Gene Wojciechowski : Mike Port: The Power of Babble

Your average conversation with Angel General Manager Mike Port usually requires a pocket thesaurus or perhaps an interpreter. You find yourself wanting to ask for a dictionary timeout, for directions to the English language. You nod a lot, feigning comprehension, while secretly wishing for a speedy return to the planet Earth.

This spring, when faced with the possibility of losing whiz kids Wally Joyner and Kirk McCaskill to contract disputes, Port responded in typical fashion. “Whatever happens,” he said with an air of annoyance, “we’ll have nine functioning individuals out on the field.” News flash: Using vastly superior motor skills, the nine functioning Angel individuals defeated the nine functioning Milwaukee Brewer individuals, 6-1, Thursday evening at a viewing structure called Anaheim Stadium . . .

And once, rather than address an ongoing issue regarding Angel free agents, Port simply distributed business cards outlining his and, thus, Angel management’s stance. Read the cards: “There are certain things I am not agreeable to discussing with you on any basis whatsoever , and that happens to be one of them. Nonetheless, thank you for your interest. On the other hand, if you would like to discuss the pennant race, our current place in the standings or some of the fine on-field performances of some of our players, I’ll be more than happy to spend time with you accordingly.”

This is part of the Port persona: cool as your frozen food section, dry as a well-made martini, painfully precise, often confusing. Gestalt is easier to understand.

But what Port lacks in social and public relations graces, he compensates for with nerve, verve and, oddly enough, a willingness to take chances. Say what you will about Port’s style--or absence of it--but the Angels are a better organization because of him.

In about two full seasons as general manager, Port has helped shape a team that came thisclose to a World Series appearance. Along the way, he has bruised egos, ruffled feathers, stepped on a shoe store’s worth of toes. He is exasperating, thorough, seemingly callous, tactless and petty on occasion. His best friends might be the company ledger and American League standings.

“I will react to situations, and I guess people have told me, yeah, I can be a very difficult individual in some respects,” he said. “But I would like to think it’s only in reacting to the circumstances that are required.”

About those standings. At last look, the Angels were five games behind first-place Minnesota and Kansas City. Port has had a little something to do with recent Angel fortunes. He helped arrange the garage-sale signings of veteran pitchers Greg Minton and Jerry Reuss. For less than the minimum salary of $62,500 each, the Angels received a much-needed right-handed reliever and a left-handed starter to plug the gaping hole created by the absences of McCaskill and John Candelaria.

Minton has four saves, one win and an attractive 2.25 earned-run average. Meanwhile, Reuss is 3-0 with a 1.61 ERA. Even if both National League refugees were to stumble and bumble, they have served their purpose. Without the deal, the Angels might be visiting the Chicago White Sox at their Western Division cellar residence.

And glance at the Angel roster and payroll. Port has managed to slice about $5 million in players’ salaries (Reggie Jackson, Rick Burleson, Bobby Grich and Terry Forster, among others) while creating openings for Angel farm products Devon White, Mark McLemore, Jack Howell and Willie Fraser. A season earlier, Port pushed for the addition of Joyner and Chuck Finley. Gary Pettis, Dick Schofield and McCaskill also progressed through the Angel minor league system.

And didn’t Port agree to acquire castoffs DeWayne Buice and Jack Lazorko; OK the deal to get Butch Wynegar; trade for Candelaria, George Hendrick, Don Sutton and Gary Lucas, and get Donnie Moore in the compensation pool? Most recently, Port approved the signing of free-agent outfielder Tony Armas, who led the American League in home runs as recently as 1984.

Still, Port has detractors. His negotiating techniques, though businesslike and efficient, tend to leave scars. Port holds pennies so hard that Lincoln gags for breath. And in search for the perfect contract, Port sometimes forgets that a functioning individual with functioning feelings and pride is at the end of the pen. Witness the hasty and somewhat botched departures of Rod Carew and Jackson.

“There are players, I would say, great players who have been on this club, to their credit, have been understanding with some of the things we have done, with some of the things we felt we had to do,” Port said. “They know it was done with this (tapping his forehead), with the mind and a business decision trying to put in place a piece of the puzzle to help us achieve a goal.

“I have nothing at all against veteran players. Just within the recent past, I did then, and still do, consider Rod Carew to be a great player, a first-class gentleman in all respects. But the decision we had to make was Wally Joyner. A very good friend of mine does, and still remains, Reggie Jackson. Reggie, being a consummate businessman that he is, he understands what we are aspiring to do.”

When the Angels were faced with the recent Candelaria dilemma, Port responded swiftly and properly by banning alcohol from the clubhouse and press box. He was partly responsible for the decision to insist that Candelaria seek proper care and counseling for his personal difficulties. Here was Port’s chance to be seen as a good guy, and he declined. A memo left in each player’s locker served as explanation for the new drinking policy, a ploy that angered much of the team. Only player representative Mike Witt was granted an audience with Port. Meanwhile, reporters’ questions about Candelaria’s status were often ignored or tersely rebuffed.

Typically Port. Typically unnecessary.

Port was weaned on the game. He belly-flopped as a minor league second baseman but learned to appreciate the importance of a team’s farm system. He knew baseball; he just couldn’t hit one.

So he improvised. Port studied the nuances of baseball finance and management as if it were state law. It showed. Peter Bavasi, then with the San Diego Padres, noticed Port’s potential and made him general manager of the organization’s Class A Key West, Fla., club in 1969. Good thing, too, since Port had been released from the same team a day earlier.

The remainder of Port’s Padre and Angel resume is proper and impressive enough: promotions director, director of player personnel, vice president and chief administrative officer and general manager. He bounded up the corporate ladder two, three steps at a time.

Port looks good behind a desk. Mahogany becomes him, as do Windsor knots, dinner jackets and cost-effectiveness studies. On a small bookshelf in his office, next to “The Baseball Encyclopedia,” is some light reading: “Owners versus Players: Baseball and Collective Bargaining.” And what fun it must be for the Port children to negotiate a weekly allowance.

“But, Daddy, the other kids get $5 a week.”

Port: “Under said agreement, and subject to prior considerations, you will receive no more than $3.75. I am at liberty, and I ask such an arrangement be kept confidential, to offer a 50-cent increase the following fiscal year. However, if the other parental unit is willing to entertain said grievance, I would suggest seeking its counsel.”

Interpreter, please. And pass the Roget’s.