It was an unexpected defeat for me. I believe-- and I am absolutely right on this-- that the big star deserves the big money only if he wins the big games. Period. Post-season play is what separates the men from the boys. That's elementary.

The goofy thing was that Shane still wasn't happy. He had won, he had defeated me, but he still whined that he was worth eight million. Next year, he boasted, he'd get his due. He'd play out his option, become a free agent and then say adios to John Courtland and the Central City Champs.

That ain't the way we do it.

He's supposed to say that the salary dispute is settled, there are no hard feelings, and his focus is now on winning the American League pennant and going on to win the World Series.

Winning the title. That's what takes precedence. Fans don't understand this. Someone like James Candle thinks I want to defeat Shane London, get the better of him, show him I'm the boss, and yes, I would like to defeat Shane, but not if it hurts my chances of winning a championship. Getting back at a player like Shane is a luxury I can't afford. Not when I'm this close to a title.

The fans don't know how hard it is to win a championship.

Marley does, and I wanted to see him again. I wanted him to appear on my TV and tell me his previous visit was unfair. I wanted him to tell me that Shane London was out of line and that I was in the right. More than anything I wanted him to tell me that the spirits weren't coming to visit me.

I don't need no stinking spirits. That's what I would tell him. Shane London is out of line and I am in the right-- I'd tell him that too. I wanted Marley to apologize for his previous visit, and call off the spirits of baseball past, baseball present, and baseball future.

Skip was under the impression that my interest in the spirits was a gimmick, a way of dressing up some baseball ideas and presenting them in attention-getting style at the owners meetings. He took my preoccupation seriously, discussed it with Mike, and they kicked it around, brainstormed it.

Babe Ruth did more to make baseball our national pastime than any player before or since, and the Spirit of Baseball Past would take me to see him. The Spirit of Baseball Present would take me around my own stadium and accuse me of catering to the corporate bigwigs in their skyboxes while ripping off the public for parking and hot dogs and beer. Baseball Future? An empty stadium. Or one where soccer was played but not baseball.

That's what I could expect: the Bambino, overpriced red hots, and soccer.

So what? I'm in business to win, Marley. I would take a hard line with the ghost: No spirits.

When spring training got underway I remained in Central City.

The news that night opened with Mayor Grevey standing in front of a model of the proposed big bucks casino, which he belligerently insisted belonged in Central City. He denounced the governor's plan to build it in the suburbs.

I was intent on forcing Marley's hand.

There was a drive-by shooting on the east side. "Why aren't you in Florida, John?" That's what the ghost would ask.

On to health news, a sharp rise in AIDS cases in January. "Why aren't you co-operating?"

Weather. We were in a Winter Storm Watch. Five inches of new snow by morning, and I was talking to my TV: "Come on Marley, let's get this thing over with."

The lottery segment came on, numbered pingpong balls riding the air, a pretty female announcing each number. Marley did not show up, and I was impatient: "Lottery numbers-- why is that news?" I demanded.

It was obvious to me that Marley was waiting for Sports, but sports came on with no Marley. It was just Dennis Hominy talking hoops. Nothing but basketball, a bunch of scores, and then some NBA highlights, fabulous dunks and jams and alley oops, a fight in the Garden.

No baseball, and it made me so mad I blew a gasket.

"It's spring training!" I shouted. "Today is the first day of spring training! Why can't you give us some coverage you little creep, why can't you talk about baseball?"

But I knew why Dennis Hominy didn't give us any coverage. It wasn't news yet. Spring training isn't news until Dennis Hominy travels down to Florida to cover it.

I left for Florida the next day. The team's baseball men were already there. My non-baseball people all stay in Central City.

Which meant that Skip was there, but not Mike. Why had I almost told James Candle that I was in the business for the two of them? Nutty idea.

Mike and Skip might eventually become partners like Marley and me had been, with Skip serving as Mike's baseball man, making the baseball decisions for Mike, but it's pretty unrealistic at this point.

That's what I was thinking about when I watched TV that night.

They have a long way to go.

The Florida news started off as depressing as the Central City news. A class action sexual harassment lawsuit was their lead story, and then came a feature on cocaine babies in the health news. Then it picked up. The weather news covered all the snow and cold up north-- five inches in Central City!-- and I enjoyed seeing it. And when the sports news came on, it was all baseball, all Champs: Nifty Downstreet doing calisthenics, Dane Mackowitz lifting weights, Manager Peeler Fitch talking about young pitchers.

Marley didn't appear, and neither did the spirit of baseball past. After the newscast I turned off the TV, thinking again of Mike and Skip.

Some pair. One wants the fans to save the whales and the other wants the players to eat their vegetables.