SEE YOU IN JUNE
On Monday baseball commissioner Bart Giamatti granted a request from Pete Rose's attorneys to postpone for 30 days a hearing on Rose's possible involvement with baseball betting. The hearing was to have been held on May 25 in Giamatti's office in New York City, but Rose's lawyers, who on May 11 were given a copy of baseball's 225-page investigative report on their client, wanted more time to prepare. The hearing is now set for June 26.
Giamatti has moved cautiously in the Rose case, perhaps in part out of fear of a lawsuit from Rose. However, legal experts have told SI that barring a major blunder by Giamatti, Rose would have little chance of overturning any suspension Giamatti might impose. A body of precedent supports the legality of commissioners' taking disciplinary action against figures in their sport, particularly in cases involving gambling. Moreover, the constitutional guarantees of due process normally do not apply to private organizations like major league baseball, which must abide by their bylaws. The Supreme Court reaffirmed that point in December when it ruled that the NCAA, as a private association, did not have to follow constitutional due process in ordering sanctions against University of Nevada, Las Vegas basketball coach Jerry Tarkanian in 1977 for rules violations.
"If the commissioner acts in a way so unfair that the courts can say that he acted arbitrarily and capriciously, they might [rule in Rose's favor]," says Tulane law professor Gary Roberts. "But the level of misbehavior [by Giamatti] must be greater than the due process standard. He would have to behave in an outrageous fashion."
For all of Rose's ongoing legal worries, SI learned last week that the Reds skipper may have been lucky to avoid criminal prosecution in the early 1980s. SI reported earlier that Rose had been assessed a civil penalty of $23,098.77 for failing to report the $46,197.54 in cash he carried into the U.S. after a visit to Japan in November 1981. (During that visit Rose received cash from the Mizuno sporting goods company, for which he does endorsements.) According to a 1986 investigative report obtained last week from the U.S. Customs Service under the Freedom of Information Act, Rose may have broken the same law on two previous occasions: by failing to report $15,000 he brought in from Japan in October 1979 and $60,000 he brought in from Japan in November 1980. Under federal law, the first such violation often brings a warning or small fine; the second, a substantial fine; and the third, criminal prosecution.
In Rose's case, says U.S. Customs spokesman Dennis Shimkoski, customs officials "probably goofed" and thought Rose's third violation was only his second. "Now we have computers that put a guy's name in and, zappo, it pops up, and we find out if this is [someone's] first, second or third [offense]," says Shimkoski. "But back in '79, '80 and '81 we weren't as sophisticated." An attorney for Rose, Robert Pitcairn, said that as he understood it, the customs service had thoroughly investigated the matter and deemed the $23,098.77 penalty against Rose sufficient punishment.
Like most umpires, Steve Hawley and Don Williams call balls and strikes in relative anonymity. Rarely does a player inquire about their lives outside baseball. "One guy did ask me how I got to be an astronaut with eyes like that," says Hawley.
Hawley and Williams fly space shuttles for NASA. They also moonlight for ASA, the Amateur Softball Association. Each umpires one night a week in the Johnson Space Center leagues in Houston, and Williams calls some youth-league games as well. "Sometimes I think there's more pressure being an umpire [than an astronaut] because some of these games out at the space center are treated like the World Series," says Hawley.
Williams got into umpiring a few years ago while coaching his daughter's softball team. Hawley, a baseball fan, followed suit after chatting with Williams and National League ump Harry Wendelstedt, whom he met while Wendelstedt was touring the space center. Both astronauts note that umpiring, like flying the shuttle, demands concentration and split-second decison-making. Says Williams, "You can't get caught staring off into space or you'll miss something."
President Bush's environmental record to date has been nothing short of schizophrenic. On the one hand, Bush named the president of the Conservation Foundation/World Wildlife Fund, William K. Reilly, to run the Environmental Protection Agency; on the other, he appointed a pro-development figure, former New Mexico Congressman Manuel Lujan Jr., to head the Department of the Interior. Predictably, the EPA is off and running on conservation issues, while Interior is flailing.
The President seems to want to do the right thing, but he keeps trying to appease pro-development advocates. Recently, he nominated James E. Cason as an assistant secretary of agriculture. Cason is considered positively Wattish in his zeal for development. In his new position he would oversee funding of the Forest Service, whose lands he wants to open to oil exploration. "I really don't know what the President is thinking," says one insider. "He's got environmental policy going all over the place.
It's mystifying." It's more than that—it's disturbing. Bush vowed in his campaign that he would develop a strong policy against acid rain and call a global summit on ozone depletion. He has, as yet. done neither. Some people in his Administration have even worked against those goals. Two weeks ago, James Hansen, a leading government scientist, told the Senate's Commerce subcommittee on science that a low-level functionary in the Office of Management and Budget had toned down testimony on global warming that Hansen was to deliver. Said a committee aide, "The Administration has no clear policy on global warming, so someone as forthright as Hansen is going to be vulnerable to some fourth-rate bureaucrat."
In truth, the White House has been giving contradictory signals on many environmental issues. If Bush intends to become "the environment President," as he vowed in his campaign, he must assert himself soon. He can't try to please everybody.
TALE OF THE TAPE
The idea hatched in the minds of promoters Shelly Finkel and Dan Duva when the two saw Tony Mandarich on the cover of the April 24 issue of SI. Why not, they thought, pit Mandarich, the No. 1 draft choice of the Green Bay Packers and potentially the best offensive lineman in history, against heavyweight champ Mike Tyson in a fight? "It would be the biggest pay-per-view event ever," said Finkel.
Finkel called Mandarich's agent, Vern Sharbaugh, and told him that Mandarich, who is holding out for a multimillion-dollar contract with the Packers, could earn $10 million for stepping into the ring with Tyson. Sharbaugh knows a good bargaining chip—and publicity stunt—when he hears one. Mandarich skipped Green Bay's minicamps this month and told reporters he might sit out the season to prepare for Tyson.
Mandarich is a boxing novice, but as evidenced in the figures below, he is 6½ inches taller and 97 pounds heavier than Tyson. Lou Duva, the veteran fight trainer and Dan's dad, put Mandarich through a 90-minute, closed-door workout on May 16 and came away swearing that Mandarich is also faster and stronger than the champ. "When he hit the heavy bag, I thought the roof was going to cave in," said Duva. The hype building up around Mandarich is more likely to cause Duva's roof to blow off.
Most boxing experts believe the bout won't happen—and that Mandarich should stick to football. "Anyplace, anytime," said Tyson when asked about facing Mandarich. "I've never heard of him, but he'll experience something he's never experienced before."
THEY SAID IT
•Tommy Lasorda, Los Angeles Dodger manager, on baseball's increasing concern with treating injuries: "I walk into our clubhouse, and it's like walking into the Mayo Clinic. We have four doctors, three therapists and five trainers. Back when I broke in, we had one trainer, who carried a bottle of rubbing alcohol—and by the seventh inning he had drunk it all."
Sept. 23, 1966
June 30, 1966