Questions Were Asked and Full Discussion Ensued

I have started about 20 (read: 6) different posts since I last made myself known in this forum. Each one has absolutely nothing in common with the other except for two,okay, three things: None of them manage to develop past paragraph two, the quality of the writing is, to be kind, not fit for human consumption, and, lastly, each and every one of them opens with a grand pronouncement about how, to the relief of many (and the chagrin of few) I will not be writing about baseball as the season has (sadly) come to a close.

Grand pronouncement, yes. Truth, no.

Baseball season is indeed over, but even though there are no innings being logged on diamonds from the Bay to the Bronx; there are games still being played. What I forgot is the most important axiom of all: Baseball is a game of boys, and that such truism is not limited to those personnel on the field of play. The off-season is when the true children come out to play, and they don't play fair. No sirreee. Welcome to the wild and unpredictable world which mixes the volatile characteristics of narcissism, insurmountable insecurity, and wads of cash. Prostititution ring you say? No - welcome to the world of the baseball owner.

I could riff and rip on baseball owners till the cows came home (if I didn't think that such it might incite some PETA member to come to my office and throw a tofu pie on me or something for so callously using a statement that clearly hurts displaced cows feeling. Happy cows are NOT in California!) - for instance the mess the McCourts have made in L.A. (so they have no manager and no GM, they lost 91 games, their star pitcher is disgruntled, another one left his wife for a member of the local media, yet another is dating Alyssa Milano, and they have a psychotic player named after a board game. But they have renewed Tommy Lasorda's consulting/license to be a sycophant contract and they hired a new PR person. So yeah, good luck with that) or the continuing disaster that is The Boss and The Tampa Cabal (Does anyone wonder why Brian Cashman has not been seen smiling for years now? They say he has wrested control back; Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it) - but as I began at the beginning of this very, very, very long sentence, I am not here to rip on the owners, not really. After all, what more could be said: their acts of sand-kicking, hair pulling and gum spitting clearly speak for themselves.

I am here to talk about one thing, or rather, one person: Theo. Not he of the Huxtable fame, but he of the Wunderkind Formerly Known As The Red Sox General Manager fame. For the less baseball inclined out there, this might be where this post actually gets interesting/bordering on relevant: Theo actually has more than one name. He is Theo Epstein, a Yale graduate + J.D., who at the tender age of 28 (then the youngest ever) became the general manager (which is the guy who runs day to day operation - e.g. makes trades, negotiates contracts etc. - basically does what everyone does in their fantasy leagues, but for real, so he gets paid for it) for the Red Sox (who, annoying as they may be, either for having been so dour and put upon all these years or for buying into their own hype after 2004's World Series Victory and/or appearing on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, are still a storied franchise nonetheless).

This is a dream job in its own right. That the Red Sox were Theo's childhood team of choice (of destiny?) makes the opportunity even more amazing. The fact that in year 2, he pulled off what had not been done in 86 years and which most people had dismissed as ever being able to see in their lifetimes - The Red Sox Win The World Series! (Sign #598 of the coming of the Apocalypse?) - makes it no less than fan-fucking-tastic.

You are a 30 year old guy (good looking - for the most part, I do think so, but ESPN's man-crush on him is pretty funny too), you have a kick-ass job, you have just achieved the impossible at an impossible time at an impossible age, and what do you do? You go right back to work. We can debate whether you did a good job in going back (The Renteria signing - oooh) but the fact is, you just went back to doing your job. No self promotion. No hanging out with rock stars and being pictured dancing on table tops with Paris or doing shots with L.Lo. Just nothing but Theo. Plain and simple. Kind and straighforward. As always.

The word actually came to me today as I watched his remarks about leaving the Red Sox. He is classy. A rarity to be sure.

I always assumed that 31 year olds were all grown up and therefore self assuming and humble and kind. But now that I get closer to the age and spend my time with nothing but such folks, I find that there do tend to be a lot of exceptions. More than I would have expected. Then again, I expected to have it all together by now. Ummm, yeah, good luck with that.

But back to what I was saying: Theo. This was the year that his contract was up. There were negotiations, it appeared the deal was (nearly) sealed. And then it was clear - ownership's insecurities and narcissism and self-importance strewn throughout the media accounts: Backbiting. Snowjob. Undercutting. Disrespect.

And so what did he do?

He walked away. From it all. From everything. The swarm of accounts that followed this shocking news have varied, but for the most part, see-sawing between the speculation that he had a breach of trust, a falling out, with one of the team's owners, his mentor of sorts and the notion that Theo had "issues" that he needed to resolve. (Quote from Peter Gammons, who I was sorely disappointed to see this from: "Lucchino was willing to pay Epstein $4.5 million over the next three years, but Theo had a number of issues -- some, admittedly, with the spin-doctoring that pervades elements of the organization -- that caused him to make what another general manager called "a life, value-based decision, which never is all bad." .... Theo is extremely intense. His working hours were legendary, and he brooded over decisions. But what drove him to distraction might not bother someone else, ...") Either perspective was couched in utter disbelief: How could he just walk away? The job was perfect. It was his. He was revered by the fanbase as a god. The players all liked him. He would have been making a cool million five each year for doing this job of dreams. But he walked.

Why they whir and wonder? Over petty disagreements? Over fatigue? Because he is not strong enough to be a "good little soldier" and deal with office politics? Because he is a fool?

They may never know. In his press conference today, he was clear to place no blame on anyone.

He may never say, but I get it.

Epstein said he and the Red Sox' hierarchy had "turned the microscope" on themselves and had "excruciatingly honest" discussions. He said those conversations yielded results that proved he needed to leave.

"A lot of things happened during the end of the negotiation that caused me to think more closely about the situation, think about myself, think about the organization and whether it was the right fit," said Epstein, who made a reported $350,000 last season and was one of the lowest-paid executives in the major leagues. "In the end, I decided the right thing to do was move on."

....

"I never really foresaw the day when I'd leave the Red Sox organization," Epstein said. "But, sometimes, choices in life aren't easy. Sometimes, you have to take the difficult path because it's the right path. That's what I believe I did."

Those are choice quotes excerpted from a NYT piece on the matter titled: "Epstein Explains, But He Doesn't Tell All."

They may remain befuddled, but I get it.

At the end of the day, what do you do when it hurts more than it helps? You walk away. You must, to protect that which is most important. You.

Babyboomers are left shaking their heads. You keep going, you keep muddling through. You internalize, you rationalize, you do what they expect you to do.

But I get it.

Even in the most perfect situation - the ideal, the dream job - there are difficulties. Indeed, the bad should be taken with the good. But in a dream job, or any job for that matter, if the bad strips you of the good, if, as in this case, it appears that it robs you of that which is most precious (be it a love of the game or the joy of accomplishment), then it is no good. Dream or not. The price is to high. The pay is too low. The long term blurry - a Hobbesian choice of pay-off versus damage.

I get it.

No matter how lucky they say you are, or how talented they don't, or what they expect, or what they require: At some point you must walk away. And it doesn't make you crazy. And it doesn't make you weak. And it doesn't make you foolish. And, it doesn't make you scared.

It simply makes you.

Run, Theo, run.