In that position, anyone’s ego would be vulnerable to a little buffing.
And Derek Jeter brought the loofah.
Teammates at the World Baseball Classic in March of that year, the Yankees shortstop laid it on thick for Jones. Can’t you see yourself in pinstripes? Jeter asked him. Wasn’t that the same pattern worn by the Jones’ family hero, Mickey Mantle? Couldn’t we win big together? And imagine extending your career as a DH and questing after such sacred numbers as 500 home runs and 3,000 hits.
“It’s always nice to hear those kind of things, to be wanted, to have someone like [Jeter] want you as a teammate,” said Jones’ longtime friend and agent, B.B. Abbott.
Nonetheless, one month later, Jones signed a three-year contract extension with the Braves that all but assured he’d be an Atlanta lifer. Jones, who turns 40 next month, made that official Thursday when he announced his intention to retire at the end of this season.
Rarely, briefly, Jones’ mind may have wandered elsewhere. But, Abbott said, “I don’t think his heart ever went anywhere else.
“He always came back to his center — to Bobby [Cox], to John [Schuerholz], to the Braves.”
Jones is poised to write a story unlike any other in the collection of iconic Atlanta baseball pros.
No other player of his stature has played exclusively for so long in Atlanta.
Not Tom Glavine. Not John Smoltz. Not Dale Murphy. Not Phil Niekro. Not Greg Maddux. Not even Hank Aaron. Some didn’t start in Atlanta, most didn’t finish there, and none set themselves up for such a seemingly uncomplicated departure as the switch hitter who refused to switch teams.
‘I can walk away’
Often the partings were clumsy, given the dimming stars not willing to recognize their diminished value and a front office that sometimes let business sense trample sentiment. Legacies were momentarily strained and dented. Jones paid attention.
“I’ve learned from my predecessors — namely Glavine and Smoltz – how it was a PR nightmare for the Braves to try and keep these guys,” Jones said. “It was tough for them to walk away. This gives me an opportunity to appease not only myself but also the Braves organization.
“I can walk away on my own terms, hopefully come out and have a productive year and ride off into the sunset and everybody’s happy.”
“I don’t blame him [for picking up on my example],” said Glavine, who at 43 was unceremoniously released by the Braves in 2009, one day after making a scoreless minor league rehab start. “Lessons learned from other people’s situations are good ones.”
How was this possible? How did Jones so completely defy the norm and orchestrate a singular Braves career?
Timing was certainly on his side. Faced with phasing out both Glavine and Smoltz in 2009 — in both cases dealing with significant fan backlash — the front office didn’t relish going through similar agony with Jones.
Beyond the coincidental, there was a very real, very rare effort on both sides to keep this a career-long commitment.
“Sure, we have to pay our fair share and the competitive value to a guy in the market. We were willing to do that, and he was willing to, as he said, stay here for less from time to time. It was a mutual admiration for both sides,” team president Schuerholz said.
“I was never a free agent, never close to being a free agent,” Jones said. “Whenever free agency was just about to come up on the horizon, we sat down and got something hammered out. I gave a little at times; they gave a little — well, a lot — at times. It was that perfect.”
Jones was not exactly a martyr for the cause — he will have made more than $168 million over his career by the end of this season. But he might have made even more had he gone for the naked money grab.
For instance, Jones restructured his contract at the end of 2005, saving the Braves $15 million over three years in exchange for converting two option years at the end of the deal to guaranteed money as well as a $4 million signing bonus. The Braves said they required the immediate savings in order to go shopping on the free agent market.
An exit script
Aside from the monetary compromises, Jones also showed himself willing to make some on-field adjustments, most notably moving to left field for a year and a half (2002-03) to make room at third for Vinny Castilla.
And finally, at the end, Jones did everyone a great favor by the way he scripted his retirement. Thursday’s announcement provided clarity for both himself and the franchise.
“A key part of it was Chipper respecting the organization and wanting us to have ample time to start the process [of finding his replacement],” general manager Frank Wren said.
Jones, in return, was freed up to play how many games his creaking body will allow without any doubt fogging up his rearview mirror. “We don’t have to speculate about next year because there is no next year,” he said.
Beyond the statistical legacy Jones will leave behind, the way he has gone about his business in Atlanta undoubtedly will burnish his overall image. Noted Glavine, “Not many people [in Atlanta] measure up to the popularity of a Dale Murphy, but Chipper has come a long way toward that.”
The financial pressures of modern baseball and the ease of player movement will make it increasingly hard to duplicate an 18-season, one-team career like Jones’. “Having a treasure, whether it’s a Jeter [in New York] or a Tony Gwynn [in San Diego] or a Cal Ripken Jr. [in Baltimore], and now Chipper Jones — we’re not going to see that very much,” Wren said.
Whether we will see another soon in Atlanta is doubly doubtful.
Although Jones does have in mind a successor.
“I’d like to say [the next Chipper Jones] is Brian McCann,” Jones said. “Brian McCann is solely going to be the face of this franchise starting next year. He’s a great kid. He’s a great player, and he’s the kind of guy you want to build a ballclub around. It would be sad to see him go somewhere else.”
The Braves catcher currently is signed through this season, with a team option for 2013.
Growing up in suburban Atlanta, McCann was spared the horror of seeing Jones ever trade the tomahawk for pinstripes. Playing with Jones has been a pure pleasure. “I can honestly say that I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in today if I hadn’t had a chance to play with him,” McCann said. “I got the chance to see baseball through his eyes and see the way he sets up pitchers and the way he thinks. He is the smartest baseball guy I’ve ever been around.”
Duplicating his guy’s career, however, may be a little much to ask or expect.
