Theo Epstein (left) and Brian Cashman (
)
These are not dream jobs.
Even if you have big payrolls and win championships and break Curses, there is no perfection when you are the general manager of a mega-market team. You create The Beast that must be fed at all times to satiate the hungriest fans, the most critical media. The Pirates can lose 19 years in a row, but try losing even three straight days in Boston or New York and see what that sounds like on talk radio, looks like on the back of the tabloids.
Every pricey seat is filled, the ratings on the team-owned network are terrific and, thus, the payroll can swell. But that is part of The Beast, as well. Because every offseason you have to electrify the fans and the advertisers again, take more long-term risks on star players. There can be no off years, certainly not two in a row. Or else you could become the Mets, unable to sell your tickets anywhere but at cut-rate prices on StubHub.
The title is general manager, but your job is so much more complex than deciding who plays left field. You have to manage your team’s history, your fan base’s expectations, a staff below you, antsy/involved ownership above you that can, and will, overrule on a whim.
This is not a baseball team like, say, the Texas Rangers or San Diego Padres. These are brands that have more in common with Nike and Coca-Cola. And these brands must be constantly fed with more winning and no tolerance for losing. None. You are as much executive traffic cop as head of baseball operations; trying to keep the flow of information and goodwill and good work moving seamlessly in a fishbowl.
You are salesman as much as baseball man, constantly using the media as a bullhorn to tell the fans why to buy into the plan and, thus, the suites and $12 beers. You are the one gambling that an untested prospect will not sink the franchise’s uber payroll. You have to tell the legends the bad news — time to move on Pedro Martinez, time to redouble your offseason efforts to get more lateral range Derek Jeter.
You will live in a sympathy-less world. After all, you have all the money to throw at problems; you don’t have to shop at the bargain basement. It might look like heaven from the outside — endless payroll in a sport without a salary cap. But every dollar brings a gray hair or a lost hair; there are no victories to celebrate along the way, no highs from the competition or accomplishment. There is only a parade. That is your victory. And in those years you are fortunate to have health and production and a bunch of your moves translate into genius, the good vibrations will disappear in a flash. Before the confetti is cleaned up, The Beast is wondering what you are doing about a repeat. The Beast never stops chewing at your time, personal life, soul, common sense, decency.
Theo Epstein finally had enough of The Beast; a Boston kid officially walking away yesterday as general manager of the Red Sox. Brian Cashman, to all current signs, is going to re-enlist yet again to try to slay The Beast.
“The amazing thing to me about is he continues to do that job,” said an executive who used to work within The Rivalry. “One year is three years in those jobs. This doesn’t exist with the Mets or Cubs or Dodgers, not even close. This is the Yankees and Red Sox dealing with an unforgiving expectation fed by maniacal media and fan bases.”
Epstein opted to leave with the Red Sox at an even lower moment than when the ball left Aaron Boone’s bat eight years ago this Sunday. They have no manager, a diminished farm system, a bevy of odious contracts and a clubhouse culture that has curdled. Epstein knew he was not staying beyond the conclusion of his contract after the 2012 season, and there was a chance to fortify his reputation forever by ending another curse, this one with the Cubs. So his job now, ironically, is to create The Beast there; to instigate such a winning fervor in a large market that even the Friendly Confines grow relentlessly impatient for anything but stars and rings.
Say what you will about Cashman, but when the Yankees did not make the playoffs in 2008 and his contract expired, he said he was going to stay to fight to fix both the team and his reputation. If you think his legacy is going to be Carl Pavano or Kei Igawa, you are wrong. Again, these jobs are less about player personnel than you think.
Since being given greater authority in 2006 by George Steinbrenner, Cashman has created organization from chaos; from what used to be dysfunction that ran along the Tampa-to-New York corridor. Department responsibilities have been clearly defined; some — such as a statistical analysis wing — have been created. There is a logical flow chart of authority.
Cashman’s contract was expiring this year and he recommended to ownership that investing money in Rafael Soriano or prospects in Ubaldo Jimenez might bring short-term positives (good for him), but would be bad uses of capital. He was not looking to brandish his reputation for a next job, but to do this one well.
The final chapter has not been written on Cashman; whether a more logical way of running a draft and farm system, for example, actually will continue to provide assets, deliver more stars and rings. But it looks as if he will stay to fight that fight, get in the ring some more. Not run away from navigating through A-Rod’s worse-every-year contract, ultimately replacing Jeter and Mariano Rivera, working for people who still have Steinbrenner DNA.
The Beast is hungry and — in The Bronx, at least — Brian Cashman still is trying to figure out how to feed it.
joel.sherman@nypost.com