Next Time, Argyros May Just Send Flowers

Telephones, to my understanding, will now come with warning labels. You know, something like, “This instrument may be hazardous to your bank account.”

This thought occurred to me after I learned that the rate for a three-minute conversation between Newport Beach and San Diego is now roughly $30,000.

You and I are probably exempt from such outlandish charges. We deal with Ma Bell’s offspring, which--according to advertising claims--are falling all over themselves to make long-distance communication as inexpensive as smoke signals.

However, George Argyros has to deal with Pa Pete, and he was stuck with a rather healthy surcharge for a call he made last Thursday afternoon.

Argyros, of course, is a fellow who is trying to sell the Seattle Mariners and trying to buy the Padres. This presents a predicament, because major league baseball teams are like spouses . . . one to a customer.

What happened Thursday was that Argyros was moved to call San Diego because the Padres beat the Dodgers, 3-2. This team does not yet belong to Argyros, but you know how fans can be when they get excited. They get on the telephone and call the manager. Ronald Reagan does it all the time.

And so Larry Bowa was sitting in his office, visiting with General Manager Jack McKeon and National League President A. Bartlett Giamatti.

The telephone rang. The call lasted less time than it takes to order a cheese pizza, and Bowa hung up.

“Who was that?” McKeon asked.

“George,” Bowa said.

This could have been almost any George. It could have been Burns or Steinbrenner or Boy or Gorgeous. It could have been Phyllis or Krazy or Sparky or maybe even the Guv.

A. Bartlett knew which George.

“ That was George Argyros?” Giamatti asked.

Bowa nodded. According to Bowa, Giamatti laughed.

However, Giamatti also informed Peter Ueberroth, and Pa Pete did not laugh. He had told Argyros to refrain from contacting the Padre manager, coaches or players until after the Mariners were sold and the purchase of the San Diego franchise approved.

Thus, Argyros was slapped with a $10,000 fine for his one-minute call. I wonder if it might have been cheaper if he had waited until after 5 o’clock.

Poor George.

He has this team in Seattle he desperately wants to unload. What’s more, he is not warmly embraced by the natives or the players thereabouts. Sportscasters in the Northwest are laughingly calling the Padres “George’s Other Team.” Fans in the Kingdome cheer whenever a score is posted with “George’s Other Team” on the losing end, which means the Padres are a source of much good cheer in Seattle.

Poor George has this team he really loves . . . and he cannot even call the manager to offer congratulations after a memorable victory. Excuse me for calling a 3-2 victory in April a memorable victory, but almost any Padre victory has a chance to be memorable in 1987. Regardless, here was George being Mr. Nice Guy . . . and getting socked for his pleasant nature.

There must be another way for Argyros to develop a loving relationship with his new team.

Maybe he should send each of the players a bouquet of flowers. He could sign the cards: “A secret admirer from Newport Beach.” Ueberroth couldn’t zap him on that one, could he? I bet there’s not a Padre fan in all of Newport Beach who isn’t trying to keep it a secret.

The Padre players would really appreciate it if a case of beer started showing up in their clubhouse after each game. It might be wise to have this beverage packaged in soft drink cans, so as not to incur the righteous wrath of the Kroc administration. This evil brew has been banned from the clubhouse since last June. Just use that same “Secret Admirer” trick.

Poor George can check on how things are going by making a telephone call, but not to Larry Bowa. He could call Dave Campbell’s postgame talk show.

“Hi,” he would say, “this is George calling from Newport Beach.”

“Yes, George,” Campbell would say. “What can I do for you?”

Now George would have a forum. He could say what he pleased and ask what he cared to ask. If he did this on a regular basis, Bowa undoubtedly would start tuning in. After all, this guy will be his boss someday. It’s not as personal as a telephone call, but a lot cheaper than dealing with Pa Pete’s $10,000 surcharge.

As far as getting a first-hand look at this club he is buying, Poor George may be in trouble. I guess he cannot sit in the owner’s box, since he is not yet the owner, and he wouldn’t want to sit behind the Padre dugout because he’d be too conspicuous. He could sit behind the third-base dugout, but how loyal would that be?

Maybe Poor George could come to the game and remain inconspicuous. He could wear a straw hat, sunglasses, Hawaiian shirt, shorts and sandals and sit in the GA seats, which would be renamed the George Argyros seats rather than the Uecker seats or general admission section. Of course, a fellow so attired would be about as inconspicuous as a guy in a trench coat.

Only one solution to Poor George’s dilemma is really sensible. This is the only warm way, the only traditional way, to celebrate a victory by his team, even if it isn’t his team yet.

I would suggest that George, who is not really poor, continue to call the manager’s office after each Padre victory. Since he probably will be approved as the Padres’ official owner within a couple of months, what can it possibly cost him in Pa Pete’s surcharges?

My guess is less than $100,000.