,” select fans were allowed access to the field and pregame ceremonies. Ropes were set up on the track from dugout to dugout, and fans could pester the players while they were trying to get their work done before games. There were multiple first-ball tosses, anthem singers, and seventh-inning-stretch singers. Before the start of each game, a fan (usually a child) yelled, “Play ball.” For a price, anyone could do just about anything at Fenway except bat cleanup. Even championship rings could be bought. After winning the World Series, the Sox held a charity ring raffle, awarding the precious metal to lucky fans. This did not go over particularly well with some of the ballplayers, who felt that presentation of rings to fans somehow diminished their achievement.

The commercialism and demand of all things Red Sox took its toll in the dugout.

“It was more and more as the years went on,” said Francona. “By 2008 I was dealing with players coming to me and complaining about it. They had opened up the triangle in center for people during batting practice. We’d be trying to get our work done, and we couldn’t hit balls off the Wall. It’s a fine line. It was just becoming more all the time. Players were getting mobbed by people when they were trying to take BP or get ready for the game. Guys don’t mind signing autographs, but their pregame routines are extremely important. More and more people were on the field, and it got difficult to get their work done. We’d have fans getting shown into the Monster, and we’d have to stop hitting balls off the Wall. It got to be a bit much. I’d talk to Larry about it and say, ‘This is all great, I understand the organization is trying to make money, but let’s not let it get in the way of baseball.’

“This is where, for me, I think the organization was starting to change. It was obvious to everybody. And I’m not talking about the players changing. The organization had more requests. There were a lot of things happening on the periphery that were making it harder to get our work done. That stuff’s all great, but you can’t forget you’re a baseball team.”

He was alarmed when Lucchino called to discuss a trip to Japan for the start of the 2008 season.

“I was standing in my kitchen in Brookline when Larry called,” said Francona. “He started telling me about this trip, and it didn’t sound good to me. I said to him, ‘Larry, I understand why you want to do this and why it’s good for Major League Baseball. But I want to make one thing very clear. This will not help us win. As a manager, I can’t tell you strongly enough that this will not help us win games.’”

“It’s not a done deal yet,” said Lucchino. “But I will get back to you if it becomes a reality.”

“He got back to me almost right away,” Francona said later. “I’m sure it already was a reality.”

Bud Selig was intent on promoting the globalization of Major League Baseball, and the Red Sox—the defending World Champs with a roster that included Daisuke Matsuzaka and Hideki Okajima—were MLB’s dream team, slated for two regular-season games and two exhibitions at the Tokyo Dome. Ever-starving for revenue, the Oakland A’s agreed to the same deal.

Planning for Japan was complicated. It required the Red Sox to shorten spring training by a full two weeks. The Sox would leave Fort Myers on March 19, fly 6,000-plus miles to Tokyo, play exhibitions against the Hanshin Tigers and Yomiuri Giants, play two regular-season games against the A’s, fly to Los Angeles for three more exhibition games, then on to Oakland and Toronto for another six regular-season road games before coming home to Fenway for the home opener on April 8 against the Tigers.

It was preposterous. It was a 16,000-mile, 18-day, three-country, ten time-zone odyssey that would put money in the coffers of the owners and spread the brand of the Red Sox. But it was not conducive to a quick start for the 2008 title defense.

“The Japan trip had been bad for the Yankees [in 2004],” said Francona. “And I was worried it would fuck up spring training, which it did.”

The manager was going into the final year of his contract in 2008. His status had been tabled in the middle of the 2007 championship run as the Sox owners rolled the dice, waiting to see how the ’07 Sox performed before committing any more years to their manager. Francona had accepted that judgment and quietly won a World Series. When the owners came to him in the spring of 2008 to talk about an extension, he hardly needed to remind them how things unfolded in ’07.

In the spring of ’08, while the complicated Japan trip was being organized, Henry, Lucchino, and Francona gathered at the Hyatt Regency Coconut Point to discuss the manager’s contract extension.

Once everyone was seated, Francona said, “Before we start, I need to ask Larry if he remembers what I said last year.”

Lucchino thought for a moment.

“All bets are off?” offered the CEO.

“Thank you,” said the manager. “Now go ahead and make your speech.”

It was a pleasant session. Numbers and years were exchanged, but there was no agreement. Francona went back to the business of getting ready for the title defense, but the contract extension weighed on his mind. He didn’t want it to become an issue. He didn’t want it to go public. He knew he was underpaid relative to many other managers, but he also knew he had new leverage. He’d won two World Series in four years.

Epstein played the role of middle man in the ongoing talks, and every few days the GM would come back to the manager with a slightly better proposal. Francona appreciated the way the process was working and kept nudging Epstein to go a little higher.

“Theo, tell me when enough is enough,” the manager told the GM. “When you’ve hit the edge with them, you tell me, and I’ll make my decision.”

“I wasn’t sure I was going to say yes,” Francona recalled years later. “It wasn’t a guarantee for me that I was going to sign what they finally came back with.”

Ultimately, the deal was struck: three more guaranteed years, which would take Francona through 2011, plus two club options, one for 2012 and one for 2013. Francona’s salary went from $1.5 million in ’08 to $3 million in ’09 and up to $4 million by ’11. The ’12 and ’13 options would pay him a combined $9 million if the Red Sox elected to bring him back after the 2011 season. If the club did not bring him back after ’11, it would pay Francona $750,000 severance.

“I wasn’t making a lot compared to some managers, but I had never touched money like that,” said Francona. “I was very happy with the way it was done.”

The Sox were darlings of the national media during spring training. They were consensus favorites to return to the World Series, and veteran Kevin Youkilis noted, “I think people expect us to win every single game.”

“I suppose a little bit of excess is inevitable,” Lucchino admitted. “As long as we don’t fall victim to it ourselves.”

Spring training was uneventful . . . until the final day. The Sox bags were packed for the Japan odyssey when they gathered at City of Palms Park on March 19 for their Grapefruit League finale against the Toronto Blue Jays. In midmorning word spread that the Red Sox and A’s coaches were not in line to receive the same payments (roughly $40,000) that the ballplayers were getting for the trip to Japan. Francona and all of the Red Sox had been told that the coaches were getting the money, but there was a major misunderstanding.

“We had a day off the day before we were scheduled to leave for Japan,” said Francona. “I was running on the treadmill and got a call from [Oakland manager] Bob Geren. We had coached together. He told me that his coaches were not getting any money for the trip. I started calling him a dumb-ass and telling him he’d mishandled it. But then I started to wonder about it, so I started making calls to MLB, and I couldn’t get anybody to call me back. They were all in Japan already. I was concerned. Then Jack [Red Sox traveling secretary Jack McCormick] called me back and said, ‘Tito, someone’s going to call you in the morning, and I don’t think you’re going to be happy.’”

McCormick was right. The coaches were not getting the money.

When Francona got to City of Palms Park on getaway day, he informed his coaches of the misunderstanding, but promised them that they would be paid. Upon hearing the news, Sox veterans, led by Schilling, Varitek, and Lowell, proposed a boycott of the final spring game and told Sox management they were prepared to boycott the trip in support of the coaches. Even Manny Ramirez joined the chorus of dissent. (“I don’t think he cared about the coaches getting the money, but it was a chance to take a jab at management,” said Francona.)

When the Red Sox failed to take the field against the Jays for the 12:05 start, the story went international. ESPN had the jump on all outlets because the “Worldwide Leader” was at City of Palms Park to broadcast the Sox-Jays spring training finale.

“The players really stood by us,” said third-base coach DeMarlo Hale. “I thought it showed strength among the players and the respect that he had for our coaching staff and what Tito had done as a manager.”

Epstein and Luccino were summoned to the Sox clubhouse. Lucchino was hot. Channeling his lifelong mentor, the late Edward Bennett Williams, who had defended the likes of Jimmy Hoffa, Adam Clayton Powell, and John Connolly, the CEO barked at his manager.

“They can’t do this,” said Lucchino. “They have to play. This is a wildcat strike. There could be ramifications for you.”

“Larry, everybody’s really pissed,” said the manager. “This isn’t going to work. This is a lot of money for those coaches. You know that. We were told they were getting it. You can’t steamroll these guys. They are major league ballplayers.”

“I was disappointed in the coaches,” Lucchino said later. “It came up at the last minute, and I think of the coaches as management in many ways, and we were disappointed that the issue was being drawn at the last minute.”

“That’s why I was making all those phone calls,” said Francona later. “That’s why I made the call to Geren. I tried so hard to communicate with everybody because I didn’t want this to happen.”

There were three meetings with players. Francona went across the field and into the visitors’ clubhouse to discuss the situation with Blue Jays manager John Gibbons. Like any good baseball man, Gibbons was naturally sympathetic to the plight of the coaches. Bud Selig called to urge that the game be played and the trip commence without interruption. Sox player rep Youkilis got involved. As the minutes ticked off the clock, Major League Baseball and the Red Sox came up with some money for the support staff, but it was approximately $200,000 short of what would be needed, and the Sox players were still on the bench refusing to play.

“Fuck it, I’ll write the check myself,” Francona told Lucchino. “We need to play this game. Even if it’s an exhibition game. This is professional baseball.”

“We can’t let you do that,” said Lucchino. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Good,” said Francona, bolting from the office. “Let’s play.”

Francona was never forced to pay the $200,000, but wound up forfeiting his share from the Japan trip.

“Tito was great at making sure the guys who worked for him were taken care of,” said Farrell. “He is an incredibly giving person, and money is not his driving force. That was part of the environment he created. It was fun, and guys wanted to be there early.”

The Sox came out of their dugout one hour late and lost to the Blue Jays, 4–3, while a Japan Air Lines Boeing 747 waited for them at Fort Myers airport. The 382-seat plane easily accommodated the Sox party of 160, which included Terry and Jacque Francona and their 14-year-old daughter Jamie. Seated near Henry, Werner, and Lucchino, the manager was slightly uncomfortable as the plane lifted off the ground, bound for a refueling stop in Chicago.

“I knew they all wanted to wring my neck,” he said. “It was a horrendous way to start a trip. Everybody was pissed before we even left.”

The plane made the stop at O’Hare, then took off to Toyko just before 11:00
PM
for a 12-hour flight.

Sox management planned carefully to prepare the ballplayers for the lengthy trip. Three team physicians were on board, including Massachusetts General internist Larry Ronan. Days earlier, Dr. Ronan had addressed the team regarding physical issues connected to a 12-hour flight. In the interest of hydration, he encouraged players to drink water and avoid alcohol. He also recommended that they attempt to remain awake during the flight. The Wednesday night flight would arrive in Tokyo just before midnight Thursday, which meant an entire day would be lost to travel and time change. It was important to try to stay awake until arriving in Japan, the doctor told them. He also handed out black, knee-high, anti-embolism socks. Pedroia was first to change into short pants and looked ridiculous walking up and down the airplane aisles in powder-blue shorts and black knee-high socks.

Sox players and coaches organized a cribbage tournament for the flight.

“We had 16 guys playing,” said Francona. “You’d go into the winners’ bracket and the losers’ bracket, and every 15 to 20 minutes guys were moving. It took about six hours.”