Tuesday, December 29, 2009

BAY WATCH: HOW IT SHOULD HAVE GONE DOWN.

As I walked to the subway against the bitter cold tonight, I came around the corner on 7th Avenue and there, on the Times Square news ticker, I see JASON BAY SIGNS TO THE METS FOR $65M. I should be thrilled. I should be happy. I should be trash-talking the Red Sox fans in my office. Instead, my reaction is “ehhhhh”.

I like Jason Bay. I have always liked Jason Bay. I was sad for Pirates fans and happy for Red Sox fans when he went to Boston. For heaven’s sake, Eddie Vedder once campaigned for him to be in the All Star Game. For once I do not feel like we are getting the bottom scrapings of the free agent barrel. However, the dragging of the feet, and the “Jason Bay would rather play in Beirut than go to the Mets” and the “hey, let’s have MIKE FRANCESA give you HOTT new Mets news!” was all a big pin in my fan balloon.

It could have been different, though. Let’s go visit the gypsy woman and look into her crystal ball for a moment….

Jeff Wilpon sat at his desk in his office at Citi Field, busily tapping away on the computer. There is a knock at the door. He ignores it, and continues to tap. The knock is louder, and he ignores it again. Finally, the knocking gets insistent.
Jeff: “Dammit!”
The door opens and a head appears. “Mr. Wilpon?”
Jeff: “Who are you?”
Barry the intern: “I’m Barry, the intern? You said you wanted to see me.”
Jeff: “Yes, but not now. I was just about to kill this game on Sporcle… come in, come in.”
Barry walks in the room, clutching a report in a clear binder.
Barry: “Is it about my report?”
“You wrote this?” Jeff holds up a copy.
“Yes.”

“You do realize that the holiday season is upon us. The office is supposed to be closed for the holiday. There’s a lot of - work - in this report of yours.”
Barry looked excited. “Well, it looks as though Jason Bay is going to be the only big-name signing the Mets get this year, and it seemed like a great opportunity to show the fans some goodwill by announcing him properly. I put together an action plan that will allow us to leverage some good news, pick up fan morale, and generate some positive press. I don’t know if you’re noticed, but we’re not getting a lot of good media lately.”
“Pshaw,” Jeff said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s just a bunch of disgruntled beat writers who are jealous they can’t have Omar’s job.”
“I think that was last year,” Barry said, as politely as possible.
“We are announcing him properly,” said Jeff. “Didn’t you hear? We’re going to have an exclusive on WFAN.”
“By letting Mike Francesa do it?”
“Exactly.”
“Mike Francesa hates the Mets and Mets fans.”
“Wherever did you get such an idea? He is one of the top personalities at our flagship radio station.” Jeff pointed to the autographed photo of him with Francesa on his trophy wall.
Barry takes a deep breath. “That’s right, Mr. Wilpon, but I’ve been listening to him for years, and he hates Mets fans, and they hate him. Doing it this way is going to be the equivalent of spitting in their faces.”
Jeff opens the report to a random page. He didn’t want Barry to figure out that he’d never listened to Mike Francesa on the radio.  “What’s this here about the Jason Bay Foundation?”
“Well, Jason Bay kind of got on the bad side of Mets fans with dragging his feet, and the comments about how he would rather play anywhere but Flushing. So I thought it would be good PR strategy if he could talk about the charity work he hopes to do in New York to try to soften that. We could get David Wright to come and make an appearance. Everyone loves David Wright.”
“I see that, I mean the part about the Wilpon family matching his donation efforts?”
“Well, I thought it would help dispel the rumors about your family’s financial situation. Kill two birds with one stone and all that.”
Jeff squints at him. “Of… course. Of course.” He flips through a few more pages. “And what’s this about announcing the Mets Hall of Fame at the Bay press conference?”
“I thought you could show some of the artist renderings of the Hall of Fame. It would give the media something else to focus on besides the signing, so they have something else to report on. Have it there as a distraction.”
“Well, we don’t exactly have any artist’s renderings, Barry - it’s going to be in a corner of the team store. There are still some Billy Wagner bobbleheads and JJ Putz camouflage shirts we need to clear out before things can get going there, and, well, things have been very busy around here.”
“Of course,” Barry said, nodding as convincingly as possible. “Absolutely. But if we had something to show the media and the fans, it would be something tangible to prove that you intend to do it right this time.”
“We intended to do this all along, Barry. Please get your story straight. This was always our plan. Just needed to get around to it. Dave Howard has assured the media and the fans of this countless times. I don’t think anyone questions our sincerity.” Jeff closed the report. “Anyway, thank you for your suggestions, but—”
“What about my other suggestions?” Barry said, suddenly feeling brave.
“There were no other suggestions in your report.” Jeff skims through all the pages. Barry didn’t want to tell him he was holding it upside down. Instead, he opens up his copy and lays it on the desk, pointing at a pie chart.
“What about the analysis at the end of the report? My research study regarding the top 20 requests from season ticket and plan holders, and my recommendations for which ones you should adopt and announce at the end of the Jason Bay press conference?”
“Oh, that was a study? I thought that was a project for your creative writing class. No, Barry, we are going to find out what Mets fans really want. We are calling them right now.”
“But this is what Mets fans really want. I took that information from years and years of account notes in the ticketing office, from Twitter searches, Facebook comments, and every Mets blog of note. The notes in each plan holder’s account in the computer was rather comprehensive. You’ve got a gold mine of data right there.”
“What’s a blog? Nevermind, that’s something on the AOL, isn’t it? We are busy talking to ticket holders to find out what they really want. For example, we know what they really want is for us to paint the stairwells orange and blue, and we are doing that.”
“What about offering a discount to plan holders?”
“Oh, the fans don’t want that. The fans feel that they are receiving excellent value for their investments. Plus, we are going to let them into the stadium early on weekends so they can be first in line at Shake Shack!” He leaned forward. “I’ll share a secret with you - that one was my idea.”
Barry nods enthusiastically again, and then points to a line in his report. “327 of the most recent callers in the past six weeks have pointed out that we are the only team in MLB that doesn’t offer a discount.”
“See, Barry, this is why you’re an intern, and I’m sitting here. That’s just what the fans say that they want. They don’t really want that. Discounting the tickets will give the impression that they don’t have any value.”
“Last season, there were tickets on Stubhub for 97 cents.”
“An edge case scenario.”
“No, actually, there were—” Barry flips through his report. “9 games where that price was available.”
Jeff looks at his watch. This had taken far longer than he had budgeted for, and he was starting to get a headache. “Barry, how did you get this job?”
“I’m an intern, Mr. Wilpon.”
“Right, but how did you get this job?”
“I’m in the MBA in Sports Marketing program at the University of Oregon. It’s the top Sports Marketing graduate program in the country.”
Jeff shrugs as if to say “so”?
“I"m in the top five in my class.”
Jeff looks helpless.
Barry sighs. “Fine. My grandfather went to school with your grandfather. He wanted me to go work for the Red Sox, but it’s been my lifelong dream to work for the Mets, so he made a phone call.”
Jeff nodded, and stuck out his hand. “Thanks for your hard work, Barry.”
Barry shook it carefully. “You’re welcome, Mr. Wilpon.” He picks up his report binder and walks out the door.
Jeff looks at the computer, and then at the photograph of him and Francesa. After a second, he picks up the phone.
“That Barry kid that works in the front office? Yes, he’s a real go-getter. A firecracker. Very ambitious. I completely agree.” He pauses. “Fire him immediately. Oh, and send his grandfather an autographed picture of David Wright.”

Disclaimer: none of this really happened