I won an argument about baseball stats with Reggie Jackson at Yankee Stadium
In 2011 I was working for the New York Daily News (NYDN) as a digital product manager. Part of the gig was to integrate technology into the NYDN sports section. One vendor provided video highlights, and had received investments from Bill Murray (I’ll tell his story another time) and Reggie Jackson. The CEO emailed me one day:
We are all set for the Yankees Game. A friend of mine is going to take care of us. His name is Reggie Jackson…..you may know him. :)
We will be sitting in Hal Steinbrenner’s guest seats about 10 rows behind the first base dugout. Come early for BP. Reggie will spend some time with us as well (or we’ll go to his suite!).
Caveat—I’m a Mets fan. Typically this is irrelevant or an ice-breaking introduction (“Joe here’s rooting for the Mets!”), but not on this night. My promise to you: this is 100% truth and not intended to defame or cancel anyone, especially Reggie. On request I’ve retold this story many times, always forgetting one odd detail. Until now.
Myself and Steve, the vendor account rep, get to Yankee Stadium a bit late. As a result we’ve missed batting practice (BP) and there’s no space in the suite (we started the night 0 for 2) but I’m assured we’ll have good field-level seats. The text updates keep coming: Reggie will come down at some point.
As a guy who’s lived in Manhattan for over a decade and spent a lot of time in Los Angeles, I am not a (for lack of a better term) starfucker. I was interested in chatting with Reggie, but that’s it. No photos, no autographs, no formalities. That’s the best way to treat celebs—like they’re normal people. Pro tip, this is an important trait to share with your spouse. More on this later.
Back to the game. We end up getting seats in section 214b which is just… meh? Whatever, the food and drink are on the vendor’s dime so it’s go time. I remember thinking that CC Sabathia was on his A-game this season and the lowly Mariners could fall victim to a no-hitter. And through 1,2,3,4,5 innings, no hits! Then, it starts to rain and the night takes the first of several wild turns.
I get a text: “Joe come up to the suite level, there’s a bar near Reggie’s suite.” On our way up, Steve stops in the apparel shop and buys a couple baseballs for Reggie to sign, says:
“Gonna give the signed balls to my wife’s charity auction coming up, she’ll love this!”
Nice guy, that Steve. I consider getting a ball too but quickly abandon thought. I’m a bitter Mets fan, I’m at least three huge beers deep, and I don’t like carrying bags or anything I don’t have to carry. Yes, one day I’ll be a dad and happily carry a diaper bag. I digress…
We get to the suite-level bar, I order another huge beer. There’s a lot going on — TVs smattered all over the place above us showing highlights of other games, a table of pretty older women near us, music playing from some speaker that I don’t think anyone can control, and about as many staff members as patrons. Sensory overload.
Suddenly, Reggie is already at our table
He just sat down without saying hi. For a minute or so, he stared at his phone. Then he took out another phone, and was squinting over his bifocals at them like he was solving a complicated algebra problem. Now we’re just sort of… waiting for him to pay attention to us. Finally, he puts his phones down and we exchange handshakes and cold greetings — “Reggie, I’d like you to meet Mike so and so, Steve from our accounts team, and this is Joe Esposito with the Daily News.
I have a good sarcasm detector, and I don’t think Reggie exhibited any when he started:
“Oh, are you the guy who wrote(?) —
—I interrupt: “No, I’m not a journalist. I’m on the digital team that runs sports video, thank you for investing!” or something like that. I was used to doing this cause NYDN is a tabloid and has photo galleries called “that’s not a foot it’s a celebrity’s face.” Never know who got roasted in there.
It doesn’t get a laugh. He’s stone faced, returns back to his cell phone(s).
The game resumes amid light summer rain and we all turn attention to the TVs. A huge platter of food hits the table, and as is common, a lull falls over our crew. As we gnosh, people come up and ask Reggie for autographs. There’s a cross between really nervous dudes that hover for a few minutes until they grow a pair, and finance bros in impeccable suits that approach like Reggie should be happy to see them. I see Steve squirm and readjust the bag with baseballs in it, like a nervous deputy fiddling with his holstered pistol when he sits at the diner counter. Steve smells his “in” when Reggie blurts out:
“Ya know Sabathia has a no-hitter going”
“Ah, you jinxed it!” I say. For non-sports fans, tradition states if it’s late in the game and the starting pitcher still hasn’t allowed one hit, players shouldn’t talk to him for fear of jinxing it. Given Reggie’s a former player, I couldn’t let it pass that he said it so OUT LOUD. Maybe I was a little drunk, maybe I wanted to push another button and play with him. He did not come to play this night.
“What the fuck do you know about baseball?” he says, sizing up my way-too-thin frame to be any kind of professional athlete.
“Hah, well, ya know how it goes.” I look around and Gene, the head of the video company, plays pacifist between us. He simmers the vibe with a rich white dad grin and chuckle. “Hey there, no fighting, boys.”
And right then, CC blows the no-hitter. I stare daggers at Reggie (ok this might be my first embellishment). This is the most intense awkward silence of the night, I thought. I thought wrong. Another round of thick glass beer mugs are decked on the table. It’s the 6th inning, and I’m as many giant beers deep. It’s gonna be a long night.
Seriously, the next day’s NYDN game recap article is titled “CC Sabathia’s perfect game broken up after rain delay at Yankee Stadium.”
Steve seizes a moment: “Mister Jackson, would you mind signing these balls please?”
“Eh, sure.”
Reggie retrieves a really nice pen from his fanny pack, which I hadn’t clocked until this moment. That pen has inked much bigger business deals than I have. I debate how to make it un-awkward for Steve when:
BAM!
Reggie SLAMS a ball on the table. This was an aggressive move, the table shakes, a few pieces of silverware rattle off lacquered wood. Beer crests over mug rims. I could feel the attention of the 20+ people in the bar turn immediately turn towards us. Like that first balloon-pop at the fair.
“You bought the cheap balls!”
Steve: “What??”
Reggie: “You didn’t buy the official MLB balls, these are imitations. I don’t sign these, there’s no sweet spot.”
Folks, these balls look exactly like the other balls. Except they’re maybe five bucks cheaper. I’m ready for Steve to say “Well they’re for charity” but he humbly apologizes and collects his shitty balls. This moment is forever enshrined in my memory: a sports icon losing his shit over the quality of a ball. I now have an odd PTSD where I fear being around people signing autographs.
The fortune cookie, lotto ticket order
Before we can process, another random dude comes over, and he’s holding a fortune cookie’s little strip of paper, paired with a big ‘ole shit-eating grin:
“Mister Jackson, look at the numbers!”
Reggie: “Oh yeah, look at that. We got a winner here! He looks at me and says “Joe, go play these numbers. There’s a bodega across the street.”
In case you don’t know, you can’t leave a baseball game—or any major event for that matter—and then come back like you ran a quick errand.
“But I’d have to keep the winning tickets since I won’t be allowed back in!” I say. He has some line like “tell the gate guys you’re with me” but it’s futile. He returns to his phone. I’m secretly insulted and take a huge glug of beer to compensate. I’m not leaving.
The stat quote; a challenge to A-Rod mania
Now I’m really buzzed, and it finally comes up that I’m a Mets fan. We start talking about A-Rod who Reggie keeps referring to as “Alex” which we find funny. I find funny. And I say “well Jose Reyes has the most extra base hits of any player in baseball right now.”
I was really just parroting Gary Cohen, Mets lord and savior and lead broadcaster. Gary’s my source, I’ll defend him to death, and on this night my devotion was tested. For the record, I am NOT that guy who gets worked up and says shit like “Wright shoulda won the AL MVP in 2007!”
Reggie immediately rejects the stat’s legitimacy:
“Bull shit. A thousand bucks says you’re wrong.”
“Well Reggie, I’m not exactly in your bracket. How ‘bout a gentleman’s agreement. A handshake and a dollar.”
“You’re on.”
We shake hands.
For the next 10 agonizing minutes, Reggie consumes himself with using both of his phones to find the answer.
He texts people with his Blackberry. Checks the web.
Calls someone with his iPhone.
The rest of the table lets him hold court this way. If I had a photogenic memory, the hero image of this night is Reggie’s head looking down at his phones in pursuit of proving me wrong.
Gene, who has to take Reggie’s side, suggests he check some other website, to no avail. I start shit-talking more about ‘A-Roid’ and how his career stats are built by needles. I mention the article where A-Rod was recently saying Reyes was the best player in the league.
Steve comes back with new authentic baseballs! Reggie signs them, I don’t recall any drama. I see Steve was not able to exchange his shitty balls, I decline his offer to ‘have one’ like I have any use for it. They’re tainted, anyway.
Reggie finally gets the call
It’s now the 9th inning and the Yanks are wrapping up the win. We have more than enough beers for extra innings, if necessary. Finally, Reggie gets some Yankees statistician on speakerphone, asks him out loud to the crowd that has now gathered:
“Who currently holds the record for most extra base hits in the major leagues?”
…
“Jose Reyes, shortstop of the New York Mets.”
The table erupts, Reggie’s PISSED.
Me: “Pay up!”
Reggie: “No.”
Let me tell you, this man folded his arms and pouted. Again, I am not trying to maliciously call him out, this is what I saw.
“Reggie, you owe me one dollar. While I’m not a journalist, tomorrow morning I have a meeting with the sports team and I’d be happy to share this story about how you’re a sore loser. No problem.”
He pouts more, the finance bros look to say goodbye but think otherwise when they see his mood. I say “you put a thousand dollars on the line earlier, and I’m asking for just one dollar. I think that’s a fair bet for a gentleman like yourself.” People are telling me to let it go but fuck that. I’m a Mets fan and this is personal.
He finally gives me the dollar and leaves. No handshake, nothing.
Gene, who was way too nice, secretly had Reggie sign a ball for me during the pre-game. He gave it to me, which I thought that was a solid gesture given I wasn’t an ideal party guest this evening. I kept the ball, the fortune, the ticket stub, and the dollar bill:
The next hungover morning I told my product team at work, they suggested I march over to the sports section and spill it all. But it felt weird. Still does. Ten years, many games and beers later, I had to get this all out.
A note on soliciting autographs and photos
It’s one thing to ask someone who’s volunteering or working an event (charging money) for an autograph or photo. It’s another when they’re in public. There are celebrity marriages that have not withstood ongoing tests from fame-chasing public, as early as Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow. I have a sour memory with an ex, whom I told to not ask a specific celebrity for a photo at a work event I brought her to. She ignored my wish, asked him, he said no and walked away. The embarrassment on her face was palpable. It was a rough moment for our relationship.
In 2015, Reggie was called out for berating a fan who got too eager for a signature when he just wanted to eat dinner in peace. I don’t blame him.
No hard feelings Regg, you’re a great man! And a champion. Please don’t cancel me or consider this a cancel-attempt.
Like shitting on A-Rod? Watch ‘Screwball’ on Netflix, directed by the brilliant Billy Corben. A-Rod can try all he wants to cancel me.
About me: I’m a screenwriter who needs an outlet for writer’s block, hence I occasionally write things other than screenplays. This should go without saying but, I’m not currently managed or repped. Read more about my projects here.
Find me on Twitter where my average post gets 0.1 likes.
-Joe Espo
