by Ian O'Connor
“You travel so many highway miles to see players who have this flaw, or that flaw,” Groch said, “that you figure somebody’s got to be able to play this game. And then you walk into a ballpark one day and see it all, and you know it right away.
“Seeing Derek Jeter was seeing the personification of athleticism, the dynamics of energy. The ease with which he did things, the acrobatic way he moved his feet, the hands as soft as melting butter. This was Fred Astaire at shortstop.”
Groch thought Ken Griffey Jr. was the best high school player he had ever scouted, and he put Jeter right there with Junior, who was more physically developed when he was Derek’s age. Durability had been a question with Jeter, who did not even weigh 160 pounds, and Groch decided to see for himself if that question had merit.
He watched Jeter play four weekend games for the Maroons in oppressive July heat. “And his body remained alive; it was catlike quick,” Groch said. “There was no sluggishness in his movements.”
Groch tracked his blue-chipper all over Michigan. Sometimes the scout would watch Jeter from down the right-field line—“halfway in the woods,” Groch said—just to see if Derek played hard all the time, or only when he thought the big leagues were watching.
Groch believed Jeter knew his identity, and which team he represented, even if the scout stayed clear of Zomer and avoided contact with the kid. So sometimes Groch would watch Jeter have a bad at-bat in the first inning, leave the field, and secretly watch the rest of the game from his car.
After Jeter returned from his injured ankle, Groch was on the way to an assignment in Columbus, Ohio, when his boss, Yankees scouting director Bill Livesey, stopped him in his tracks.
“Don’t you know Jeter’s team is playing?” Livesey asked.
“Bill, it’s supposed to snow in Kalamazoo this weekend and Jeter’s not playing on that ankle.”
“Well, that’s our kid, so you’d better go over and sit on him.”
And sit on him Dick Groch did. The scout ultimately filled out a detailed report on Jeter for the Yankees to review, a report that read like this:
Long lean sinewy body. Long arms, long legs narrow waist, thin ankles. Live “electric” movements.
Above avg. arm, quick rel., accurate throws with outstanding carry. Soft hands, good range, active feet. Very good runner, 4.33 (R); 4.41 (R); Flow on the bases. Shows pwr potential. Quick bat.
Anxious hitter, needs to learn to be more patient at the plate. Swing slightly long.
“A Yankee”! A Five-tool player. Will be a ML Star! +5!!
Groch classified Jeter as a pull hitter. He ranked Derek’s dedication, agility, and emotional maturity as “excellent”; his aptitude, habits, and coachability as “good”; and his physical maturity as “fair.”
A scouting report score of 80 would be considered perfect, Groch said, “but getting anyone into the 60s is almost unheard of on the amateur level.” He gave Jeter a raw score of 59 and an overall future potential grade (OFP) of 64.
But Groch preferred to focus on the narrative of a scouting report rather than the overall grade. Three scouts filed reports on Jeter to the Major League Scouting Bureau: Jim Terrell, an area scout; Dick Colpaert, a regional cross-checker; and Carroll Sembera, a national cross-checker.
Terrell described Jeter as a “straight away” hitter. He gave Jeter an OFP score of 59.9, compared his physique to that of “a young Mark Belanger,” and was more impressed with Derek’s “tap dancer feet” than he was discouraged by an offensive game that was “lagging” behind Derek’s defense.
“All Star status likely,” read Terrell’s summation. “Born to play SS. Quality defensive tools compare with Barry Larkin—Reds.”
Colpaert gave Jeter an OFP score of 60 but said his bat “will have to come on.” Sembera was the toughest grader—he was known as “Mr. Chainsaw Scout”—but he allowed Jeter an OFP grade of 56.3 and offered only mild criticism of Derek’s bat (“Will come around with maturity and added strength”) and defense (“Did not get good jump fielding, was hesitant due to tender ankle”). Sembera’s summation?
“All the tools to be a SS at ML Level.”
Groch and the Yankees wanted as many fresh eyes on Jeter as possible. Don Lindeberg, a cross-checker from the West Coast, was flown in to Michigan to make sure the Yanks were not getting too enthusiastic about a hobbling player in a lousy climate.
Lindeberg did not need to see more than a game or two. “Jeter’s got a rifle for an arm,” he announced, “and there’s not a kid in California as good as he is.”
Groch was ready to make his predraft case to Livesey, who was already a Derek Jeter fan. Livesey and the Yankees thought highly of Stanford’s Jeffrey Hammonds, a center fielder out of New Jersey who wanted to play in the Northeast, but they had a glut of young center fielders in their system and they figured Baltimore would take Hammonds at number 4 anyway.
Livesey had varying degrees of interest in the other candidates mentioned prominently at the top of the draft. He had a good feeling about third baseman Phil Nevin, the College Player of the Year out of Cal State–Fullerton. He appreciated the arm strength and breaking ball of Paul Shuey, the right-hander out of North Carolina, but had questions about his delivery and did not see Shuey as a good fit.
B. J. Wallace, the lefty out of Mississippi State? Livesey thought he would develop into a strong pitcher but worried that his development would come later rather than sooner. Chad Mottola, the power hitter out of Central Florida? Livesey had one scout who liked him, “but overall Mottola wasn’t quite that high for us.”
The Yankees considered a couple of pitchers—Jim Pittsley of DuBois Area High School in Pennsylvania, and Ron Villone of the University of Massachusetts—as serious backup options, and they kept their eye on Longwood University shortstop Michael Tucker, Miami (Florida) catcher Charles Johnson, and Florida State outfielder Kenny Felder.
Jeter? Livesey personally watched him play twice at Kalamazoo Central. He went in on a Friday, another miserable early spring day in the southwest corner of Michigan, and the field was too wet and muddy to get a solid read.
Livesey decided to watch some college players from Michigan and Michigan State over the weekend and then double back to Kalamazoo for a second look at Jeter that Monday. After watching the shortstop take BP and play a game on a dry track, Livesey was a believer.
“Oh, boy, I see exactly what they see,” Livesey told himself while leaving the field. He instructed his scouts and cross-checkers to play it with Jeter the way Groch was playing it—by remaining as inconspicuous as possible.
They were trying to disguise their real interest in Jeter, Livesey said, “because a lot of things had to fall into place for us to get him.”
A year after the Yankees made a record $1.55 million bonus payout to a high school lefty who threw 99 miles per hour, Brien Taylor, they needed a ton of luck for a chance to spend another first-round bundle on another high school kid. Livesey did not believe Jeter would get past the Reds at number 5 anyway; in fact, he did not believe Jeter would get past Ann Arbor.
In a meeting held before the draft, Livesey expressed one overriding concern about the player his scouts considered the number-one prospect on the board.
“Isn’t this kid going to Michigan?” Livesey asked.
“No, he’s not,” Dick Groch shot back.
“The only place this kid’s going is Cooperstown.”
The night before the draft, the Houston Astros’ decision makers gathered in a hotel conference room and made their final call. Their list of six candidates for the number-one pick had been reduced to two—Phil Nevin and Derek Jeter—and the time had come to reduce that list to one.
Dan O’Brien, Houston’s scouting director, had seen Jeter play twice at Kalamazoo Central and found him to be a purposeful kid who never took a play off, and who already had an innate feel for the game. O’Brien felt Hal Newhouser was 100 percent right on Jeter’s ability and makeup.
Bob Watson, Houston’s
assistant GM, watched Jeter once in person and came away believing the shortstop “was a man playing with boys.” But Watson had a strong connection to Nevin—Watson’s high school teammate and good friend, Astros scout Ross Sapp, had coached Nevin years earlier.
“I’d trust Ross on anything,” Watson said, “and he gave us a great report on Nevin.”
The Astros actually thought Stanford’s Jeffrey Hammonds might be a better prospect than Nevin or Jeter, but Hammonds’s agent, Jeff Moorad, had warned Houston and other franchises not based in the Northeast that his Jersey-born client yearned to play closer to home.
The Astros thought Jeter would be an easier player to sign than Hammonds. Watson had been having regular conversations with the shortstop’s adviser, California-based agent Steve Caruso (high school prospects could not hire paid representatives without jeopardizing their amateur standing; they could only classify their agents-to-be as advisers).
Houston’s assistant GM asked Caruso to submit the bonus figure he would be seeking if the Astros made his client the top pick. Caruso did not want to show these cards but relented and gave Watson a number that he said was “in the $750,000 to $800,000 range.”
Caruso was asking for half of what the Yankees had given Brien Taylor the year before, so his was a reasonable request. But Houston had selected a number of high school players at the top of recent drafts, including two shortstops—Thomas Nevers of Edina, Minnesota, and Shawn Livsey of Chicago—in the first rounds of the 1990 and ’91 drafts, respectively. This time around, team owner John McMullen favored a prospect who might bring a more immediate return.
McMullen was the former minority owner of the Yankees who famously said, “There is nothing quite so limited as being a limited partner of George Steinbrenner’s.” Holding the first pick, McMullen did not know that Steinbrenner’s Yankees coveted Jeter with the sixth pick, and it would not have made a difference if he did.
McMullen set Houston’s organizational tone on this one. So when Astros officials came to a decision on the eve of the draft, the result was not a surprise.
Houston thought Nevin would advance through its system faster than Jeter would. Back in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, a veteran scout was about to receive the most disappointing phone call of his second career. Hal Newhouser had cherished those road trips to and from Kalamazoo, watching Jeter play baseball in the freezing rain before returning home for a hot dinner and a warm bath.
Newhouser had a healthy relationship with O’Brien, his boss, who understood his scout was working on a year-by-year basis. At seventy-one, on Cooperstown’s doorstep at last, Newhouser was winding down his distinguished baseball life.
That phone call would abruptly end it. Newhouser took it in the upstairs office of his three-bedroom home and then walked downstairs to break the news to his wife.
“Well, I’m through with scouting,” Hal told Beryl. “They picked Nevin and said it was an organizational decision. That means this is who we picked, and you don’t count.”
Beryl asked her husband if he was certain he wanted to quit, and the scout assured her his mind was made up. “Harold was very disappointed,” she said. “He just thought it was such a big mistake, and he was the kind of person who, once he made a decision, he made it.”
O’Brien maintained that Newhouser had never threatened to resign over Jeter, and that the scout did not tell him Nevin’s selection was a significant factor in his retirement.
Beryl Newhouser saw it differently. Her man had been involved in the big leagues since he was a teenager, and more than half a century later he still loved a job that made him feel like a boy all over again.
“Harold was still looking forward to going into the Hall of Fame,” Beryl said, “but after Houston didn’t draft Derek Jeter, he didn’t spend another day in baseball. Not one.”
Cleveland had the number-two pick, and its young scouting director, Mickey White, saw Derek Jeter play on an injured ankle on a soaked field. White liked what he saw, but not as much as the Indians scouts who had watched Jeter run on two healthy feet.
Bill Livesey was there with White on that same ungodly afternoon, but the Yankee scouting director was experienced enough to catch Jeter again three days later. White was in his second year on the job, and he confessed that his time management skills left something to be desired. He did not return to Kalamazoo.
White had heard Houston would take Jeter at number 1, anyway, and later came to believe—despite Dan O’Brien’s claims to the contrary—that the Astros picked Nevin because they thought he would be easier to sign than Jeter.
Either way, Cleveland had drafted Manny Ramirez the year before and Jim Thome in 1989 and was more interested in pitching. The Indians wanted the best arm in the country, and that arm belonged to Paul Shuey, a right-hander out of the University of North Carolina. Shuey had his mechanical flaws, but he had a Juan Marichal leg kick that made his 95-mile-per-hour heater that much harder to see.
When you talk about the draft, White said, “it’s like you’re in a Fidelity Mutual discussion and you’re trying to figure out what an investment is going to reap.” The Indians thought a power closer out of the Atlantic Coast Conference was a better investment than a high school shortstop.
Montreal had the third pick, and its scouting director, Kevin Malone, was struck by Jeter’s advanced professionalism and poise. The Expos had a history of drafting the best available athletes, and of absorbing the risk that goes with selecting the likes of high school stars Cliff Floyd, Rondell White, Marquis Grissom, and Larry Walker.
Only the Expos needed pitching—who didn’t?—and in Mississippi State’s B. J. Wallace they saw a dominant lefty who threw his fastball in the low to mid-90s and was projected to be a quality number-two big league starter.
Malone did not have a Yankee budget to play with, either. He worried about the possible impact Brien Taylor’s $1.55 million bonus in ’91 would have on Derek Jeter’s asking price in ’92.
Wallace was a safe and comfortable alternative. Montreal’s scouts figured the lefty was only two years away from the majors, tops, so they gambled on the pitcher.
The Expos went against their norm. “Derek Jeter would’ve been our guy; he was our type of draft pick normally,” Malone said. “Derek had all the tools and knew how to use them, and he was the best athlete there. But that was the one year we drafted for a need instead.”
Baltimore was up next at number 4, and this was the one top spot in the draft where Jeter did not fit. The Orioles had their iconic Iron Man at short, Cal Ripken Jr., and they preferred college players to the teenage prom kings. They decided to go with Jeffrey Hammonds.
Baltimore had Jeter rated as the top high school player in the draft, “but I can’t say he was on our radar screen,” said Gary Nickels, an Orioles scout.
Nickels remembered his one trip to Michigan to see Jeter for two reasons: it was the last scouting trip he ever made with his father, who was dying of emphysema; and Derek’s disposition suggested he would be a natural leader of a winning team.
“Jeter had an air of confidence about him,” Nickels said. “A command of the situation.”
That confidence and command had scouts for the Cincinnati Reds in a tizzy. They wanted to use the fifth pick to draft Derek Jeter in the worst way, and they did not know if their scouting director would let them do it.
Julian Mock was preparing to make or break the 1992 draft for his employer, the Reds, and for the team he once worshiped, the Yankees. His three-mile jog complete, his body fresh, and his mind clear, Mock would not open his heart for a single Riverfront Stadium soul.
As the first four picks came off the board that June 1 day, the tension in the Reds’ conference room was thicker than the binders carrying the team’s scouting reports.
Derek Jeter, the next Barry Larkin, was going to be available at number 5, and so was Chad Mottola, the next Dale Murphy.
At six-foot-three, 215 pounds, Mottola could have been featured on the “after” side
of a muscle-building ad that pictured Jeter on the “before” side. The Central Florida outfielder was the only player other than Jeter and Phil Nevin whom the Astros seriously considered for the number-one pick.
The Yankees invited Mottola to work out for them as they considered their options for number 6, an invitation that was declined. Mottola told the Yankees he had played sixty games at Central Florida, and that he did not think a workout was necessary since he thought he would be chosen among the first five picks.
“I think the Yankees got offended,” Mottola said.
He did not have an agent; he used his father as an adviser. Before the draft unfolded, a Reds scout negotiated a bonus figure with the Mottolas—$400,000—and waited for Mock to make the final call.
Mock had two respected scouts who thought Jeter was the far better choice, even if he would cost Cincinnati double what Mottola would. A part-timer who lived outside Kalamazoo, Fred Hayes had watched Jeter play some three dozen times, and he loved the kid’s talent as much as the Astros’ Hal Newhouser and the Yanks’ Dick Groch did. Hayes told Gene Bennett, a full-time Cincinnati scout, that Jeter could play for the Reds as a high school sophomore, and he was only half kidding.
Hayes and Bennett first saw Derek in a Muskegon, Michigan, tryout camp. The camp had one hundred kids, Bennett said, “but Derek was the only one who made us say, ‘Who is that guy?’”
Bennett and Hayes eventually sent the other ninety-nine boys home and kept Jeter around for some extra work. Over time they brought him to workouts at Riverfront Stadium, met his parents, and did everything they could to temper their enthusiasm for Jeter in the company of enemy scouts.
It did not matter that the Reds had selected a high school shortstop, Calvin “Pokey” Reese, in the first round of the ’91 draft. “Jeter was a no-brainer for us at number 5,” said Bennett, who had a remarkable track record for the Reds, signing everyone from Don Gullett to Paul O’Neill to Chris Sabo to Larkin.
