News that Frank Thomas and manager Jerry Manuel have talked a second time probably indicates he’ll soon return to camp, horse’s tail between legs. What a sorry sight it will be, Thomas trying to win back fans with apologetic remarks suggested by Jerry Reinsdorf.
Sit, Frank. Roll over. Play dead.
What would Thomas have accomplished, except ensuring a Chicago Enforcer will get an endorsement deal before he will? What would Thomas have gained from “holding out” for five or six days other than infuriating some teammates and setting himself up to be booed senseless if he gets off to a slow start?
Only one way remains for Thomas to make sense of this nonsense. If he truly believes he deserves a contract that isn’t so owner-friendly–if he wants Reinsdorf’s “out” clause removed and less money deferred–he should have the courage to commit to a long-term holdout. He should be willing to miss a month or two of the season. He should finally show some spine instead of turning back into the predictable 270-pound jellyfish.
Understand, I’m not endorsing Thomas’ stance. I’m one of those relics who believes a contract is a contract. If some Tom “What’s Another $252 Million?” Hicks wants to pay a free agent incomprehensible money, God bless Alex Rodriguez. But if A-Rod demands to renegotiate or be traded in a year or two, he should be sentenced to writing columns about Frank Thomas every day for one year.
Sure, coming off a batting title in 1997, Thomas should have been worth considerably more than the back-loaded nine-year commitment he made to Reinsdorf. But he could have played out the two years left on his deal and caught a Hicks-sized fish in the free-agent waters. A sharper, gutsier star wouldn’t have given in so quickly.
Maybe, without what he considered “lifetime” security, Thomas would have been quicker to make adjustments at the plate–home plate and dinner plate–as he slumped in ’98 and ’99. Maybe he would have been more open and honest about the surgery on his ankle, which provided a legitimate excuse.
Instead, Thomas was viewed around baseball as perhaps the game’s foremost “company man.” He was Uncle Jerry’s pet–or patsy. The Big Hurt, mental midget.
Still, for a guy who acts like playing first base could be more embarrassing than performing “Swan Lake” at Comiskey Park, the $9.9 million he’s scheduled to make as a DH this season is perfectly fair. It’s slightly more than David Wells makes, and for my money, Wells will prove considerably more valuable.
But $3.8 million will be deferred and Reinsdorf can slide out of the deal for only $250,000 a year if age or injury diminishes Thomas’ value. So if he truly believes such contractual disrespect is beneath his Hall of Fame-bound dignity, he should continue pursuing a strategy rarely seen anymore in sports, especially baseball. He should disappear.
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He should do what Michael Peca and Nikolai Khabibulin are doing in hockey. He should do what Emmitt Smith did in 1993, when he held out while gambling his Dallas Cowboys would lose without him. When they fell to 0-2, Smith’s demands were met and he was worth every cent. Dallas won the Super Bowl. Is Thomas that essential?
I think not. But he should find out, if he has the nerve. He should sequester himself–read no papers, listen to no talk shows–and wait for Reinsdorf to crawl to him . He should sit back and watch Manuel experiment with his many options. Joe Crede at third and Herbert Perry back at his natural position, first. Righty Paul Konerko and lefty Harold Baines platooning at DH. Carlos Lee at first and Jose Valentin in left. Konerko at first. Jeff Liefer at first.
Is any team better equipped to work around the loss of a near-MVP than Manuel’s? Who knows, a Pouting Thomas holdout might be just what Manuel needs to reunite a team that finds itself in the new throat-tightening role of favorite. This time they could show the world they can win without Big Frank. Surely their chemistry would be better without the Big Squirt.
But maybe the White Sox couldn’t overcome the loss of these numbers: .328, 43 homers, 143 RBI. Maybe Thomas could rub Reinsdorf’s nose–and mine–in his value. But could he stay in shape on his own? Could he be ready to produce without spring training?
You’ve gone this far, Frank. Why not see it through? Now we’ll see what you’re really made of. My guess is jelly.