Hurt Feelings Will Just Hurt You in the End

Earth to Saxie, Earth to Saxie.

Can you hear me, Steve Sax? If not, read my lips: You are making a terrible mistake.

Come to your senses, lad. Quick, drink this scalding coffee, dash some ice water on your face, rip off those tiny electrodes the Yankees have attached to your frontal lobe.

Say it ain’t so, Steve, that you have signed with the Yankees because Dodger Executive Vice President Fred Claire hurt your feelings. This is professional sports, Steve, not a slumber party.

Have you forgotten about the million or so fans out here in Los Angeles who stood by your side during The Year of Throwing Dangerously, who voted you onto all those All-Star teams, who begged adoringly for your autograph, who gritted their teeth and endured your “Howard and Phil’s” TV commercials?

Let me get this straight. You say you signed with the Yankees for two reasons. One, they offered you more money than the Dodgers. Two, they made you feel wanted, whereas Claire was aloof and even disrespectful during negotiations.

The Yankees, then, are sort of like Howard and Phil’s. “Better service, better prices. People-pleasing people.”

Listen, Stevie, I won’t say you’ve been the victim of a Steinbrenner snow job, but that isn’t dandruff you’re walking around in, waist-deep.

Sure, Uncle George loves you. I bet he told you he has always admired your spunk, your fire, your will to win. Likes the cut of your jib and the jut of your chin.

George will love you forever, Steve. Or until the first time you strand a Yankee on third base with one out, or cost the Yankees a game with a wild throw to first.

That’s when George will show his support. He’ll quarantine your locker, option you to triple-A Columbus, send you out for a battery of medical tests.

I can see Steinbrenner’s press-release statement now.

“Steve Sax, who has committed two throwing errors this month, has been given an extended leave of absence to undergo evaluation at Zurich Surgeon’s College. Our team doctors suspect that Sax’s right arm may be suffering from irreversible overuse syndrome, and he will be studied as a candidate for limb rotation surgery, where the right and left arms are switched.

“It could be that all Steve needs is a fresh throwing arm. We wish him Godspeed. He leaves for Europe tomorrow aboard the fastest cargo vessel in my fleet.”

Steve, old buddy, did you speak to Dave Winfield or Don Mattingly when you were on your recruiting visit to the Bronx? I’m sure they would tell you that your future boss, Uncle George, is the salt of the earth. And the Yankee players are the open wounds of the earth.

Tom Lasorda was like a father to you, Steve. Steinbrenner will be like a Fuehrer to you.

George stands behind his players through thick and thin, which is why Yankee caps come equipped with little rear-view mirrors.

OK, so Fred Claire hurt your feelings. “He made me feel like a punk kid,” you say. “It was a turnoff.”

A turnoff? Like, wow. Claire’s attitude was what is known as a negotiating strategy, not to be confused with genuine feelings.

Claire is a suit and tie representing Peter O’Malley, who may or may not be a real person himself. You sign a contract with Fred, you don’t have to see him again for 3 years. Steinbrenner you’ll see every night, in your clubhouse and in your nightmares.

Claire was merely haggling. He’s a general manager, not a Texas A&M; football recruiter. Just because he didn’t clap you on the back and light your cigar doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you. If it’s male bonding you’re after, Steve, you should join the Marines, not the Yankees.

Leaving the Dodgers because you felt unloved by Fred Claire is like defecting to the Soviet Union because your IRS auditor didn’t ask for your autograph.

By not providing the Dodgers with the Yankees’ offer, as Claire requested that you do, you made it obvious that negotiations had been reduced to a personality conflict. Why get into a personality conflict with an organization that doesn’t have one?

Let’s not overreact here, son.

Have you considered your new city? Last time you were in New York, way back in October, I saw you storming around the visitors’ clubhouse at Shea Stadium, profaning the city and all its inhabitants, screaming that “Somebody should get a bomb and blow the %$*! city up!”

What changed your mind? Did you get a good deal on a Rolex watch from a Seventh Avenue street vendor? Did you find a New York cabbie who came to a full stop to let you out?

Yes, it can be a wonderful city, although you can’t actually live in Manhattan. It’s closed for repairs.

And New York can be tough on an athlete.

A few Dodger fans booed you when you went through that season where the baseball was like a watermelon seed in your hand.

Had you been playing in New York then, fans would have sung “Wild Thing” every time you fielded a ground ball. The fans behind first base would have held up bull’s-eye targets. And those would have been the compassionate fans.

The New York fans drove pitcher Ed Whitson out of town, and they have caused Darryl Strawberry to all but beg to be taken in by a team on the West Coast, even if it’s on the West Coast of Lake Michigan.

I’m sure you will be well-treated by the Yankee manager and general manager. There are no guarantees, however, that this will hold true for next month’s manager and general manager.

I think Claire now realizes the error of his strategy. He failed to consider that today’s athlete is a sensitive and vulnerable soul. If Fred could do it again, I’m sure he would come on more like a fraternity pledge captain and less like a traffic-court judge.

But as you baseball guys say, that’s all water under the dam. You are a Yankee.

I wish you luck, Steve. I honestly believe your outgoing personality was an important part of the Dodgers’ clubhouse atmosphere and team chemistry.

You were a friend to the sportswriters, too, and we will miss your good-natured bluster, your terrible jokes and your sincerity.

But let’s not get sentimental. Goodby and good luck. Give my regards to Broadway. Break a leg, preferably Steinbrenner’s.