To Be (the Yankees’ General Manager) or Not To Be?
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

What would you be willing to go through for $5 million? This is the question that Brian Cashman must now answer for himself. All of us are to some extent motivated by comfort: achieving it, enjoying it, keeping it. Five million argues loudly for buying another throw pillow and staying put. But if the trade-off for comfort is the death of ambition, is even five million enough to assuage what could be a lifetime of second guessing?
Cashman has been with the Yankees, in one capacity or another, since June, 1986, when he was 19 years old. He started as an intern in the scouting department and in a quick 12 years rose to the top of the organization, or at least to the top of the part of the organization not located in Tampa, Fla. Cashman went directly from college graduation to the Yankees and since then has not collected a paycheck from anyone else. He has certainly made a good living in that time, and has deep roots in the area, including a wife and two children.
That’s more stability than most American males of his generation can claim; career employees are few and far between in modern times, most resumes being a patchwork of internships, cross-country relocations, and project-to-project employment. No one gets the retirement gold watch for continuous service anymore. No one is even eligible. No one, that is, except perhaps for Cashman. For the past eight years, he has also enjoyed one of the most prestigious private-sector titles available in New York City, whatever the real rights and responsibilities that the title brings within the Yankees organization.
Despite the frequently poisonous atmosphere at Yankee Stadium and the furious calls from Tampa, which come arcing into the Stadium like a telephonic electrical storm, that’s a lot of certainty to give up, even before monetary considerations.
This is especially true if your best options for new employment involve a major retreat from dynamic New York to Philadelphia, annual leader on the “fastest shrinking cities in America” boards. Instead of a fast ride in from Connecticut for a victory party at Tavern on the Green, it’s a schlep in from Cherry Hill, New Jersey to Geno’s for a consolation cheese steak. One’s glamour quotient would take a hit almost too large to quantify.
And yet, if Cashman leaves, he has the opportunity to establish himself as a true baseball auteur. As a result of his uncertain contract status – one of baseball’s open secrets – Cashman’s freedom of action to change the Yankees is extremely circumscribed and subject to the kind of checks and balances that would have made James Madison dizzy with envy.
During Cashman’s tenure, the Yankees have signed free agents like Mike Mussina, Jason Giambi, and Hideki Matsui. They’ve also signed Rondell White, Jaret Wright, and Tony Womack. They’ve traded for Chuck Knoblauch, David Justice, Roger Clemens, and Alex Rodriguez. They have also dealt away Mike Lowell for a trio of second-tier prospects, turned Ted Lilly into Jeff Weaver, then turned Jeff Weaver into Kevin Brown.
It is impossible at this stage to know who authored these deals. The team’s record has been exemplary during Cashman’s run, so it’s impossible to say that he’s been a bad GM. But has he been a good one? Is he the master sculptor or the spokesman for the committee? There is a sense that people within baseball know, for they seem to covet Cashman’s company more than would be accounted for by his reputation for affability. So long as Cashman remains in New York, he will never be able to tell the rest of us what he did or did not do to help or hurt the Yankees, now five years removed from their last ride down the Canyon of Heroes.
We know, with almost absolute certainty, that on December 8, 1947, Branch Rickey of the Brooklyn Dodgers shook hands with his Pittsburgh counterpart and acquired Preacher Roe and Billy Cox in exchange for Dixie Walker, a pennant grabbing steal for his team. We know that on November 18, 1954, George Weiss of the Yankees sent 10 players he was never going to use to the Baltimore Orioles and got back seven players, including Bullet Bob Turley and future World Series perfect game pitcher Don Larsen. These things are a matter of record, part of the legacy of these baseball executives, both of whom are enshrined in Cooperstown.
Cashman is unlikely to join them – unless he goes to Philadelphia or some other town where the glare of the spotlights may be dim to nonexistent but his authority will be more clearly delineated. If he falls, he will fall on his own, with no organizationally inflicted Womacks tied to his ankle like lead weights. If he succeeds, delivering a pennant or World Series title to some out-of-the-way franchise, he will be justly celebrated as the Spielbergian director, rather than as a member of a hydra style committee.
Perhaps this is not important to Cashman. Perhaps, in receiving his place with the Yankees, he has already achieved his life’s ambition. In that case, he might as well bring on the five million dollar throw pillow. And if in doing so he forfeits the right to an independent career, to complain about Womacks, or ill treatment, the job’s the thing and none of us can judge him for it.
But if ambition burns in his heart and Cashman sublimates that for comfort and safety, there may be many long nights in his future. Mark Twain said that an uneasy conscience is a hair in the mouth. When one of those is tickling you, you don’t rest, even with the plushest of pillows.
Mr. Goldman is the author of “Forging Genius,” a biography of Casey Stengel, released this year.