In the Salary Justice System ...

District Attorney's Office, Feb. 20, 4:30 p.m.

The crotchety old district attorney waved his hand across his desk. "We both know relief pitchers don't win salary arbitration hearings. I don't care about your ego, you call the GM and you make a deal. Just get this case off your desk!"

McCoy turned, his dander up. "I've tried! They won't go higher than $3.65 million. This is a first-degree closer -- I can't go lower than $4.15 million. If you want to go below that, take me off the case."

"I ought to." But the crotchety old DA just waved dismissively again. "Fine. Your case, your loss when you take it to trial."

A knock at the door. The young assistant prosecutor poked into the room, waving a blue sheaf. "Defense motion. Get this: They want to exclude any mention of 'saves.'"

"On what grounds?" McCoy was even furiouser.

"They're challenging the scientific validity of it as a statistic, and that in light of the questionable science it would be too prejudicial to introduce at trial."

McCoy was fuming so badly he squeaked as he replied. "That's a matter for the jury to decide!"

"No," the crotchety old DA said, "It's a matter for you to prove to the judge or there won't be a trial. Have Briscoe and Green look for more evidence."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

###

Boston Massachusetts, Feb. 20, 11:25 a.m.

"Come on in. What can I do for you, detectives -- ?"

"Detectives Green and Briscoe," Green said. "Mr. James, we're here following up on the Cordero arbitration case."

"Oh my, the salary dispute that's been in all the papers? How can I help with that?"

"Well, we have some questions about saves."

"You mean saves for relief pitchers?"

"No, we mean the other kind," Briscoe said wryly.

"Right, well, what is it you want to know?"

Green glanced at Briscoe and went on. "Explain saves to us."

"Well, according to rule 10.20 of Major League Baseball, a relief pitcher who finishes a game is credited with a save if he enters the game with his team in the lead and the tying run on deck, or with a three-run lead or less and he pitches at least one inning, and his team maintains its lead and wins the game. Or if he pitches effectively for the last three innings, but isn't eligible for the victory."

"So it's in the rule book," Green said. "That makes it official."

"Official, yes. But you see, in order to enter the game with a three-run lead in the top of the ninth and blow that lead even half the time, you'd have to have an ERA of at least 13.50. You know what they give pitchers who post a 13.50 ERA?"

"Let me guess: a bus ticket to Vermont?" Briscoe said in a cynical tone.

"Right. So really, except for someone who has some sort of psychological problem handling pressure, any relief pitcher in the major leagues would convert most of his save opportunities. For example, if you have an ERA of 4.50, you'll still hold a one-run lead for an inning half of the time. So, yeah, saves are official stats, but they don't mean much more than when a teacher gives a kid a little foil star for attendance."

"A stat for just showing up?" Green asked.

"Hey, don't knock the value of just showing up," Briscoe said with an ironic voice. "Just ask Cal Ripken how he got to the Hall of Fame, or ask my third wife why she's my ex."

"Yes, and also ask any GM about the difference in value between two otherwise equal relief pitchers, one of whom has 30 saves and the other has none. Teams want closers, and closers get saves, so they bid up the value of any relief pitcher who has saves."

###

Salary Arbitration Court, Trial Part 22

"So really, there is no such thing as a so-called 'save,' is there, Mr. Bowden?"

"No. It's a completely meaningless stat."

"Thank you. I have no further questions for this witness."

The lead judge stirred. "Cross-examination, Mr. McCoy?"

McCoy screwed the look of bewildered outrage back onto his face. "Mr. Bowden, do you really expect us to believe that there is no such thing as a save?"

"That's the truth."

"Oh really? People's exhibit number five. The Nationals 2006 Media Guide. Mr. Bowden, would you please read from page 306, the highlighted portion?"

The witness paged through the glossy book. "Franchise pitching records, single season. Saves. Number one, Chad Cordero, 47 in 2005."

"I believe there's an asterisk."

"Yes. That means he led the league."

"So it's right there in your own team's book. The franchise record for saves. The league leader in saves. Seems like a lot of effort to go to keeping track of something that doesn't exist."

"Well, yes, but Chad only had 29 saves in 2006, so it's not the kind of stat that --"

"Ah hah! So when a player's saves drop from one year to the next, then saves are real enough for you?"

"No, I mean, I --"

"And when the Red Sox call you to ask about trading for Mr. Cordero, do you mention that he led the league in saves just the other year?"

"Well, of course. I have to --"

"So it seems, Mr. Bowden, that you treat saves as a real stat everywhere else but in this courtroom. Isn't that right?"

"I --"

"When it helps you to drum up fan excitement or to increase the value of your trades, then saves are very real, very important to you, isn't that what you're telling us?"

"Objection! Asked and answered," Bowden's attorney said.

"And when it helps you to avoid paying a player what he's worth, suddenly you've never even heard of saves, isn't that right?" McCoy went on.

"Sustained. Move on, Mr. McCoy."

"It seems awfully convenient, for you, Mr. Bowden, how saves are real when they help you and nonexistent when they don't. Isn't that what you're really telling us?"

"Your honor!"

"That's enough, Mr. McCoy."

"I'm through with this witness," McCoy shrugged in disgust.

###

Salary Arbitration Court, Trial Part 27

Dressed in his best blue blazer, Chad Cordero glanced meaningfully toward the prosecution table. McCoy was staring eagerly at the judge, but the pretty assistant caught Cordero's glance. They smiled nervously.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" The lead judge asked.

"We have, your honor."

The bailiff passed the verdict form to the judges, who reviewed it, and passed it back to be read.

"We find that Chad Cordero is a first-degree closer, and order the Nationals to pay him $4.15 million."

McCoy nodded in triumph.

###

District Attorney's Office, Feb. 22, 8:04 p.m.

Waiting for the elevator, the crotchety old DA turned to McCoy and his assistant. "Congratulations. You won the impossible case. Got your man an extra $500,000."

"Ah," McCoy chuckled, shaking his head. "If the Nationals had won, they'd have saved half a million dollars. But by losing, they have the arbitrator's official verdict that Cordero is a premier young closser. All we did was help the Nationals package Cordero for a more valuable trade. They win either way."

The elevator arrived, and they stepped on.

"Well, at least you got your client the money he deserves," the crotchety old DA said flintily.

"And maybe a ticket to Boston, too."

The elevator doors closed behind them.