TAMPA, Fla. – There is one name I can’t get out of my mind as the days count down toward the opening of spring training camps, and as the dueling emotions of local baseball fans – hubris for Yankees fans, angst for Mets fans – start building toward mid-summer levels. And this is that name I can’t seem to shake:
Latrell Sprewell.
Maybe part of it is nostalgia: Believe it or not (and it really is almost impossible to believe), last week marked the 10th anniversary of Dave Checketts swinging the deal that made Sprewell a Knick. You may recall that Checketts, for a time, was right up there in Madoffland in terms of local popularity after making that trade. Sprewell was, of course, the embodiment of all we had come to loathe about professional sports. Checketts made the deal anyway, after an exhaustive meeting at Sprewell’s Milwaukee home with his coach, Jeff Van Gundy, and his general manager, Ernie Grunfeld.
“I’m not going to say that this was an easy decision for me because it really wasn’t,” Checketts said the day he made the deal. “I agonized a lot over it personally. I was anxious to sit down and speak with Latrell and I came away satisfied that here was a young man who understands what has happened to his image and his career because of his actions.”
And then Checketts said one of the most honest things a sports executive has said in New York City in a lot of years:
“Winning is a priority here. But it’s not about winning at all costs, which some people have said this move is about. It is about giving an extraordinary talent another chance.”
We know how this all played out. Sprewell led the Knicks to the NBA Finals, then the Eastern Conference Finals, and then reverted, in many ways, to the me-first enigma many worried he always had been. All three of the men who recruited Sprewell – Grunfeld first, then Checketts, lastly Van Gundy – wound up being erased from the Knicks’ corporate flow chart. There are no banners to show for Checketts’ leap of faith.
And yet, you would be hard-pressed to find even one Knicks fan who would criticize that trade now. Are you kidding? Do you remember what the Garden sounded like, what it felt like, during those first two years Sprewell wore No. 8 in home white, especially May and June of 1999, those unforgettable playoff games against the Heat and Pacers? How often do you yearn for even one night to recall those nights of Garden glory, even if it means having to tolerate Sprewell’s act?
Well, if you are a Mets fan, you know where this is going. Manny Ramirez is still available, still there for the taking, less than two weeks before pitchers and catchers report to Port St. Lucie. Ramirez and his bat – and all the baggage that goes along with that bat – are still there for the taking, to anyone willing to swallow hard and pay a little extra for the privilege of inserting a Hall of Fame bat in the middle of the order.
One that, on the Mets, would look quite nice, thank you, sandwiched between Carlos Beltran and David Wright – or between Wright and Carlos Delgado. Or, really, anywhere you would like to put him.
Of course, the Mets have been steadfast in saying they are not interested. They grow testy when you ask if it might have something to do with money, if the reason they don’t wish to reinvest some of the anticipated profits from Citi Field into Manny has something to do with the millions Bernie Madoff drained from other aspects of the family business. Besides, if you want to scream about the Mets’ penny pinching, the better targets of that rage are their unwillingness to spend for Orlando Hudson and/or Ben Sheets.
No, by using logic and deduction, if you wish to take the Wilpons at their word on that subject, you can reach only one conclusion:
Manny Being Manny scares the bejeezus out of the Mets. His act. His poutiness. His quirkiness. And, hey, let’s be honest, Manny Being Manny can be a handful. He doesn’t run out grounders. He doesn’t always play nice. His final days in Boston were disgraceful, from the tanking at the end to the flattening of an older team executive over tickets in Houston. And the Mets, already having been burned by getting about 40 percent value out of the four-year deal they handed Pedro Martinez, can be forgiven for their reluctance at going once more to the Red Sox well.
All fair arguments.
And yet, are you finding it as hard as I am to shake Checketts’ words?
“Winning is a priority here. But it’s not about winning at all costs, which some people have said this move is about. It is about giving an extraordinary talent another chance.”
Sometimes, in the name of winning, you have to walk into some pretty treacherous danger zones. Manny Ramirez is such a zone, same as Latrell Sprewell was once. The Knicks gambled, and won. Will the Mets even try to put the dice in their hands?
Mike Vaccaro’s e-mail is michael.vaccaro@nypost.com. His book, “1941: The Greatest Year in Sports” is available in paperback in bookstores.
VAC’S WHACKS
What do you think Willie Randolph is going to have to put in his new book (due out next month) to get the kind of run Uncle Joe has been getting this week?
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When the Nets had to rid themselves of Stephon Marbury, they turned him into Jason Kidd and then into Devin Harris. The Knicks would settle for a couple of burgers and a used pair of Starburys.
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I guess Mike Mussina either forgot or was showering through those innings Mariano Rivera threw in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS against the Red Sox, right?
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The unfortunate thing is that since so much attention was focused on Kay Yow’s courageous battle with cancer the last two decades, it was easy to overlook that she was one of the great basketball coaches – male or female – who ever worked a sideline.
