Feeding the Monster: How Money, Smarts, and Nerve Took a Team to the Top, by Seth Mnookin (Simon & Schuster, July, 2006)

In Red Sox Nation, fans begin the ’07 season with a newfound optimism, despite Monday’s opening-day loss, concerns left over from Spring training, and the stiff competition posed by division rivals New York and Toronto, who finished ahead of Boston last year. The incredible 2004 postseason—still quite fresh in the minds of fans—was more than expiation for years of notorious collapses and mundane play; it ushered in a new era for the franchise. Since John Henry and Tom Werner bought the Red Sox in 2001, the team has gone from perpetual heartbreakers to world champions, and this transformation is the subject of Seth Mnookin’s latest book, Feeding the Monster: How Money, Smarts, and Nerve Took a Team to the Top.

What makes this book a valuable reflection on the World Champion Red Sox is that it explains how the character, strategy, and direction of the franchise genuinely changed under the new owners, chief executive officer Larry Lucchino, and general manager Theo Epstein. Unlike works that recount the drama of the actual games—the clutch hits, bloody socks, and final outs—and what the championship meant for the people of New England, Feeding the Monster looks behind the scenes at the front office that made the Red Sox legitimate contenders. Mnookin’s book reminds us that professional baseball, while still a favorite pastime and source of local pride, is also a business, and an increasingly complex one at that. While it had become customary to blame Boston’s woes on the “curse of the Bambino,” Mnookin is clear that the real curse had been decades of sub-par management, and that salvation would likely come from efficient use of resources, innovation, and outmaneuvering the competition.

Feeding the Monster begins with the unfortunate legacy of Boston’s previous owners and front office. Tom Yawkey, who owned the franchise from 1933 until his death in 1976, was, according to Mnookin, a “destructive force” on the team. A purported racist—Boston was the last professional team to integrate, in 1959—Yawkey demanded little from the club in terms of success and was content to staff the organization “with sycophants and drinking buddies and blowhard ex-players.” While the Yawkey Trust, the partnership that assumed ownership following Mr. Yawkey’s death, was more professional and succeeded in overcoming Boston’s reputation as a racist club, inept management persisted. When the team went up for sale in 2000, the fans’ ire had gravitated towards general manager Dan Duquette, who was blamed by many for the team’s failure to resign franchise all stars Roger Clemens and Mo Vaughn.

Mnookin's book reminds us that professional baseball, while still a favorite pastime and source of local pride, is also a business, and an increasingly complex one at that.

Following this history lesson, Mnookin introduces the current owners (Henry, Werner, and Lucchino) with brief biographical sketches and describes the events surrounding the sale of the team. Once the sale is finalized, we enter into the heart of the book—how Henry and company accomplished in three years what prior management had failed to do in over eight decades.

A Red Sox devotee himself, the author highlights changes in the franchise that were readily apparent to loyal fans, and then provides the logic behind them. Mnookin’s analysis covers most aspects of the team’s revamped character—including the greater camaraderie among the players, the relaxed tensions between the team and the management, and the organization’s effort to improve Fenway Park and make the fans feel appreciated—but he focuses on the core changes that let Boston become a truly competitive team that was capable of going deep into the playoffs.

A review of Boston’s three postseason appearances prior to 2003 (1995, 1998, and 1999) demonstrates the team’s biggest consistent weakness: that despite always having a few luminaries—think Vaughn, Jose Canseco, Nomar Garciaparra, and Pedro Martinez—the management was incapable of signing players who could adequately complement the club’s all stars.

After the Red Sox fell to the Indians in four games in the 1998 American League Division Series, one local sports writer described the team’s situation as follows:

“This was the perfect kind of season for the Red Sox: be competitive, stay in the race, put people in the seats, create excitement.

Cling to the party line that they're really only a ‘mid-market’ team so how can they really be expected to win the whole thing? 
 
That's essentially been the script for the past decade…Until the Red Sox are willing to make the kind of commitment necessary to have a legitimate chance to get to the World Series, they invariably will be what they were this year, a few superstars scattered in with too many guys who get exposed in October; an overachieving team that probably went further than anyone had a right to expect. Until this changes we can expect more of the same. Here a tease, there a tease.

Eighty years and counting.” [1]

While Boston had been able to put up the money for big-name players for some time, the franchise lacked the smarts to build effective teams around them. John Henry, the new owner and a highly successful commodities trader, remedied this gap. Based on his success in finance, Henry had concluded that “all investment decisions should be based on what can be measured rather than what might be predicted or felt. People in both baseball and the financial markets operate with beliefs and biases. To the extent you can eliminate both and replace them with data, you gain a clear advantage… actual data from the market means more than individual perception/belief. And the same is true in baseball.”

For example, the Red Sox’s decision to sign David Ortiz for a relatively inexpensive $1.25 million in 2003 was partly based on his secondary average—a statistic that “measures a hitter’s ability to produce bases independent of batting average.” While Ortiz had hit just “.234 in 2001, his secondary average was almost .400,” over 120 points higher than the league average. This led Bill James, the sabermetrics guru who the club hired as a consultant, to asses Ortiz as a player with potential for breaking out, an appraisal that was proven correct beyond what anyone could have imagined.

The final section of Feeding the Monster chronicles the 2005 season. Loyal fans, who would just as soon forget the erratic play, ALDS loss to the White Sox, and drama surrounding the departure and subsequent return of Epstein, may find this section tedious, but its inclusion is worthwhile, as Mnookin rightly considers it to be the conclusion to the world championship team.

This book is superbly detailed, reflecting the intense research that went into it. Furthermore, Mnookin’s style of presenting the club’s new business model alongside the most dramatic plays and events of recent Red Sox history makes it an interesting and accessible read for most fans—ranging from those who devour the nitty-gritty of stats, trades, and personnel changes to the more casual fans who year-after-year loyally tune in to games and follow the team in the morning paper. And for fans with mixed expectations about the upcoming season, Feeding the Monster will reassure their confidence in Boston’s long-term future, based on the ingenuity and proven success of the new front-office.

Daniel Geary is a research assistant at the American Enterprise Institute.

Image credt: Photo by Paul Keleher

[1] Bill Reynolds, “Red Sox’ Season Finished but Several Issues Are Not,” Providence Journal Bulletin, October 6, 1998, D1.