Wrong Man Gets Blame for Team’s Troubles

Jack McKeon sauntered into the hotel lobby at 12:15 Friday, carrying an attache large enough for at least a week’s supply of his ever-present cigars.

Unseen was the burden of not really knowing what was in store for him in the minutes and months to come.

Was it a good sign, for example, that he was politely asked to wait in the hall until called upon by the Padre ownership group meeting in a nearby room? Was it a good sign that he didn’t even know who was in that nearby room?

Would he like a hood or a blindfold?

Didn’t he feel a little bit as if he were about to confront a literal or figurative firing squad?

It sure didn’t seem like it. He exchanged pleasantries with the hotel staff and then made himself comfortable in a chair. Yawn.

If this man was about to be fired, he sure was at peace. Of course, the fact that he has another $400,000 year on his contract might have been a bit of a soothing influence.

“I doubt this will even deal with my situation,” he said. “We have one of these meetings every year to go over baseball operations. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the boss . . . doing what I do.”

But for how long?

Not even McKeon could be positive going into this meeting.

Finally, at 12:29, he reached into his pocket for a cigar. Maybe he could smoke ‘em out.

At exactly 12:30, managing general partner Tom Werner beckoned. Unlit, the cigar went back into the pocket. This wasn’t to be an occasion for blowing smoke.

Much about the direction of this franchise was examined in that room Friday morning and afternoon. McKeon’s status had to be part of the discussions, regardless of whether he was in the room.

McKeon’s role, as he saw it, was simply to deliver an organizational report. The size of the attache case probably reflected the sheaf of notes he would need to detail this organization’s problems. He couldn’t deal with all of them, because the room had not been booked for overnight occupancy.

For what it’s worth, the gathered hierarchy would have been wise to view McKeon as a messenger rather than as the cause of what has gone wrong this dismal summer.

They don’t shoot--or fire--messengers, do they?

Jack McKeon, the general manager, had to be most concerned about having been undercut by Jack McKeon, the manager, and undone by his superiors in the front office.

McKeon, the manager, was remiss in May when he did not actively address what had obviously become a major chemical imbalance on this team. One faction had aligned itself against Tony Gwynn. That situation should have been handled in a firm and final fashion.

It wasn’t.

And so this fragmented ship continued to drift aimlessly, McKeon the general manager dismissed McKeon the manager and settled for the relative sanity of his old desk job.

Lo and behold, Tony Gwynn and his detractors would again be thrust into the spotlight a couple of weeks ago. You know, The Case of the Hanging Figurine.

This episode rightly infuriated Gwynn. Because the previous situation had festered, he assumed one of his teammates had been the perpetrator of the nasty deed.

Again, the organization did absolutely nothing. Dick Freeman, the club president, should have promptly announced that the club would investigate, identify and punish the culprit. Gwynn, like the figurine, was left to hang by himself.

And so The Times published a story this week detailing Gwynn’s anguish and, presto, the next day Freeman announced that a member of the grounds crew had fessed up to doing the deed with no evil intent.

This may well be true, but it seems awful convenient and coincidental to me.

What it did, however, was give those critical of Gwynn an opportunity to quietly berate him for having the audacity to accuse a teammate of such an act. It’s been that kind of a summer for Tony Gwynn.

And the Gwynn situation is central to what is wrong with the Padres.

The mix is not right.

True, Jack McKeon put it together. However, in his defense, it would have been difficult to foresee that grown men would stoop to schoolyard cliquishness.

This house has to be cleaned and put in order, and McKeon should have been the guy to do it. He, like Gwynn, became a victim of a faction of children masquerading as grown men in the clubhouse.

Not having been privy to McKeon’s oratory, I don’t know if this was the essence of what he said. But it should have been.

When he left the room 72 minutes later, he seemed bemused that the gathered press should be concerned lest he had joined the ranks of the unemployed.

“I’m going right back to the office,” he said, lighting a cigar. “I’ve gotta go to work.”

Much work is to be done, but Jack McKeon won’t be the guy doing it. He was right. The meeting hadn’t dealt with his situation. That was clarified in a new release early in the evening.

Maybe the cigar was lit, but the fire was out.