Truth, Justice And the Oriole Way

By Thomas Boswell
Monday, March 3, 2008

VIERA, Fla.

The Orioles have finally wised up and given up.

"We took the cover off. There's no more spin," Baltimore Manager Dave Trembley said here this weekend. "The word came from [team president] Andy MacPhail. 'It is what it is.' So just tell the truth."

That took long enough, didn't it?

After 10 straight losing seasons, the Orioles claim that they will no longer live in a continual state of denial. Camden Yards will no longer be the home of quick fixes and overhyped expectations, followed by 30-run debacles. There will be no more pandering to selfish veterans and clubhouse lawyers, though a few are still on the premises. The future will not be now. Instead, it will be "someday," when a proper patient organization -- like the old '60s-to-'80s Orioles -- ultimately is rebuilt.

Instead of preseason predictions, bravado and self-delusion, the Orioles claim that they have faced facts. From now on, they vow to restore their shattered tradition from the bottom up, rather than from the owner's suite down. To prove their seriousness, and burn their bridges behind them as well, the Orioles have traded their biggest stars, former MVP shortstop Miguel Tejada and elegant southpaw Erik Bedard, for nine players, most of them prospects. Soon, Brian Roberts, a favorite of boss Peter Angelos, may be dealt, too, perhaps to the Cubs for what MacPhail says he craves -- prospects "in bulk."

Will it work? We'll see. No team can be entirely safe from owner Angelos, who combines impatience and poor people skills with permissiveness toward stars and an inability to make decisions in a timely manner. However, after the magnitude of last season's collapse, he seems finally to have gotten the message. Night after night, the word "rebuild" might as well have been flashed on the scoreboard. The Birds' 69-93 record alone did not do the trick. The final straw was the loss for '08 of both closer Chris Ray and setup man Danys B¿ez to major arm surgeries. After that, what choice was there?

So, the team that is often spoofed with the Jack Nicholson line, "You can't handle the truth," has finally tried to look in the mirror. Helping that process, the Orioles had the great good luck to land MacPhail as team president just before the decimated team fell apart on the field -- absorbing double-digit, late-season losses by the bushel. Ironically, those embarrassments, coupled with injuries, finally allowed the Orioles to admit what everyone else in baseball already knew.

The Birds were an utterly broken franchise, top to bottom -- one that needed to clean house, get a new attitude and turn to youth.

"We should have done this two or three years ago," one Oriole said this weekend. Or maybe five.

Such franchise-culture transformations take time, probably years. Last summer, I greeted Sam Perlozzo, his managerial days numbered, with a simple, "How's it going?" "Same as always around here," he answered. "The inmates still run the asylum."

As long as BlackBerries, Bluetooths, e-mail and cellphones exist, veterans in the Orioles' clubhouse will be tempted to jump outside the chain of command, ring up The Warehouse and plead their case for special handling with higher powers. Ever since Mike Hargrove left, the Orioles have had established players with big multiyear contracts being given orders by little-known rookie managers (Lee Mazzilli, Perlozzo and Trembley) on short-term, make-good deals. Hello, problems.

"We're dealing with it," Trembley said. "You have to give respect to get it. With the veterans, I don't tell 'em. I ask 'em. I'm a first-year manager. I have to earn their respect."

Trembley makes out his spring lineups two days in advance, right down to how many innings each man will play, and already has blocked out which veterans will make which undesirable bus trips from now until Opening Day. If Ram¿n Hern¿ndez wants to see a child's kindergarten play, the schedule is altered. "In return, I've asked them to be fair to me," he said.

By most standards, Trembley now runs a tight ship. There are no discussions about whether a pitcher will be removed or who will get an extra at-bat. "I make those decisions," Trembley said. "If you don't like them, we have a 24-hour rule. If you still don't like it tomorrow, come talk to me."

This season, spring training drills are more intense, at game speed, but take less time. There are more minor rules about everybody wearing the same uniforms, being prompt for stretching and other mundane minutia. But with the Orioles, who have been so lax for so long, with everybody on their own high-payroll program, that uniformity may help cohesion.

Already, in a show of selflessness that might have made Perlozzo faint, third baseman Melvin Mora, not exactly Mr. Situational Baseball, actually took a called strike in an exhibition game to let Roberts steal third base. Usually, Mora would have swung away and, if possible, lined into a double play. However, with Tejada gone, Mora may have embraced a more senior role.

As for handling young players, a Trembley specialty in his 20 seasons as a minor league manager, there is a firm but usually friendly touch. After center fielder Adam Jones, 22, the key future star in the Bedard trade, was picked off base and doubled off base in the same game, Trembley simply put an arm around Jones's shoulder and said: "What are the four situations where you absolutely can never get picked off base? Bunt, hit-and-run, 3-1 count and 3-2 count. Right? Got it?"

Ironically, the Orioles are adopting an approach quite similar to what the Nationals tried to do starting two seasons ago. (Don't tell Peter.) Trade veterans for prospects; emphasize teamwork and fundamentals over high salary and proven talent. Hire an elite president, then appoint a little-known manager who combines old-school standards with a teacher's touch.

In MacPhail and Stan Kasten in Washington, two franchises within 40 miles of each other could hardly have two more accomplished architects. MacPhail built two World Series winners in Minnesota and almost did the impossible -- get the Cubs to the World Series. Kasten, of course, built the Braves organization that finished first 14 straight times. Both men, someday, may join Sandy Alderson and a very short list of others as potential candidates for commissioner.

At the moment, both men, in their respective leagues, are operating off very similar and classic blueprints. The Nationals are simply further along and, in Manny Acta, got a much-sought young managing candidate. Trembley, with a crabbier clubhouse, a paper-thin bullpen and the monsters of the AL East constantly in his face, will have the tougher job.

However, Trembley has one curious advantage: Leo Mazzone is gone. If a pitching coach ever makes the Hall of Fame, it may be Mazzone from his Braves days. But his inflexible philosophy -- my way or the wrong way -- was a poor fit with some Orioles hurlers who regressed or blew out. Seldom has a rookie coach been embraced as fast as Rick Kranitz, chosen as a kind of anti-Leo. After 22 years in the minors with the Cubs, the flexible, friendly Kranitz has always had to adapt to the talent at hand, humble though it may be.

For this season, and perhaps a few more as well, that may be the mandatory attitude of the whole Orioles organization. Adapt to what you have until you get what you want. For this decade-in-the-wilderness franchise, its bridges now burned, there's no going back.