As we all know, the Los Angeles Dodgers and their eleventy-bajillion dollar payroll crashed out of the play-offs last week. As we all also know, there’s a lot of bilge bouncing around about payrolls, “small-market” teams, and the inherent nonsense surrounding so-called “economic fairness.”
In a complete aside, not long ago my blog brother SportsChump and I discussed the idea of a salary cap in baseball. I only mention that because of a conversation intercepted by the Dubsism Investigative Division. Big payroll money figures prominently in this discussion between Los Angeles Dodgers’ owner Mark Walter and the team’s manager Dave Roberts.
*LEGAL DISCLAIMER (mandated by our very own Small Town Pizza Lawyer): J-Dub has a strange way of defining certain terms. “Intercepted” should be read as “completely fabricated.” Despite that, we here at Dubsism would be willing to bet they aren’t far from the truth.
The Scene: Two days after the Dodgers lost the National League Championship Series, Mark Walter invited Dave Roberts to his country club for leisurely game of golf…where the two could “talk.”
Editor’s Note: There was approximately forty minutes of polite “small talk” before this transcribed portion of the audio. This sequence begins at the 4th tee box. Because we were forced to use parabolic microphones from a distance, there are occasions where background noise degraded the quality of the audio captured. As a result, we cannot guarantee 100% accuracy on the transcription.
<BEGINNING OF TAPE>
Mark Walter: “Man, that’s a hell of a shot, Dave. That was 320…easy.”
Dave Roberts: “Yeah, long…but look at that. I’m in the deep shit. Look, you didn’t bring me out here to butter me up. Why am I here?”
MW: “Well…let’s just say I’m not the only one who’s in…’deep shit’ as you say.” <lining up his tee shot> “It’s a big mess, so bear with me here…” <drives his shot into the woods, almost as if deliberately> “Wow, that’s way left of yours. I heard it hit at least two trees. Might take a while to find that one…”
DR: <getting in the golf cart> “Don’t bother hitting another one. It’ll give you time to tell me what’s on your mind.”
MW: <stalls until the cart is in the woods, then looks around to see if they’re alone> “Now, I’m not saying any of this is your fault, but…it’s just there’s a lot of partnerships that need to be…shall we say…maintained?”
DR: “Don’t fucking tell me you brought me out here just to fire me?”
MW: “No, no, no…you’re not getting fired. In fact, I’ve got a very important job for you.”
DR: “Look…if don’t you want me to manage the team anymore, just say so. I’m not interested in some bullshit ‘special advisor’ front office job. Look, I know leaving Snell in as long as I did was a mistake, and I don’t know what the hell happened with Yamamoto, but…”
MW: <interrupting> Yama-who?
DR: <incredulous> Yoshinobu Yamamoto…the starting pitcher…think you might remember a guy’s name after you give him $300 million!”
MW: “Yeah, I know who he is…he’s one of our Chinese guys! Man, who knew the only thing you can’t get cheap over there is ballplayers!” <laughs>
DR: <stares speechlessly as if he can’t believe what he’s just heard>
MW: “Anyway, I’m glad you mentioned them. You know the deal we made the other Chinese guy…what’s his hame…Show Me or something like that? Anyway, his contract with all the deferred money and accounting gymnastics…well the whole damn team is financed that way. Dave…I’m telling you…there’s a lot of people who are invested in this…heavily invested if you know what I mean.”
DR: <getting angry> “Suppose you tell me what you mean, motherfucker!”
MW: “Hey, hey, hey…keep your voice down! I don’t need the whole world to hear this!”
DR: “Well, then I better start hearing something that doesn’t sound like another one of your ‘I’m about to get ‘silver-tongue-fucked’ jobs!”
MW: “Please, just calm down and listen for a minute, OK? Remember what I just said about the “relationship’ thing?” Putting together all the people and the deals to keep this team running means I’m juggling a lot of shit here.”
DR: “So let’s cut through the shit. What’s this got to do with me? I’m just a baseball guy.”
MW: “Well, yeah…I mean it’s a baseball job. Well…it is and it isn’t.”
DR: <grabs Walter by the collar of his golf shirt> You got about five seconds to spill this shit or I’m going spill you into that golf cart and drive us the fuck out of here!
MW: <panicked> “NO! FOR GOD’S SAKE, NO! STAY OUT OF THAT FUCKING CART!”
DR: <drops Walter’s shirt collar> What kind of ‘Joe Pesci Goodfellas’ shit are you into? Cart got a fucking bomb in it or something?
MW: “It’s worse than that. Listen ‘Mr. I’m just a baseball guy,’ I gotta go through shit you can’t even imagine just to make that fucking payroll. So, can I ask you to be a ‘team player?'”
DR: “I’m listening.”
MW: “First of all, just take care of the baseball stuff…just like you have been. But maybe don’t be as calm and collected as you usually are. Look, I won’t tell you how to do your job, but this crap about the big payroll team falling on it’s face…well, it’s got life in the media’s crap cycle. People keep wanting to talk about it. So, maybe you find a way to pump it up a little. Maybe you call out a reporter for something, or maybe defend one of your guys for something, and get a little irate about it. ESPN eats that kind of shit up!
DR: “You want me to make noise? Usually after the kind of whooping we took, most everybody wants to let the dust settle.”
MW: Usually that would be right. But right now I need a distraction, and frankly I was hoping to get a few more weeks out of baseball. So, ‘Mr. Baseball’…can you make a distraction for me?”
DR: “Uhhh…I’m not sure I understand why?”
MW: “It’s like this <looking around nervously>. Keep this between us, but you remember that Justice Department investigation a few months back?
DR: “Yeah.”
MW: “Good, good, good…that’s what I need. That’s going to be really important. Those Justice Department guys really kicked up some shit. Like I said getting all the right people who have the right amount of money in the right place isn’t easy. Sometimes, promises turn into brown air… and sometimes you’ve got to kick one back on the fairway “
DR: “Level with me. I know you’ve already sold the Lakers and that soccer team you had. Are the paychecks going to start bouncing?”
MW: “No…relax…I mean payroll is definitely covered. Pretty sure anyway…”
DR: “What the fuck does that mean? How fucking deep are you in?”
MW: “Listen, I’m up to my balls in fire-ants here. Payroll is the least of my problems. Here’s why I need the distraction. The more people keep talking about the high-dollar players who didn’t deliver, then the more they keep talking about the lockout…by the way, you know that’s sure as shit happening, right?”
DR: “Yeah, I figured…”
MW: “Anyway, the more people are talking about players, lockouts, salary caps, and all that other bullshit, they aren’t paying attention to these fraud investigations. There’s some heavy weather coming there, and I’ve got enough to worry about because there’s people wondering if I’m just another McCourt. If you take care of the baseball stuff, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.’
DR: “Yeah, OK. Don’t worry about it.”
MW: “Perfect. I knew I could count on you <hands Roberts a duffel bag>. Now, put that in your golf bag. Take it home and hide it for me somewhere only you know about. And the less you know about what’s in it, the better.”
DR: “What the hell is this?”
MW: “Just take it and hide it, ‘Mr. Baseball!’ Now take your golf bag out of the cart!”
DR: “What the hell are you doing?”
MW: Just take your clubs and stand back. We’re about to have an accident <puts his golf bag in the cart and starts dumping an unknown liquid on it>
DR: <notices Walter’s golf bag is full of official-looking documents> Let me guess, sticking to the cover story about this “accident” is part of “taking care of baseball?”
MW: “Goddamn right! Look, here’s how this is going to work. We agree to say the cart just burst into flames, and it won’t matter if they believe us since we will agree to settle the damages in cash right here and now. That way nobody’s insurance company gets involved. Besides, I bet $50 Grand is enough to take care of a golf cart and to cure any curiosities about it. Once the cart is gone, and more importantly all the financial transactions records that I HAVE NO IDEA how they got into my golf bag…are gone with it, then most of what the feds are looking for suddenly won’t exist!”
DR: “That sure as shit doesn’t sound legal.”
MW: “No…see that’s the beauty of this plan. They can’t get me for tampering with a witness or destroying evidence if I haven’t committed the crime yet! And nobody will care about a flame-broiled golf cart if nobody ever files an insurance claim.
DR: “You’re right. They call that conspiracy.”
MW: “Ahhh, What the fuck do you know? You’re just the baseball guy.” <ignites the golf cart>
<END OF TAPE>
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Glad you brought up the Goodfellas/Pesci reference, although when I read the headline, I was thinking more along the lines of Dick Cheney “going hunting” with a friend.
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