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David Wells-Who reference



You can bail out on a hanging curve ball, beg off a bench-clearing brawl or
shy away from contact on a futile jaunt to home plate. But if you are a
major league baseball player, you would have a hard time pulling a wimpier
move than David Wells' act of submission earlier this week.

When Wells, in the wake of a controversy fueled by remarks contained in his
soon-to-be-released autobiography, agreed to pay a $100,000 fine to his
employer for tarnishing the Yankees image, he needlessly penalized more than
his spineless self. In the future, any athletes who are aspiring authors
will embrace juicy material as enthusiastically as they would a romantic
interlude with Marge Schott -- and anyone who dares read their books will be
bored to tears.

I've never met Wells, but until a week ago he seemed like a likeable chap --
beefy, bawdy and brash; armed with a big fastball and a bigger personality.
When I heard about some of the revelations contained in advance copies of
his book, Perfect I'm Not! Boomer on Beer, Brawls, Backaches and Baseball,
it appeared to confirm my suspicion that he's the rare athlete who can laugh
at himself and stay true to his convictions.

Man, was I wrong. This guy may be fun to hang out with, but deep down
inside, he's a wuss.

First Wells backed away from virtually every sexy quote in the book, from
the assertion that he was "half-drunk" while pitching his perfect game to
the claim that 25 to 40 percent of baseball players take steroids. It's
pretty sketchy to moan that you've been misquoted in your own book, but ever
since Charles Barkley opened the floodgates a decade ago, athletes have felt
comfortable insisting they aren't responsible for the words that appear
under their byline.

(Actually, it's not a bad strategy. If I ever meet up with Wells at, say, a
Manhattan hot spot at 3 a.m., and he wants to know why I called him a wuss,
my defense will be, "Dude, that is SO not what I wrote.")

It's a hell of a promotional strategy, disavowing the authenticity of one's
own material, but then Wells managed to do something 20 times more lame.
Faced with the wrath of his bosses -- New York general manager Brian Cashman
said the book "did tarnish the Yankee image" -- Wells made a deal that cost
him $100,000, or a fifth of the advance he reportedly received for writing
the autobiography. He also meekly agreed not to discuss the book on radio or
television, and gave the team the right to approve any signings. Why write
the thing in the first place?

Reports said the Yankees wanted to fine Wells $163,000, which would suggest
that the pitcher actually got off easy. In reality, the guy surrendered more
than a six-figure sum; he also lost his dignity.

Unless you are a lottery winner, an employer's scorn is nothing to scoff
at -- but what Wells did, plain and simple, was panic. The man has a
two-year, guaranteed contract with a no-trade clause, and at 38, this is
likely to be his last deal. Sure, Yankees owner George Steinbrenner -- whose
public silence on the issue was certainly conspicuous -- could have made
Wells' life difficult, but would the outspoken Boss really care about this
crap once the season began?

The guy who seemed the most worked up was Cashman, who said, "The New York
Yankees have 100 years of history and a sacred tradition. We guard that
tradition vigilantly."

Excuse me while I come out of my windup, stick a finger down my throat and
HURL!

The Yankee image? Hmm, let's see. The most decorated player in the team's
history, relentless carouser Babe Ruth, made Wells look like a couch potato.
Mickey Mantle, perhaps the second-most celebrated Yankee, admittedly drank
himself to an early death. Billy Martin, one of Mantle's ex-teammates and
later the franchise's most colorful manager of the past few decades, died,
after a day of drinking, on Christmas evening in 1989 when the friend
driving his pickup lost control on an icy road and slid into a concrete
culvert.

Next thing you know, aspiring autobiographical author Pete Townshend will be
fined for tarnishing the Who's image -- and Keith Moon will roll over and
vomit in his grave.

Aside from the fact that the premise for imposing the fine was preposterous,
Wells could have fought it on legal grounds. Though our current attorney
general and some of his cohorts might have you believe otherwise, we have
this cool thing in our country called free speech, and I have a hard time
envisioning even the most conservative of judges upholding a six-figure fine
for speaking one's mind. Chances are, it wouldn't have come to that. The
players' union would have appealed the fine, and logic dictates that it
probably would have been discarded or greatly reduced when all was said and
done.

That the portly Wells didn't have the stomach for this fight is the
troubling part. The guy could have been a First Amendment crusader, and
instead he exposed himself as someone who lacks constitutional fortitude.
Perhaps he merely wanted to put it behind him. Maybe he thinks $100,000
isn't that big a price to pay.

For the rest of us, however, the psychic cost is chilling. I've co-authored
several books with athletes, and I hope to do a few more. But now that Wells
has set this perilous precedent, I can only imagine how blandly active
sports figures will feel compelled to tell their stories.

When our Pro Bowl center went A.W.O.L. the day before the Super Bowl, some
of us were mildly annoyed by his absence. But we sucked it up and decided to
stay within ourselves and take it one play at a time, and even though we
lost the game rather decisively, we harbored no grudges. We were merely
proud, as he undoubtedly was, to be employed by the greatest organization in
sports.

If subjectively tarnishing a team's image is a taxable offense, how many
athletes will risk being outspoken -- in any context? In theory, players
could be docked hefty sums for anything they utter anywhere to anyone,
meaning the only smart solutions will be to clam up or tone down one's
opinions.

I'm not suggesting that public figures' words don't carry consequences. Just
 ask Cleveland Indians infielder Omar Vizquel, who so riled ex-teammate Jose
Mesa with a passage in his autobiography, Omar! My Life On and Off the
Field, (Holy Moly! What Is It With These Exclamation Point-Laden Titles?!!!)
that Mesa on Monday threatened, among other things, to "kill" him. Now the
MLB commissioner's office is investigating Mesa, who currently pitches for
the Phillies, for his public threats.

Ultimately, however, these men will be judged by their deeds, which makes it
a very good thing that the Indians and Phillies aren't scheduled to play one
another until the 2005 regular season. Wells, too, will have a chance to
pitch his way out of his employers' doghouse, though no amount of mastery on
the mound -- sober or otherwise -- will erase this act of cowardice from his
legacy.