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Old 02-03-2006, 11:53 AM   #15
SelzShoes
High School Varsity
 
Join Date: Apr 2005
Faith as a grain of mustard-seed, part 3

“I wish you had come earlier, Dad is much more alert in the mornings,” Earle Mack burned with a cool rage at the guest. After 65 years of play and service to the game, Branch Rickey had arrived to force his father out the door. With no money and no park, Earle knew this was the inevitable outcome of his father’s situation, but the Grand Old Man of the Game deserved; no, earned the right to decide when to close the doors himself. The promise of a buyer for the club and a ceremonial post as President of the Contential League did not soothe the son, only agitated him more. “If Dad wants to fight,” Earle had told his brothers, “then he has every right to.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” the perfunctory politeness of Earle Mack did not set well with Rickey. If this were the best of all possible worlds, Connie Mack would be allowed to run his club into the ground until he had to sell. But MacPhail’s lone demand (“his lone stated demand,” Rickey quickly corrected himself) was Mack was no longer welcome as an owner, not if the Yankees were to play ball, as it were.

The door opened on the cramped modest office. Since the shut down of play, the remains of the Athletics were now collected in this space. No equipment, no accoutrements, just contracts and legal papers residing in boxes and overstuffed cabinets. The old man sat at his desk, moving and wringing his hands purposelessly. “It is nice to know I haven’t been completely forgotten by my brethren.”

“You know why I am here, Mr. Mack?”

“You want me to sell or fold my club. Is that right?” Rickey was actually relieved the conversation had gone on point so quickly. He loathed disingenuous small talk.

“There is a group of gentlemen in Baltimore—they are willing to offer $2 million for all the contracts and rights to the club.”

Mack rose and stiffly walked towards the lone window in the office. “I can see Shibe from here. Athletics used to own that park. Last week, I got a letter from the fellow, what’s his name, Cox, who bought the Phillies, telling me our lease was not to be renewed. And we used to own the place.”

“Things have been tough for everyone the last 15 years, Mr. Mack. You’ve had a good run.” Rickey pulled some papers out of his case. “We would like to offer you the Presidency of the Contential League. It pays well; you won’t have to worry about money anymore.”

“It’s not about the money Branch,” Mack snapped. “You know when I first had piece of ownership? I put $500 into the Brotherhood team in Buffalo. Everything I had, and I lost it. Ruined me—but it did not break me. I withstood the Federals, gambling scandals and the Depression, and now you just walk in and tell me it is over?” Mack slumped against the window, the strain of his anger was becoming too much to bear.

Rickey took a place next to Mack. “There are only a handful of us who the Good Lord allows to choose their time. There are changes coming Mr. Mack, some have already started—we need someone who the public trusts, admires, to help make the medicine go down easier.”

“So that is what I am reduced to? Selling the papers other men’s ideas?”

There was no answer; none Rickey could articulate and not insult the Grand Old Man further. Mack started back to his desk, his legs started to give way. Branch assisted as best he could. “I’m just so tired,” Connie mumbled softly. As Rickey eased his host into the desk chair, Mack wondered softly, “Where are we going to find the money to resign McInnis?” Elbows on desk and hands in face, Mack quietly regained control.

“Mr. Mack, I hesitate to keep pressing, but if you do not sell, the Yankees will not support our league. Without the Yankees there is no league.”

“Colonel Ruppert wouldn’t do that.”


“Ruppert is dead Mr. Mack, he has been for years. It is in everyone’s best interest for you to sell.”

Connie hung his head, “Sometimes, I forget when it is.”

The two men sat in uncomfortable silence, while the Grand Old Man considered the situation. Rickey only hoped it was the situation of today occupying Mack’s mind.

“If I do what you ask, can I have your word as a Christian on something?”

Branch nodded.

“Earle wants to stay in baseball; can I have your word he will have a job in the game as long as he wants?”

“As long as I am affiliated with a club, Earle will have a job in baseball.”

“I suppose that will have to do. Set up the meeting with the Baltimore gentlemen with Earle. I should not let my pride ruin the rest of you.” Rickey shook his hand and turned to leave.

“Branch.”

“Yes Mr. Mack.”

“You know, the moment the Yankees feel it is in their best interest to jump leagues, they will.”

Rickey nodded and continued out the door.
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Last edited by SelzShoes : 02-28-2006 at 07:24 PM.
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