The Draft Goes Public
| By Alan Matthews |
| June 13, 2007 |
LAKE BUENA VISTA, Fla.—From the parking lot to the podium, Disney's Wide World of Sports was all talk on June 7.
Major League Baseball's draft has always been the year's most discussed day in baseball's inner circles, but for the first time in the draft's 43-year history, the masses were invited to partake in the pastime.
No one was really sure what to expect, but as team representatives, media members and MLB's top executives filtered into the building known as the Milk House, the air was rife with anticipation and expectation, with a triple-shot of curiosity about the draft's metamorphous.
"I don't think anyone really knew what this was going to look like when it finally unfolded because we were taking such an important event, that was simply a conference call for so many years, and building all of this around it," said Joe Garagiola Jr., as he cast his eyes around the room and gestured at the grand stage the draft has finally received.
Garagiola, MLB's vice president of operations and the manager of the 40-plus-man roster of MLB employees who packed up their laptops and set up shop a thousand miles south of their Park Avenue offices, wore a look of satisfaction, and his excitement after witnessing the transformation was genuine.
"What was a non-event from the public's impression became an event that suddenly had a life, with names and faces," he said, "and all the while the clubs behind it didn't miss a beat."
Lifting The Veil
After more than four decades of working, effectively, as an underground operation, the cloak was lifted from the draft in a 70,000-square-foot arena with a large stage designed specifically for the occasion.
A few hundred fans gathered in seats overlooking the floor and ESPN was there to host the draft's television debut, as the likes of Peter Gammons joined in conversation with luminaries such as Dave Winfield, Roland Hemond and Tommy Lasorda. They talked about who would be drafted where and how terrific it was that the event was on its way to becoming the newest piece of baseball's fandom.
This was the draft's new look—a once faceless event written by a band of hoping-to-remain-anonymous scouts who had spent 364 days preparing its script. A handful of area scouts, a general manager and a couple of farm directors were here to represent their teams, but the crowd that gathered at Disney was widely just there for the party.
When it became time for the Devil Rays to make the first pick, one-time Rays outfielder Dave Martinez and baseball lifer Don Zimmer stared at a phone in front of them and waited for the call to be placed from Tampa Bay. Martinez and Zimmer had heard of Price, but the dynamic at work on draft day was compelling, in that those who were physically in attendance were just there for the show. Not a thing changed for the decision makers—the scouting directors and GMs were still stationed in their respective war rooms across the country, right in front of a speakerphone, just like before.
From the club's perspective, the less these changed the better, and although the world got to see the likes of Andre Dawson and Darryl Strawberry, the draft was business as usual for the men calling the shots. The only difference was the time in between picks, five minutes per pick in the first round, which used to take five minutes as a whole.
Because most fans watching wouldn't know most of the names being called, MLB made sure there were others that everyone knew. Appropriately, Jimmie Lee Solomon, one of MLB's driving forces behind the initiative to improve the draft's exposure, stepped up to the podium first and ushered in this new era.
Javier Lopez, 33, was one of at least 100 fans who made the 90-minute drive from Hillsborough County to show his support for the Devil Rays, and to say he was an eye-witness of the first-ever live draft. "This is part of history," he said. "The first live draft and we had a chance to be part of it."
Rays fans began chanting, "We want Price," and a few minutes later, they got their wish when commissioner Bud Selig announced David Price, the lefthander from Vanderbilt, as the No. 1 pick. The crowd cheered spiritedly and a big-screen TV hanging from the left of the stage showed Price on ESPN's video feed as he was congratulated by friends, family and teammates.
Months in the making and decades overdue, the draft finally had a face, and while it wasn't instantly recognizable to the casual fan, it was an identity that will be built around.
"I could see that this was going to happen," said Brewers assistant GM Gord Ash, a 25-year major league front-office veteran. "It was only inevitable at some point that the draft be given its due. It's a big league atmosphere . . . It's the first step in increasing the draft's visibility. Maybe at some point we'll have access to war rooms and more of the process. This is just the inauguration process."
The Personal Touch
Just three players and their parents accepted an invitation to attend the draft themselves, and they were seated stage left on a raised row of chairs. Baseball got its Kodak moment when the Cubs called Josh Vitters' name with the third pick and he leapt to his feet and hugged his mom and dad.
Vitters, a high school third baseman from Southern California, said just 10 minutes before he was taken that he had no idea when he was going to be drafted, and his reaction was genuine, offering the day's brightest highlight. Several fans stood and gave him a warm ovation as Vitters strolled onto stage, shook Selig's hand and sported a crisp, new Cubs jersey and cap.
For years Vitters had worked his way to this moment. He flew across the country last summer going from showcase to showcase, and fortified his reputation with each stop. He battled pneumonia during his senior year, but during a workout near his home in Anaheim he took personal batting practice with Cubs scouting director Tim Wilken, and smiled widely as he retold the story of that telling afternoon that secured his status as the Cubs' choice.
His father, Warren, stood with arms folded a few feet behind him as writers from across the country gathered around and interviewed Vitters as the first player to ever be ushered into professional baseball in such formal fashion. Vitters says that his father, an automotive mechanic, is the only person he's ever taken a batting lesson from, and the fulfilling feeling of witnessing Warren share this moment with his son was precisely the type of special touch baseball's draft has desperately needed.
Fifteen minutes later, the Nationals made the second of the three players who were in attendance, Ross Detwiler, their pick at No. 6. Flanked by brothers Wes and Brian, Detwiler exchanged hugs and followed Vitters' lead as he stepped onto stage.
Afterward he mingled with Barry Larkin and Tim Foli, the Nationals' representatives at the draft and both former first-round picks themselves, as they shared stories about their draft days and how much the process had changed all in one afternoon.
"When I walked into the room my eyes lit up," Detwiler said. "To see a room for of Hall of Famers, I was like, 'I'd rather interview them than be interviewed.' It's been an unbelievable experience."
It's OK To Dream
About an hour into the proceedings, most of the excitement in the building had subsided. The picks were called out one-by-one, and only the Yankees' selection of Andrew Brackman at No. 30 drew much of a reaction from the fans, who gradually filtered out of the Milk House with armloads of giveaway items and perhaps an autograph or two.
Gammons and the ESPN crew packed up their things as the supplemental round wrapped up, and Seilg passed the baton to Solomon, who read off the names of the second round.
As the commissioner stepped off the stage, he addressed about a dozen reporters near the back of the room, and he glowed as he talked about the importance of the day. It was yet another progressive step made during his tenure, and on this day, the only reminder that baseball's landscape wasn't as warm and fuzzy as Mickey and Pluto themselves was one fleeting inquiry to Selig from a writer regarding his intentions to attend Barry Bonds' pending record-setting performance.
"Not today boys," he responded. "Today is about the draft, about these players."
As the show wound down and the picks began firing off every 60 seconds, Winfield, Ken Griffey and Dwight Evans mingled with familiar faces and the media, paying little attention to the names as they were called out one-by-one. Some of them retold their own personal stories of draft day. Griffey's mom got the call from the Reds on this day back in 1969. She passed the phone to her son right away, thinking he had been drafted by the Army.
The draft has certainly taken on a new personality since those days. For 42 years its execution remained mostly unchanged, but with a national TV audience, a warm reception and a stage all to its own, for one day in Disney World, dreams really did come true.