Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

By Mike McGann
Posted Saturday, November 29, 2008

It is the worst week in baseball; a time of tedium, expectation or desperation, but thankfully, it seems to have finally landed in exactly the right city.

For most of the reporters (I except from this the over-grown bloggers who show up thrilled at the idea of being able to "play" at being big-time), it’s a grind punctuated with terror over not being beaten on a trade or signing scoop, yet not falling for the large volume of fake rumors, generated by other writers, team personnel looking to curry favor with writers or distract people from their true aims, agents and hangers-on.

For the team executives, it is largely a time to gather information, see which teams and players are truly in play, try and figure out what other teams and agents are up to — and at the same time, make it look to the media and fan base that you are hard at work doing something — anything — to avoid last year’s playoff loss, collapse, near-miss, non-contending season (you pick it, depending on your team).

For former players and would-be future team employees, it’s a place to scurry, resume in-hand to meet, or to gather at the bar (and most of the bars at the Vegas Hilton — although some of the events at the Bellagio, which has more interesting kinds of places to drink — are kind of dark and difficult to have a conversation at), seeking out old friends, trying to find that job as a rookie-ball hitting coach, or maybe working your way to manage in the Sally League.

But all those attending the Winter Meetings next week — at least those with a brain — two things are shared in common: fear and loathing. Fear of failure is common for everyone attending — and those with half a brain, hate — yes, hate — the Winter Meetings. There’s no way to win the Winter Meetings, you just hope you don’t lose — and even then what seemed like a good idea in December can often be a mess in April or May.

The meetings themselves are something of a dinosaur in this era of Blackberries — it’s not like the good old days when it was hard to reach out and talk to your rivals. Now, thanks to phones, the Internet and so on, they talk constantly, on the record and off. They trade rumors and personal gossip. So the need to do it in person is greatly diminished.

So, they do do a couple of things that you can’t do electronically: they drink together and they chase tail, either groupies or members of the media, especially producer-types, who are not in front of the camera (yet) or the microphone. I myself marveled during one meeting watching one front office guy turned broadcaster dogging a hot young producer — and then seeing him lead her off to his room, not the least bit shy about showing off his “trophy” — although one wonders exactly what his wife might think about such things — anger, jealously or relief? The writers are not exempt, either. I know of one writer who spent the entire session one year discussing the relative merits of the breasts of the women in attendance, a fact that would not delight his wife, undoubtedly.

And the drinking is equally opulent. Ballplayers and former ballplayers drink, for the most part, like fishes. The stories flow and seeing-eye base hits from years gone by become ropes, hanging curves become nasty exploding Charlies and the women — the Baseball Annies become supermodel material in the retelling of the tale.

The writers — equally up to the task when it comes to libations — tend to keep up, hoping that executives, players and agents find themselves with loose tongues once the booze flows.

But the writers can’t drink too much in this new works of 24/7 media when some blogger might breathlessly report the signing of Moises Alou and your cellphone starts buzzing at 4 a.m. with an editor impatient that some drooling stooge from the unwashed “blog” media has scooped you. A cup or two of eight-dollar coffee (Thank God for expense reports) and you’ve managed to shoot down the rumor by 7:30 a.m. You have enough time to grab a shower, a quick breakfast and get back on the phone to make your daily checks with your go-to guys. You spend some time working the lobby, seeing who’s willing to trade their rumors for your rumors — trades, job openings, sometimes just good gossip about who’s screwing around.

For the executives, you have to look like your doing stuff, but not too worried. You have to allow yourself a bit of time to mingle at the bar, so as not to seem closed off, but yet keep your guard up around the media, and old pals and teammates looking for work. You also have to take stock of your adversaries, who’s here to get something done and who is just posturing for the local media. Watching the body language of agents, trying to see what they really want — really expect for their clients — and who wants to make a deal.

For many executives, the best meetings are the ones at which you get nothing done, but appear to have been busy — and hopefully, you were, getting a read on who you can do business with, getting up to speed with the latest gossip on which slugging outfielder needs to be dealt because he got caught in bed with the wife of the team’s all-star second baseman and so on.

So everyone involved, there’s a lot that can go wrong at these meetings — and most of the things that go right, no one — the fans, the media, even ownership sometimes — ends up knowing about. No one wants to be there (except for the star-crossed types, who drool to rub elbows with reserve outfielders looking for work), but everyone has to be there. And everyone will be a hell of a lot happier when it’s over and they come home in one piece.