Personal business has no place at work. All my employees know this. Mike knows it too. When I start asking Mike about his family and he starts saying they're okay he is conducting himself correctly and properly.

Anything more than that is inappropriate. The office is not the place for issuing demands and ultimatums about family matters.

I have to find the right venue, and when I do I'll say what's on my mind: I am not their Uncle John, Mike. I'm their grandpa.

But until that time, I should make it a point to talk business with him. Daily. Son or not, I can learn from this guy, and I should be picking his brain.

I owed it to Dave anyway. I wanted to run the big Spirit's ideas by him, his theories about All Star voting, the World Series, Little Leaguers running laps.

I called Mike's extension, left him a message to come back to my office. Renee was on my mind. That was the first thing I wanted to talk about.

On impulse I called a guy in the Boston organization, a mid-level executive who used to work for me, but he was unavailable. I wanted to get the ball rolling. Let the Red Sox know I'm interested in her. I left him a message to call me.

I did not need Mike's approval to go after Renee, but I still wanted to talk to him about her. Maybe he'd think it a ridiculous idea. Maybe he'd think all of Dave's ideas were ridiculous. But I needed to go over them with him.

By the time Mike got my message I was with Skip Lu, who was in hot water for running up some funny expenses on a recent trip to the Dominican Republic. Our financial people— Edie Fuller— had bounced them. She had been on Skip's case for a month-and-a-half, and there was no love lost between the two of them.

She's a tiny little woman who loves to go after the baseball men for not dotting the i's and crossing the t's on their expense reports. Skip's trouble started when she rejected the expenses— $4754— associated with the pilot project for Operation Vegetables. Skip's grad student consultant had not completed the project until mid-June, eight weeks after the due date.

I had neglected to tell Edie I'd approved the project and it took awhile to straighten it out.

Dragon Lady. That's what they call her, "they" being any baseball men amiss in submitting airline tickets, hotel and car rental receipts or— Skip's infraction— exceeding what she deemed reasonable expenses.

"She doesn't understand what it's like to travel in a Third World country," said Skip. "They don't do things the way we do,"

"She's over-zealous at times," I admitted.

"Santo Domingo is one thing, but the boondocks are totally different."

"But she's just doing her job, Skip."

"Do you know how I got to Puerto Plata? From Santiago?"

"She makes it difficult for anyone to chisel management," I said.

"If you don't want me to go to the Dominican Republic just say so."

"She does it with forms and procedures and guidelines. Bureaucracy."

"Believe me, the D.R. is no picnic."

"The Dominican Republic is still very important for us," I said. None of the Champs come from this tiny Caribbean nation, but we have seven Dominicans in our minor league system, including our top two pitching prospects, Benevides and Esquibel.

"Tell her that," said Skip.

That's when the call came from my man in Boston. He congratulated me on the Sports Illustrated cover story and I thanked him, said it was all a matter of listening to our fans, pleasing our fans, and I wanted his help in pleasing them still more.

"You don't need any help," he said. "We're the guys who need help. You're sitting all alone at the top, and we're looking up at New York and Baltimore with time running out."

Skip stood up then, pointed at himself and at me, mouthed something, and I motioned him to stay put.

"I'd like permission to talk to one of your people," I said.

"Do you want me to leave, John?" asked Skip.

"I'm not the one to ask," said my Boston contact. "You know that."

I covered the receiver. "Stick around, Skip. It's all right for you to hear this." Then I resumed my conversation. "I don't want to step on any toes here," I said. "Just ask around for me. I want to be totally above board with you guys. But I fully intend to talk to her. As soon as possible."

"Her? You want to talk to a her?"

"Renee," I said. "She just might be your best pitcher."

"The vendor?"

"You got it," I said. "The girl with the peanuts."

"She's a Boston treasure," he said. "Our fans love her."

"Our fans will love her too. That's the one thing that we're missing. Someone like her. Victory on the playing field and entertainment in the grandstand, that's the recipe for success."

"Okay," he said. "We'll send her to you in exchange for your psychics."

"Don't be sarcastic," I said. "Our psychics are untouchable."

"I can't believe it," said the Boston man. "We're short of pitching and the man is talking about a peanut vendor."

"Pitching?" I asked. "Did I hear you say you're short of pitching?"

"Woefully short. You give us a quality arm and I'm sure you can have your peanut vendor."

"You want a ballplayer?" I asked. I was having fun with the guy.

"No," he said. "We want left-handed accountants." Pretty good. "Of course we want ballplayers! Pitchers!"

"Well look," I said. "I can't really talk about that without consulting my GM first. But I am serious about Renee, I really am."

"How serious?"

"Just nose it around and then get back to me when you can. But be discreet, okay? Let's not draw attention to something that may not pan out."

He said he guessed I was serious, and I said yes, and then I hung up the phone.

"You didn't necessarily hear anything," I told Skip.

"I didn't hear a word," said Skip. "Who was it?"

"Let's just call him 'Mister X,'" I said. Then I picked up all the forms and receipts associated with Skip's questionable expenses. I clipped them together, took a red pen and wrote in the date, the word APPROVED and then my initials. Then shoved the mess across my desk to him.

"Thanks, John," he said. He stood up to go, and I stopped him.

"No attitude now, okay?" I asked. "I want you to be gracious with Edie. Don't rub it in or act like you won."

"And how do I that?" he asked. "The woman hates me."

"Apologize to her. Play dumb. Ask her how you can avoid future problems." I dished out more advice in this vein and Skip nodded and said he'd make the effort to get her on his side, etc., etc.

I drew it out to keep him around. I wanted him there when Mike came. It's easier for Mike and me to talk to each other in Skip's presence.

"Let's talk All Star game," I said.

"The All Star game?" asked Skip. I saw it as practice, the chance to dry run Dave's ideas on my assistant director of player development.

"Baseball is a partisan game," I said. "You are for one team or the other, but not both. Never both."

"Unless you're a scout," he said, sitting down again.

"Fans," I said. "Fans are always for one team and only one team. But we lose sight of that in the All Star game. We act like we're for both teams. That's the way MLB plays it."

I made the political analogy then. "If you're a Republican you vote in the Republican primary. If you're a Democrat you vote in the Democratic primary. But you don't vote in both. That just doesn't make sense."

I waited for Skip to agree with me, he did, and I continued.

"If I'm an American League guy why should I be permitted to vote for any National Leaguers? I don't know those guys. I'm not even interested in them. The only guys I should vote for are the A.L. guys."

"Most fans vote for players from their own team," said Skip.

"Nothing wrong with that," I said. "Our fans vote for Nifty every year, and why not? And they go with Jamal at first if he's having a good year, ditto Tony B. in the outfield, and Funston at third. Four solid ballplayers."

"Deserving ballplayers," said Skip.

"But their other picks are good too, Skip. Our fans aren't dumb. They follow the games, keep track of the stats, and they know who's having a good year."

Skip nodded agreeably.

"Likewise the fans in Baltimore and Kansas City and Boston and Detroit, they vote for their own guys too, just like our fans, but the other players they pick are good choices."

I explained that when the results are tallied, the votes for hometown favorites cancel each other out, and what's left is a true lineup of all stars. "So far so good," I said. "But then we're stuck with the votes from the National League fans and when we get done adding them in to the mix, the results are skewed. Dane Mackowitz finishes third in the voting at catcher."

Skip asked me if I thought the voting should be done by the players, and my secretary buzzed me that Mike was there.

"Send him in," I said, and then I told Skip that all we had to do was change the voting so that the two teams were on separate ballots and that would end the practice of voting for has-beens.