A Marlins Tale: From Worst to First
By Mark Scheinbaum
MIAMI (Oct. 27, 2003)--The Florida Marlins:
from worst to first in one year.
I had started this column three or four
times, anticipating a season finale short of a World Series title for the heart
attack kids of Pro Player Stadium, but biased optimism over the Phillies, Giants,
Cubs, and even Yankees forced me to hold off.
Rarely in corporate America (hell, baseball
is a big business, after all), has there been a more unlikely confluence of people
and events to bring smiles to the hometown fans. Just consider:
--A last place team wins the World Series
the following year;
--A 72-year-old retired manager is hired
in May, and sparks a winning streak which was the best in baseball this year;
--One young pitcher, brought up from the
minors, was raised by a strict mom--a female ironworker in a man's world--avoided
ghetto gangsta pitfalls, and used skill and discipline to dominate the middle
of the season;
--A Double-A infielder, 20-year-old Miguel
Cabrera, becomes a playoff and pennant hero, with the poise of a veteran;
--Young Josh Beckett had never pitched a
complete shutout in the minors, let alone the majors, dominated millionaire veteran
New York Yankee stars--with 5 scattered hits and a complete game shutout to win
the Series;
--Ex-Yankee Mike Lowell, conquered testicular
cancer, a relapse scare, his wife's battle against cancer, and a busted wrist
which kept him out of the crucial last month of the regular season, only to come
back a winner;
--Juan Encarnacion was a reject from
the Montreal Expos. In fact Bud Selig, commissioner, and the czars of Major League
Baseball considered shutting down baseball franchises in Miami, Montreal and
the Twin Cities, and
--Marlins owner Jeff Loria, a New Yorker,
received the Marlins as booby prize for selling the Expos back to the League,
and put together a management team with the ultimate success, but with the penultimate
payroll.
We might also consider Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez
languishing in Texas media oblivion for nine years as the Yankees made their
usual October post-season hotel reservations; or original Marlin Jeff Conine
returning to exceed the success of the cut-and-paste prima dona laden champs
of 1997--or Luis Castillo and Alex Gonzalez slumping, or rather batting oh-for-Autumn,
until snapping their slumps with key hits.
It's the reward for fan loyalty after garbage
magnate Wayne Huizenga disassembled the 1997 championship to pay more attention
to bottom lines, football, hockey, and video stores. Slowly the fans returned.
Many of us were season ticket holders for those first five seasons, tearing up
our contracts in disgust after 1997. Critics would say that the Marlins lost
thousands of season ticket holders. In realty, few folks can afford season seats,
so we split them with five or six buddies to hold down the cost. So, the "pass-along" impact
of jilting Marlins fans meant tens of thousands of people staying away for the
past six years.
To be sure, the National League Championship
and World Series home games were opened to the football seating capacity
of Pro Player (named for a bankrupt clothing company), and 65,000-plus crowds
were the norm.
The band wagoneers, front-runners, and beautiful
people from South Beach were there, but there were others such as an elderly
couple I met in La Minuteria seafood restaurant across the street from Hialeah
Racetrack, who never lost hope, who used senior citizens discount seats to show
their true loyalty to the team, in lean times and great times.
My favorite (and only) wife says for a few
weeks many Americans--well, at least those in South Florida, talked about the
latest Marlins midnight miracle. Instead of death and deficits, terror and turmoil,
it was the speed of Juan Pierre, or the rubbery stretch of Derrek Lee.
Sitting four rows from the top wall in the
right field foul corner, actually above the bank of lights, I was surrounded
by salsa dancers, Venezuelan flags, a stream of beer vendors who ventured into
the nosebleed section, and lots of fun for the fans. We joked that when the opening
ceremonies' fighter jets--four in formation--screamed from the subtropical sky
over the stadium, the tail markings were much easier to see, and closer to use
than home plate.
When my son in Fairbanks, Alaska reached
us by cell phone in extra innings, a buddy grabbed my phone and told him, "Hey,
it's a great game, but you're closer to home plate than we are!"
That particular game--Game 4--ended with
a 12th inning Marlins victory. Those cardiac kids blew a 9th inning lead, and
had to pull it out of the fire once more.
Now, if we could only get their manager
Jack McKeon to run for Congress.
---
Mark Scheinbaum, one of our regular columnists, is chief investment strategist
for Kaplan & Co. www.kaplansecurities.com and has rooted
for Miami's baseball team since they were a singe-A franchise of the Baltimore
Orioles.
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