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A note to the reader: Apart from the financials and statistics, this conversation is purely a work of fiction.
A second note to the reader: I can't believe the financials and statistics aren't fiction.
Giancarlo Stanton walks into Jeff Loria’s office. Jeff Loria sits at his desk, a steaming bowl of ramen set in front of him.
“Sit down, Giancarlo.”
“Okay.” Giancarlo sits.
“We have an offer for you.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to hear it?”
“Okay.”
“It’s good.”
“Is it what my agent asked for?”
“Better.”
“Better?” asks Giancarlo, a bit perplexed.
“Yes,” insists Jeff Loria. “Much better.”
“How can anything be better than $240,000,000 for 9 years?” asks Giancarlo.
“How can anything be better than $240,000,000 for 9 years?” asks Giancarlo.
“How about $325,000,000 for 13 years.”
Giancarlo blinks. “What?”
“The Miami Marlins want to offer you $325,000,000 for 13 years.”
Giancarlo blinks again. “Why?”
“Why?! Because you’re the face of this franchise.”
“But I could have been the face of this franchise for $240,000,000.”
“But this is better.”
“Oh, so it’s 9 years with a 4 year option.”
“No, it’s $325,000,000 for 13 years of guaranteed money.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jeff Loria shifts awkwardly. “It’s just to show you how much we appreciate you as a player.”
“I would have thought you appreciated me for $240,000,000.”
Jeff Loria shifts again, but this time because he’s annoyed. “I thought there’d be a bit more enthusiasm, Giancarlo.”
“I guess I’m just confused.”
“About what?” asks Jeff Loria.
“Well, for one thing: you spent $303,000,000 on the entire Marlins roster combined. For a second thing: that $303,000,000 was spent over a period of five years. Now, I’m no math whiz, but that’s about 60 mil a year for 24 players. Which comes out to about $2,500,000 per player, per year. Right?”
“I guess. Maybe. Yeah, that might be right.”
“And you want to pay me an unnecessary sum of $325,000,000?”
“Correct.”
Giancarlo coughs. “Thirdly: I just got plunked in the jaw with a baseball last spring. I haven’t played a game since. Aren’t you worried I might not be the same player?”
“You’re Giancarlo!”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“To the Miami Marlins from office, it absolutely does.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why, sure it does.”
“I’m the one getting the money and I’m telling you: it absolutely does not.”
“How so?”
“You just built an entirely new stadium for $155,000,000. You’re saying I’m worth two stadiums?”
“Two stadiums and then some.”
“Two stadiums and then some.”
Giancarlo scratches his chin. “I’m sorry if I’m sounding ungrateful, but how can you afford that?”
“If the Dodgers can afford big salaries, then so can the Miami Marlins.”
“But the Dodgers current television deal is upwards of $300,000,000. The Marlins television deal is around 18 mil.”
“So what?” asks Jeff Loria.
“So what?” Giancarlo asks, confused.
“Giancarlo, I’m gonna level with ya, your agent came and asked us for $240,000,000 for 9 years. And we told him to go to hell. We told him that Giancarlo deserves what Giancarlo deserves, and if he can’t see how talented we know Giancarlo is, then he shouldn’t be agenting Giancarlo.”
“So you out agented my own agent?”
“I got him so good! You should have heard his voice when he hung up. Tail between his legs!”
Giancarlo looks about Jeff Loria’s meager office. “This still doesn’t make any sense, sir.”
“Giancarlo, you’re the $325,000,000 Man, you don’t need to call me ‘sir.’ Call me Jeff Loria.”
“Okay, Jeff Loria.”
Jeff Loria purses his lips. “I’m worried you’re not happy with the offer.”
“No, I’m happy with it.”
“Splendid then.”
“I just don’t understand it.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Only because the numbers have no basis in reality, sir—I mean, Jeff Loria.”
“Let the Marlins front office worry about the numbers, Giancarlo. We’ve got everything under control.”
“Do you?”
“The numbers don’t lie.”
Giancarlo blinks a final time. “Yeah…you’re right…they don’t.”
“So you accept?”
“I mean…I guess.” He pauses. “Why wouldn’t I? Right? Unless this is some sort of trick. I mean, it’s still not too late to…you know…save this organization and tell me this is all a big joke and I’ll walk out of here having been had, and then you and my agent can start talking real numbers.”
“This is no joke, Giancarlo.”
“Isn’t it?”
“The Miami Marlins are serious.”
“Are they?”
“Yes,” says Jeff Loria. “Very.”
“All right then…Setting aside the fact that the offer is twice as much as the stadium value, and $20,000,000 more than you’ve paid your roster for the last 5 years, and the Marlins make only 6% of my salary in TV sales, and the current estimated value of the entire team is $520,000,000—which is 190 mil less than my 13 year offer—and I’ll be almost 40 years old when my contract expires…Sure…yeah…I guess I’ll accept the offer.”
“Excellent, Giancarlo, excellent!”
“All right…”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Jeff Loria walks Giancarlo Stanton to the door.
“You’re a master negotiator, Jeff Loria.”
“Giancarlo?”
“Yes?”
“You’re goddamn right I am.”
They shake hands and Giancarlo leaves. Jeff Loria goes back to his ramen and eats it cold.
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