I Want It That Way

The 1990s were my time to live out my teen years. I entered that decade a foolish, naive boy and emerged from it a foolish, naive young man. I went from playing Mortal Kombat at the arcade to hanging out with my friends playing N64 for hours. It was a time of 7-Eleven Big Gulps and nachos, renting movies at Blockbuster, and talking to your friends on a landline phone — a cordless one, if you were lucky.

In the early ’90s, the charts were dominated by Paula Abdul, MC Hammer, Vanilla Ice, and the New Kids On The Block. Those were fluorescent times: Ocean Pacific and Vuarnet mixed with hyper-colored shirts. But the times would change, as they always do. We would leave those shiny colors behind for grunge music and its alternative sound that came with ripped jeans, cardigans, and 8-Eye Docs.

We were all riding the Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain wave. It was our sound, the sound of our youth, and it crashed hard into all of our hearts. But that would all change, too. Those ’90s would be left behind, and with them the grunge music that we held onto so tightly. New groups surfaced and broke into the mainstream scene, and grunge no longer topped any charts. It was a sound that was similar to the Pop Music that led us into the shiny MTV ’90s.

I was at my Grandma’s watching Much Music, Canada’s version of MTV. Suddenly this awful sound pierced the air and my ears as five young men appeared on the screen and started singing the lyrics, “You’re the one for me. You’re my ecstasy. You’re the one I need.” They reminded me of the New Kids On The Block. I was scared. This was not Pearl Jam. This was not Nirvana. They were wearing baggy black pants and oversized jackets, and they had fresh haircuts — too groomed to be cool. They didn’t look like Sonic Youth, or The Beastie Boys. Nothing like them. They were Nick, Brian, Howie, AJ, and Kevin. They were The Backstreet Boys, and though they became something my friends and I loathed, so many others loved them. My friends and I never wanted it that way, but we had no choice, so we just ignored that ’90s sound and sipped coffee at The Donut Diner too cool to care.

***

DON’T HAVE THE RINGTONE ON IN THE CLUBHOUSE!

Back in the ’90s, no baseball player ever had to worry about being told to turn off his ringtone. There were no smartphones back then. There were no apps, Twitter, or Instagram. There were no social media to distract humanity, endlessly scrolling away our time. By the end of the ’90s, the Internet was barely starting to make an impact on life – just ask Jeeves.

When I was a kid, the numbers on the back of a baseball card spoke volumes to intelligent baseball fans. A batting average between .270 and .280 was good, a batting average between .280 and .300 was very good, and a batting average over .300 was great. It was that simple. The analytics have evolved, thankfully, but the difference between a potential Hall-of-Fame hitter and a player who can’t stick around in the big leagues is still only one hit per 10 at-bats. Simple math. That’s the difference between being a hitting legend and spending your career mostly in the minors.

The minors are where talented young baseball players go to develop and, through professional instruction, maybe craft their skill set to the major league level. It’s imperative that minor league players focus on the game, which can be difficult in a world full of social media distractions. Connie Mack certainly didn’t have to manage a clubhouse full of young adults updating their Instagram stories. Connie Mack never had to have a rule like, “DON’T HAVE THE RINGTONE ON IN THE CLUBHOUSE!”

But Dallas McPherson, who was the 2019 manager of the Lansing Lugnuts, did. It was his most important clubhouse rule. He harped about it all year. And the players listened. It was the one thing they had to remember to do every day they set foot in the clubhouse: They had to remember to reach into their bags and turn off their phones.

No one knew what would happen if, one fateful day, the sound of a smartphone pierced the sacrosanct clubhouse air. Some players had heard different stories about past players who had broken Dallas’ rule. Apparently, one player was sent down to Low-A the day after his phone went off — but that could’ve been because he wasn’t hitting, or maybe because it was a made-up fable to help players remember to turn off their phones. There was an old rumor circulating around the league that McPherson benched a player for 10 games because his phone went off while the manager was giving his pre-game talk. There were all kinds of ringtone rumors and stories, and while no one knew if they were true, everyone knew McPherson was serious about this one rule. And no player ever wanted to forget to turn off his ringtone.

***

It was the middle of summer, and the Lansing Lugnuts were in Lake County playing the Captains.The ‘Nuts would finish 2019 with a record of 68-71 and miss the playoffs, but at this point in the year, things were going well for the club. And they were going especially well on the road. Nobody on the team really knew why they were winning so much on the road, but they knew when their bus hit the pavement, they were going to collect more wins.

The players were cool and calm during their fun summer streak. Things were relaxed in the clubhouse. Still, though, they all had to remember: “DON’T HAVE THE RINGTONE ON IN THE CLUBHOUSE!” McPherson wanted it that way. He is the manager, and it’s his clubhouse. His floor. And his floor is never under any circumstance to be interrupted by the terrible sound of a smartphone and its annoying ring, buzzing into the breeze, polluting the clubhouse with distraction.

But sometimes people forget rules, and Gabriel Moreno was about to forget. He was about to do the unthinkable and forget to turn off his phone.

***

The Lugnuts players filled the Lake County clubhouse with noise and hyper chatter, getting ready to play some baseball. It’s the sound coaches pray to hear in the clubhouse. It’s a sound players and managers chase through every level of baseball. And it sounds the same in every level, too. It sounds like winning.

McPherson walked out of his office and into the players’ clubhouse for their pregame meeting. The noise quickly exited out the door he entered from, as the room silenced for their skip. It was his floor now. The players turned around and looked at their manager, who stood still, ready to discuss baseball. McPherson took a deep breath, ready to launch into a speech, when suddenly —

DING
DING
DING

“DON’T HAVE THE RINGTONE ON IN THE CLUBHOUSE,” all the players thought to themselves, as they looked nervously around the room to see whose phone was bringing the blood to McPherson’s face.

DING
DING
DING

McPherson’s eyes slowly panned over the still room. They stopped on a player who was going through his bag, desperately trying not to be noticed.

It was Gabriel Moreno.

Now, it was one type of trouble if a phone went off while everyone was shooting the breeze, but it was a whole other type of trouble if it went off during the pre-game meeting. McPherson made that clear at the beginning of the year.

A few years ago, the story goes, a player’s phone went off during the pre-game meeting and McPherson benched him. After the game, he drove him to an abandoned barn outside of Lansing. He told the player the barn was officially not abandoned because that was his home now. The player eventually hitchhiked back to Lansing and went to Cooley Law Stadium. When he went into the clubhouse, he saw his locker was cleared out. That player hasn’t played baseball since. Now he travels around giving motivational speeches to high school students.

It’s just a rumor. A story.

Maybe Moreno wouldn’t start. Maybe he would get benched. Maybe he would get sent to Low-A Vancouver, or driven to an abandoned barn to think about the ringtone and remember its DING. No one standing in that clubhouse during that moment knew what would happen to Moreno.

Moreno found his phone and turned it off, his cheeks red, eyes full of fear. The ‘Nuts skipper looked at him with a straight face, stern eyes that could break bricks.

One minute passed.

His cold eyes looked at his star catcher and froze him. They could freeze the warm Caribbean sea under the Caribbean sun.

Another minute.

The players watched, as McPherson’s lips were held tight on his face, as he breathed heavily through his nose.

Another minute.

As each minute passed the silence got heavier.

Another minute.

The corner of McPherson’s mouth slowly opened up. Moreno watched as his manager’s lips curled up into a fat smile. The entire locker room broke into laughter. Moreno’s rosy cheeks slowly started to fade, as his heart rate dropped back down to normal.

“Come up to the middle of the room.” McPherson said, “Now, introduce yourself.”

Moreno looked around at his teammates, a little confused by his manager’s request, as the team was 110 games into the season. Moreno felt the fear sneak back into his cheeks.

“My name is Gabriel Moreno. I am 19 years old. I was born in Barquisimeto, Venezuela. I love empanadas. Music.”

His teammates watched as Moreno’s cheeks went from pink to scarlet in embarrassment.

“What’s your favorite song?” his manager asked.

“I Want It That Way,” Moreno quickly answered.

“The Backstreet Boys?”

“Yeah…I Want It That Way!”

“Reggie?!” McPherson yelled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you get your big speaker?”

Reggie Pruitt, an outfielder for the Lugnuts, hurried over to his locker and pulled out his big speaker. Reggie searched for the late ’90s hit and then synced it up. The guitar filled the air and the lyrics, “You are my fire…”

Moreno used his phone as the mic and lip-synced. The entire clubhouse was laughing, along with Moreno, whose cheeks went from crimson to candy apple as he sang: “Am I, your fire? Your one, desire.”

***

For a short time during those warm summer days, the ‘Nuts felt like they were sitting on top of the hot sun that blazed across the Midwest sky. For a short time in the 2019 season, they sat on top of its perfect summer flames, staring down at the rest of the league. But that moment only lasted for so long. A loss is always only nine innings away. And reality smashed into Lansing’s season as star players were promoted to High-A Dunedin and winning at home was an unusual challenge. The team finished out the year with a 31–39 record at Cooley Law School Stadium. And Moreno spent the full season there, through it all.

McPherson was a third baseman who played 139 big league games, mostly with the Angels. He never got to go on and write any major league headlines as a superstar. He was taken 57th overall in the 2001 June draft; a once top prospect who understands the physical and mental challenges of the game. Now, he passes on his knowledge to a new generation of ballplayers, a new wave of talent who, unlike those before them, have access to a world of distractions rich with mindless scrolling. The times have certainly changed; long gone are the boy bands of the ’90s. And now teenagers are growing up in a world that measures popularity by online ‘followers’ and ‘likes.’ That’s why, for McPherson, it’s important to remind his players, “DON’T HAVE THE RINGTONE ON IN THE CLUBHOUSE!”

Gabriel Moreno, the eighth-ranked prospect in the Blue Jays system, will always remember McPherson’s rule. And he will always have this story to share as time presses its fingers into his back and pushes him through his life. He is the Blue Jays’ top catching prospect and most likely will begin the season in High-A, playing baseball in Dunedin. Some of the guys in that clubhouse that day will move through the system with Moreno. Some will not. But no matter where any of those young players end up in life, they will always remember watching Moreno channel his inner Backstreet Boy and “get down” on that summer day.

As pitching prospect Marcus Reyes, a teammate of Moreno told me: “It was probably the funniest moment of the season, and something that every coach and player bonded over!”