Derek Bender was a sixth-round draft this past July. The Twins handed him a $297,500 bonus and sent him right to the Fort Myers Mighty Mussels, their Low A-level team, to begin his seasoning into whatever he might become as a catcher. Seeing more action at first base, throttling himself by too many batting strikeouts, likely to start 2025 back in Myers.
Then came the game that turned the Mussels from the guys who'd had a 6-game lead for the Florida State League's Western Division title in July to eliminated from postseason play this month. Bender seemingly did his level best to help make sure the Lakeland Flying Tigers (Tigers) took the title.
Last Thursday, the news arrived that the Twins eliminated Bender from their organization. They learned that, in game two of the doubleheader that sealed the Mussels's elimination, Bender was telling Lakeland hitters exactly what Mussels starting pitcher Ross Dunn was going to throw. Multiple published reports cited Bender quoted as saying he wanted the season to be over and done with.
He'd gone from a power threat in college at Coastal Carolina to a struggler during his first taste of pro ball. Now, a .200/.273/.333 slash line with two home runs and a 20-to-5 batting strikeout-to-walk ratio might indeed prompt you to wish to go home, regroup, and start afresh the following spring. I'm not sure how often it prompts a player to tank in a key pennant race game.
Bender's pitch tipping abetted a 4-run second inning for the Flying Tigers, who went on to win the game 6-0, thus sweeping the doubleheader and clinching the FSL West. Flying Tigers coaches, according to ESPN, told Mussels coaches about Bender's tips. ESPN said Flying Tigers players were genuinely surprised they were being told what was coming.
Nobody's accusing the Flying Tigers of wrongdoing. But the Twins struck a powerful blow against tanking of any kind, even a single game's worth. Their minor league tanker having been exposed, they sent him packing after he spent the Mussels's final two regular-season games watching from the bullpen instead of his normal dugout positioning.
Jerry Reinsdorf is the owner of the White Sox. The team who's threatening to push the 1962 Mets to one side for regular-season futility. At this writing, they're only 5 losses from tying and 6 from passing those Original Mets. Even if they probably shocked Chicago into stunned silence by taking two of three from the Athletics over the weekend. (Who have surprises of their own to point to in their final known Oakland season thus far: they're actually a .549 team since the All-Star Break.)
The White Sox are the team about whom Reinsdorf said in an 11 September statement that, oops, we've up and blown it and it didn't just happen spontaneously:
"Everyone in this organization is extremely unhappy with the results of this season, that goes without saying. This year has been very painful for all, especially our fans. We did not arrive here overnight, and solutions won't happen overnight either. Going back to last year, we have made difficult decisions and changes to begin building a foundation for future success. What has impressed me is how our players and staff have continued to work and bring a professional attitude to the ballpark each day despite a historically difficult season. No one is happy with the results, but I commend the continued effort. I expect to have more to say at the end of the season."
Leave it to Cup of Coffee writer/impresario Craig Calcaterra to blow a hole in that: "1. It IS the end of the season, so what in the hell are you waiting for? 2. Unless the more you have to say is 'I am selling the Chicago White Sox,' no one really cares." The sad part is that the Reinsdorf statement may be the most unintentionally humorous utterance out of any humorless White Sox organism all year long.
There you have it. Two American League Central teams giving two distinct lessons in how to deal with tanking of any kind and tankers of any level.
The one who learned of their minor league tanker and disappeared him post haste has a two and a half game advantage at this writing for the third AL wild card. The one whose owner all but confessed to being his team's top tankman has yet to face any insurrection among fellow owners to sell his team, but stares into the oncoming light of a 121+ loss season.
Reinsdorf has never been accused credibly of being a funnyman. But he faces his White Sox setting a new record for regular-season defeat without even a hundredth of the good humor, self-deprecating wit, and plain mad fun, of the team whose record endured 62 stubborn years against all previous challengers.
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