Being No. 1 in Baseball Draft Not Like NBA, NFL

The first major financial decision a suddenly very wealthy first-round NBA or NFL draft pick makes is often whether to buy the red Corvette or the black Mercedes.

After the Pittsburgh Pirates made Austin Manahan their first-round pick in last month’s baseball free agent draft, his first purchase was a little more down to earth: a road map to find Princeton, W.Va.

Talk about culture shock.

In less than two weeks, Manahan, 18, went from attending his high school graduation in the upscale, fashionable Phoenix suburb of Scottsdale, Ariz., to playing pro ball in Princeton, a quiet mountain town of 7,500 located almost smack dab on the Virginia-West Virginia border.

Manahan had been playing high school ball a couple of times a week, mostly for fun since his skills had long since surpassed those of most prep players. Now he’s playing for money every day in a strange town two thousand miles from home, his every move and his every statistic charted for evaluation by the Pirates’ front office.

And for one-tenth the money a first-round NFL draft pick makes.

“I knew I’d be playing in a small town, that it would be tough and I’d struggle,” Manahan said. “And I have.”

“For the first time in their lives these kids--and they are kids, they’re 18 and 19 years old--don’t have mom or dad or their girl friends to lean on anymore,” said Jim Thrift, Princeton’s manager and the son of Pirate General Manager Syd Thrift.

“They haven’t had four years of college (like a No. 1 pick in pro basketball or football). A lot of them don’t even know how to balance a checkbook or how to use a washer and dryer . . . or speak English.”

Some adjust to the sudden transitions in their lives and careers and make steady, sometimes swift, ascents to what they call “the show,” the big leagues. The Pirates promoted pitcher John Smiley directly from Class A ball in 1986; left fielder Barry Bonds spent only a year in their farm system until becoming an everyday player.

Others don’t adjust so easily. Homesick and alone, they run up $200 monthly phone bills--or most of their paychecks--calling home every night. They play in strange towns and strange stadiums, against strong-armed young pitchers with faster fastballs and sharper breaking balls than they’ve ever seen before.

“Some of them never have played under lights before,” Jim Thrift said. “Some of them never have played before many fans, or against older players. They have to get used to playing every day, with no days off, two days in this city and two days in that city.”

Some make it. Many don’t. The Pirates expect Manahan to make it, and so does he.

“He’s so young and aggressive, we have to slow him down,” said Syd Thrift. “A lot of kids you draft and sign, they’re scared to death, but he’s not. He’s already making plays that some major league shortstops can’t make.

“Larry Doughty (Thrift’s assistant) said Manahan is just like Kurt Stillwell and Barry Larkin were at the same age. (Pirate scouting supervisor) Bob Zuk says he’s the best shortstop he’s seen at that age since Robin Yount.”

But another former Arizona high school whiz kid shortstop, Sammy Khalifa, heard similar praise after being a No. 1 pick in June 1982, and he’s back in the minors after one brief fling as the Pirates’ starter. Jeff King, the former Arkansas third baseman who was the No. 1 pick overall in the 1986 June draft, still hasn’t advanced past the Pirates’ double-A farm team.

“I know I’ll have to be patient. . . . I’ll be happy if I make it in four or five years,” said Manahan, a sleek fielder with unpolished offensive potential. “Those guys in football and basketball have got it made. They make a lot of money right away and they usually start right away.”

Manahan’s reputation proceeded him in the Virginia, West Virginia and Tennessee communities that form the rookie Appalachian League. He’s been brushed back more than the average player, been slid into a little harder than the other shortstops, especially after hitting a two-run, game-winning single in his first week in the league.

“The fans, the other players know I was a No. 1,” he said. “They know who everybody is, but I expected that. There haven’t been too many surprises.”

Being on his own has come easier to Manahan than many other rookies, because his father, Charles, a TWA pilot, was often away from home for days at a time. That gave him a measure of independence, and with that came the knowledge that he can’t afford to panic or try to overaccelerate his career.

“I just want to move up every year, go to A ball, then high-A ball, then double-A and up,” he said. “I don’t want to get stuck on one level, get sent back to rookie ball.

“I’ve wanted to play ball since I was 11 or 12, that’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I don’t think people are going too expect too much right away, they know it takes time.