When baseball resumes, Manfred and friends want Astros scandal to fade
On August 4, 2017 the Astros led the visiting Blue Jays 7-2 in the fourth inning when Toronto manager John Gibbons called Mike Bolsinger out of the bullpen in a desperate attempt to stop Houston’s onslaught. The move failed miserably.
Bolsinger walked the first batter he faced before giving up a three-run home run to Marwin Gonzalez. After that came a double, a walk, two singles and yet another walk. Finally, left fielder Steve Pearce was able to track down a deep fly ball for the final out of the inning.
When the carnage was tabulated, Bolsinger was charged with four earned runs (plus one inherited run) in one-third of an inning. He threw a total of 29 pitches, which were the last ones he would ever throw in the big leagues. Following the game Gibbons informed him that he was being shipped back to the minors. The demotion turned out to be permanent.
Bolsinger had time to ponder how he could have been so spectacularly awful.
“It was almost like they knew what pitch was coming,” he told himself.
We now know that sentence is one word too long. There was no “almost” about it. Over the winter we learned that the Astros had placed a hidden video camera in the outfield and were using it to pick up the catcher’s signs. They relayed information to the batter by banging on a garbage can just behind the dugout.
Bolsinger secured a tape of his fateful outing and could clearly hear the gong of the garbage can every time he got ready to throw a curve or a changeup. How frustrating.
He could have simply cursed his misfortune, but he did more than that. He retained a lawyer named Ben Meiselas and initiated court action against the Astros, claiming that they improperly wrecked his career.
I’m no lawyer, but I doubt that a case like this has much chance to success if it ever comes to trial. At the time of the incident, Bolsinger was 29 years old and had clearly established that he probably didn’t have a long, productive career ahead of him. But the Astros seem to be taking the suit very seriously. They have already requested a new judge and submitted a motion asking for the trial’s venue to be changed.
I don’t think they’re worried what might happen if the case comes to trial as they are what might happen before the case comes to trial. Meiselas has let it be known that he intends to depose
Astros ballplayers and demand, under oath, that they explain the particulars of the cheating scheme. The Astros, I presume, don’t want that to happen. I suspect, on that matter at least, Commissioner Rob Manfred supports their position.
Manfred completed his investigation of the scandal in January. He fined $5 million and took away their first two selections in each of the next two drafts. He suspended the manager, the general manager and another front-office employee and the club promptly fired all three. Two other big league managers, who had been coaches with the Astros, resigned their positions.
That’s heavy stuff, but so far none of the players involved in the scandal has explained himself in public. No player has been disciplined for cheating. According to a research poll conducted by Seton Hall University, 49 percent of baseball fans call it a whitewash.
That’s exactly what it was, probably Manfred’s best option.
When allegations of electronic cheating surfaced his first concern had to be to stop it. He knew if the Astros got away with illicit sign stealing — or were only lightly disciplined — every other team would soon be doing something similar. There are too many easy ways to cheat. If he didn’t make an example of the team that got caught similar cheating would be universal.
Harsh penalties were called for and the imposition of harsh penalties required substantial proof. To get that proof he needed testimony from the players. To get that testimony he needed to promise immunity to the players.
That was the path he took. He successfully got to the bottom of it, or so he thought. Then the bottom moved. An allegation surfaced that some players had gone to bat wearing buzzers under their uniform shirts.
That had to produce a big “uhoh” on Park Avenue. The overalls had landed — kerplunk — right in the commissioner’s chowder.
If it were established that one or more players had worn buzzers, wouldn’t those players have to be disciplined? And yet, those players had been promised immunity. Now what?
In almost lightning time the commissioner’s office put out a statement that no evidence could be found that any player wore a buzzer.
Perhaps no evidence was found because none existed. Perhaps the allegation was false.
But, perhaps — just perhaps — no evidence was found because no one wanted to find it. Perhaps — just perhaps — the commissioner metaphorically fixed his gaze on the ceiling and declared that he saw no evidence that the room he was sitting in was equipped with a floor. Perhaps — just perhaps — he found that less awkward than admitting that not only did a floor exist but somebody had made a terrible mess on the rug.
That, of course, would be a whitewash. But, to be fair, it might have been Manfred’s best course of action. If so, he doesn’t want to see ballplayers called to testify under oath.