This is the second聽in the five-part 草莓传媒 special report Life on the Farm, an聽inside look at the not-so-glamorous world of Minor League Baseball.聽A new story will be published every Friday in July. .
WASHINGTON — On the way into a Major League ballpark, you鈥檒l have to empty your pockets, maybe even remove your belt, and step through a metal detector while a security guard watches you enter. It鈥檚 not the most invasive set of measures, but it鈥檚 at least as intense as an airport screening was 15 years ago. If you don鈥檛 set the alarm off, you can regather your belongings, maybe grab a free playbill and shuffle into the game, one of up to 40,000 anonymous faces in the crowd.
On the way into a minor league park, you鈥檙e more likely to be greeted by a smiling face, even a handshake. If you’ve been to a game聽in Eugene, Oregon; Port Charlotte, Florida; New Orleans, or Round Rock, Texas, over the years, that face and hand may well have belonged to Jay Miller. And if you鈥檇 ever met Jay on a prior visit to the ballpark, he probably called you by name when you returned.
Over a 35-year career working in the front offices of minor and major league teams, Miller, 57, has helped his teams shatter attendance records and gained a reputation as one of the best executives in the game. That success has been built one handshake at a time, as he has continued the practice of greeting fans as they arrive and thanking them as they leave, no matter his position with the organization, his entire career. In an age of fewer and fewer face-to-face interactions, you can argue his approach is crucial.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 think you can do enough of that,鈥� Miller says. 鈥淟et people know how important they are to the success of the franchise by being there.鈥�
Miller鈥檚 voice has a naturally high timbre, lending it a quality that might seem inauthentic from someone else if it weren鈥檛 so obviously intrinsic to his nature. Despite his roots in Illinois, some syrup has dripped over his accent after more than 30 years in the South and Southwest, as he drawls his words out ever so slightly.
鈥淚t鈥檚 hard to believe that this is really a job I get paid for,鈥� he told WINK-TV in 1988, when he was the 29 year-old general manager聽of the Charlotte Rangers, in Port Charlotte, Florida. 鈥淏ecause I enjoy it so much.鈥�
All these years later, even after two stints in the big leagues, that joy still lives in his voice when he talks about what he does.
Front office size tends to correspond with the level of play, and, unsurprisingly, runs inverse to the amount of work required to make the operation function each day. The Nationals list more than聽300 front office staff; the Orioles, nearly 200. At around 50, including their Ryan Sanders Sports Services, the Round Rock Express is about as big as minor league staffs get.
Miller played聽baseball in college, and when he graduated he聽just kept calling people in baseball until someone gave him a job. It didn鈥檛 matter that his first offer聽paid only $500 a month (plus commission), or that it meant moving halfway across the country聽to Eugene, where he was given the title of assistant general manager — a title that was much more glamorous than the job.
鈥淚 was hiring ushers and ticket takers, in charge of cleanup; I was doing all the stadium operations, working, selling,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 think full-time, back then, there were four of us.鈥�
Miller worked in Eugene and in Salem, Virginia, then jumped to the majors when his boss, Larry Schmittou, was hired by the Texas Rangers. It was there that he personally handled all the ticket requests for one Lynn Nolan Ryan, Jr., forging a trust that would shape the rest of his life.
After two years in the minors, Nolan Ryan鈥檚 son Reid had retired from playing and was working part-time on the Rangers broadcasts when he decided he wanted to get into the management side of things at the minors.
鈥淚 decided I wanted to go out and start my own minor league baseball team,鈥� explains聽Ryan. He says when he asked his father what he should do first, 鈥淗e said, 鈥楬ey, you鈥檝e got to call Jay Miller.鈥欌��
Ryan had known Miller since he was 17, largely through聽his father. That trust led him to install Miller as the president and general manager of the brand-new Round Rock Express in 1998. In 2000, the Express broke the Double-A attendance record, drawing better than 660,000 fans.
They continued to add to that total each of the next four years as Miller racked up awards, twice being named Minor League Executive of the Year by “The Sporting 草莓传媒.” And in 2005, Round Rock was promoted to Triple-A, an almost unheard-of development that indicated just how strong the franchise was. Miller earned the聽Minor League Executive of the Year award from “Baseball America” that winter.
鈥淲hen you have him in a ballpark setting, whether it鈥檚 the fans or young kids coming out of college trying to get into the business, Jay always has time for them,鈥� Ryan says. 鈥淗e derives pleasure from helping his fellow man.鈥�
Ryan and Miller worked together every day from 1998 until the fall of 2010, when Miller was offered a job as senior vice president with the Rangers, a team in which the elder Ryan held an ownership stake. During those 13 years, Reid Ryan came to understand the little things that separated Miller and made the fans of his team so fiercely loyal.
鈥淚 think the thing about Jay is, if somebody asked him to do something, a fan, whether it was get up for an early morning speech, come over to say hi to a friend, he鈥檇 do it,鈥� says Ryan.
He says Miller once even installed a piece of wood next to a season ticket-holder鈥檚 seat to allow him to have somewhere to rest his drink.
So how, exactly, Jay Miller ended up in Sugar Land, working in the independent leagues, may seem something of a mystery.
The Sugar Land Skeeters play in the eight-team Atlantic League, which includes mostly teams along the Eastern seaboard, such as聽the Southern Maryland Blue Crabs. Their home ballpark, Constellation Field, is 20 miles due southwest as the crow flies from Minute Maid Park in Houston, where Reid Ryan is now the president of business operations. But it鈥檚 about as far as you can get and still be in the business of baseball.
鈥淚 was kind of just retired from the day-to-day thing and just consulting,鈥� Miller says. 鈥淚 loved the area, and I loved the staff, and I just decided to do it.鈥�
Miller came to Sugar Land last fall, after a brief return to Round Rock from his time with the Rangers. A couple years ago, he may have thought he鈥檇 be living in his log cabin in Arlington.聽Instead, he鈥檚 in a condo across the street from the ballpark in Sugar Land, his cabin rented out to聽a professional player.
In a sense, this portion of Miller’s聽career resembles that of many of his players. Some arrive in Sugar Land for a second chance, hoping to get their way back to affiliated ball, to the big leagues. But most, in the backs of their minds, are just looking for a place to play, to be a part of the game, for an excuse to get paid to聽come to the ballpark every day.
Roger Clemens pitched in Sugar Land, for eight innings as a 49 year-old. Of course, so did Tracy McGrady, after the NBA star鈥檚 basketball career had ended and he decided to try his hand in another professional sport. Such is the balance of the independent leagues, which are generally more open to experimentation, but don鈥檛 want to lose their professionalism and become a circus.
There are recognizable names on the team right now: former Orioles farmhand and first-round pick Tim Alderson, former Nationals reliever Ryan Mattheus, infield prospect Rick Hague. There鈥檚 Dan Runzler, who last appeared in the majors in 2012, and Sean Gallagher, who hasn鈥檛 been a big-leaguer since 2010.
鈥淚 think the level of play is Double-A, Triple-A, basically,鈥� says Miller. 鈥淲e get players who may not come to other places, but they鈥檒l come here.鈥�
One reason for that is Gary Gaetti. A 20-year big leaguer and two-time All-Star, he brings plenty of clout as the Skeeters鈥� manager. And while Miller may be helping out now with personnel decisions, it is Gaetti who brings in and signs players.
鈥淗e knows a lot of people,鈥� says Miller. 鈥淗e can make a phone call and get you signed (with a Major League organization), basically鈥f they have a need, they鈥檒l call him up and ask him for help.鈥�
Like seemingly everyone, Miller had already known Gaetti for 20 years before he got to Sugar Land; he was a coach during Miller鈥檚 stint in New Orleans.
鈥淚 really liked New Orleans, just the people,鈥� Miller聽says. 鈥淭he people were so good there. I made some lasting friendships there.鈥�
Miller, as he鈥檚 shown, cares the most about those relationships, with the fans as well as聽his fellow front office members.聽And despite all the success he鈥檚 had elsewhere, he鈥檚 found the highest concentration of that secret sauce in independent ball.
鈥淚 think it鈥檚 the best staff I鈥檝e ever had in baseball here in Sugar Land,” he says.
It’s proof that his methods are still effective, that his personal touch still works, even as the world becomes less and less personable around him.
鈥淣o matter where Jay鈥檚 been — in New Orleans, Round Rock, Arlington, or now in Sugar Land — the same thing is true,鈥� Ryan said. 鈥淗e makes a lot of lasting relationships, and treats fans like they are a guest in his home.鈥�
Now, as Miller聽says farewell to fans every night, he can join them on the way out the door, just steps from his actual聽home, right across the street.
Part V: The unwitting translator
