Money For Nothing? -- For Every Free-Agent Success Such As Reggie Jackson, There Are Stupendous Busts Such As Wayne Garland

When the first mass crop of free agents hit the marketplace in November of 1976, the baseball world was in turmoil over this newfangled procedure.

To players, it was like being freed from bondage, and they were intoxicated by the possibilities. Owners realized with growing panic that their stranglehold on player control was endangered. But only the most farsighted on either side understood the magnitude of the changes ahead.

"The truth is, we didn't fully comprehend it, as a group," said Mariner Manager Lou Piniella, a Yankee outfielder at the time. "Probably we didn't see the magnitude of it until the contracts started getting over a million dollars. I think George (Steinbrenner) started that."

On the immediate horizon was an auction for the 24 declared free agents, an event that maverick Oakland A's owner Charlie O. Finley likened to "a den of thieves all trying to cut one another's throats."

Another owner, San Diego's Ray Kroc, having missed out on Catfish Hunter the year before, vowed that "I will never let a superstar free agent get by me again."

The system at the time involved a draft _ the Free Agent Negotiation Rights Selection Procedure, held at the Plaza Hotel in New York City _ in which teams selected players with whom they wanted to negotiate.

The field ranged from superstars like Reggie Jackson and Rollie Fingers to journeymen like Royle Stillman and Eric Soderholm.

"It was very heady and frantic," recalled Harry Dalton, general manager of the California Angels at the time. "It was like someone opened the locked doors of the toy closet."

Gary Walker, agent for Jackson, remembers getting his first million-dollar-a-year offer from the Montreal Expos and feeling both giddy and guilty.

"Reggie was so nervous when I presented it to him," Walker recalled. "He laughed. I literally went out and had a Scotch afterwards."

Jackson wound up shunning the Expos to sign a five-year, $2.96 million contract with the Yankees ("the $60,000 was for a Rolls Royce," Jackson said later). Walker's summation of those negotiations could still apply to the process 23 years later.

"I couldn't believe I was asking for it, Reggie couldn't believe he was going to get it, and the club couldn't believe they were going to give it."

The Yankees landed not only Jackson, who immediately boasted about being "the straw that stirs the drink" in New York, but pitcher Don Gullett, whom general manager Gabe Paul called "a modern Whitey Ford."

During his negotiations with Steinbrenner, Jackson wrote the Yankee owner a note on a cocktail napkin promising to hit 30 homers and drive in 100 runs for him. He reached both goals and helped stir the Yankees to two straight World Series titles.

Gullett wasn't quite as fortunate. In one of the first cautionary tales of free agency, Gullett tore his rotator cuff and was out of baseball less than two years into his six-year, $2 million contract.

And so it has gone over the years _ a boom-and-bust pattern of magnificent successes and royal washouts. But the latter never seem to deter the pursuit of the former.

A member of that initial class, right-hander Wayne Garland, got a staggering 10-year, $2.3 million contract from Cleveland based on his 20-7 record with the Orioles the previous year.

The Indians conveniently overlooked the fact that Garland had gone 7-11 in the three seasons before his 20-win season. He immediately developed a sore arm and went 28-48 before Cleveland released him after the 1981 season.

Technically, the first free-agent flop was the first free agent: Andy Messersmith. Messersmith and Dave McNally in 1976 successfully challenged baseball's reserve clause that tied players to their team to perpetuity.

McNally had already retired when arbitrator Peter Seitz's favorable ruling _ certainly the most significant arbitration ruling in sports history _ was upheld in federal court. Messersmith, coming off 39 wins in the previous two years with the Dodgers, signed a three-year, $1.75 million contract with the Braves. Their flamboyant new owner, Ted Turner, got Messersmith to wear No. 17 to promote his fledgling superstation, but Messersmith was anything but super. He went 16-15 in two years with Atlanta and 2-7 over his final two years with the Yankees and Dodgers.

"It certainly altered my career," Messersmith said years later. "I wasn't prepared for the pressure that came down. I came out as the dirty dog. I always had good energy rapport with most of the fans. After that incident, the energy was 95, 100 percent negative. I just wasn't ready for it."

In 1975, a spirited bidding war ensued for Hunter, who had won 20 or more games four straight seasons in Oakland. Steinbrenner won out, giving the pitcher a five-year, $3.75 million contract that further opened players' eyes to the riches that awaited them once they were emancipated.

Free agents Hunter, Jackson and Goose Gossage, signed in 1978, became the foundation of the rollicking, highly successful Yankee teams of that era.

"All three were strong-willed, confident players, and they had ability, so they flourished in New York," Piniella said. "But we had the other kind, too."

Right-hander Ed Whitson remains the classic example of a player who wilted under the intense heat of the New York spotlight. A country boy from Tennessee, he signed a five-year, $4.5 million deal in 1985 after moderate success in San Diego. Whitson started poorly, became a fan target, and quickly came to dread pitching at Yankee Stadium.

"The guy is in a living nightmare," his agent said.

Piniella, who managed Whitson, called the pitcher's situation "the perfect example of an agent not doing the right thing for a client. He couldn't pitch in New York. I had a road pitcher. The player should be able to control the agent somehow. But they don't. They look at the dollar signs, and everyone gets google-eyed over money, and then you suffer because of it."

It can be brutal for a struggling free agent. Former Mariner pitcher Bill Swift tasted it in 1995, when he signed a three-year, $13.1 million deal with Colorado but was constantly hampered by a shoulder injury and won just 14 games in three seasons. Fans treated him decently, but teammates teasingly called him "Jesse James."

"It's tough," he said. "You want to live up to what they're paying you and the expectations. It's nerve-wracking, because you want to perform. The spotlight's on you."

Back in 1977, the spotlight was blinding in Anaheim after Angel owner Gene Autry signed free agents Don Baylor, Bobby Grich and Joe Rudi.

Baylor, now coaching in Atlanta, winces when he recalls the intense scrutiny the three faced.

"Grich got hurt, Rudi got hurt, and it was a long sojourn out there, I'll tell you what," he said. "Fans were on me, hard. Every time I came to the plate in 1977, man, they were all over me."

Baylor persevered and became the American League's Most Valuable Player two years later.

"Free agents nowadays are probably exposed more because of the media," Baylor said. "But one thing that's consistent is that guys want to go out and perform better than what their contract says. They want to let everyone know they're this $50 million player, or this $100 million player."

More than 20 years later, that rule still applies, according to pitcher Todd Stottlemyre, who signed a $32 million, four-year contract with the Arizona Diamondbacks for 1999.

"When it gets down to it," Stottlemyre said, "if you have all the money in the world and you stink out there and you're not doing any good for your team, you're not happy."

Reggie Jackson, New York Yankees, 1977. $2.96 million, five years. At his introductory press conference, Jackson said, "Don't think I came here to become a star. I brought my star with me." Indeed, he had, and it shined brighter than ever in New York. In five seasons, he produced 144 home runs, 461 RBI and earned his indelible reputation as Mr. October by hitting home runs on three consecutive pitches in the deciding game of the 1977 World Series.