How You Play the Game: Lessons for Life from the Billion-Dollar Business of Sports

Foreword

I FIRST HAD the pleasure of meeting Jerry Colangelo over thirty years ago when he, at the age of twenty-eight, became the youngest general manager in professional sports and I was a much younger (twenty-seven-year-old) lawyer working for the NBA. Over the years, Jerry has demonstrated success at every level of sports ownership, arena and stadium design and construction, and community involvement, but it was obvious back then that Jerry Colangelo was destined for a fulfilling, inspiring, and remarkable life in sports and in business.

At Jerry’s core is a passion for basketball that is pure playground. It rose out of his years scrapping on the cement courts of Chicago Heights, playing starring roles in high school and college, battling it out in a tough semi-pro league, and finally coaching the Phoenix Suns for two seasons. He has always loved basketball with an intensity that is natural, joyous, and complete. He loves the game and he loves the players, both as athletes and as people.

Jerry has also had a remarkable appreciation for the business side of sports. Just as he studied and understood what happened on the court, he was a student of the deal and knows how to build winning teams and successful leagues. His great success with the Phoenix Suns, the fact that he has been named NBA Executive of the Year an unprecedented four times, and his successful launch of the Arizona Diamondbacks are all testaments to his vision, his skill, and his know-how inside the boardroom. America West Arena, home of the Suns, and Bank One Ballpark, home of the Diamondbacks, demonstrate Jerry’s ability to forge the private-public partnerships that are required for arenas and stadiums and the renewals that they bring to communities.

But most important, Jerry has always lived his life and conducted his business without ever compromising his strong sense of ethics and his deep commitment to doing what’s right. He is a true believer, not just in the purity of the game, but in the fundamental values that give meaning to our lives. His devotion to family and friends, his respect for colleagues and loyalty to employees, and his commitment to the community all represent Jerry’s fierce desire to live a life that is balanced, enlightened, and good.

You can learn a lot from Jerry Colangelo, perhaps in more ways than you are anticipating as you open this book. I have. He is a teacher, a leader, and a valued friend.

Enjoy!

DAVID STERN

Foreword

WHEN JERRY COLANGELO first contacted me about the possibility of a Major League Baseball expansion franchise for the Phoenix area in 1993, I was receptive to his ideas. I had spent most spring trainings in Phoenix with the Milwaukee Brewers and had many opportunities to get to know him. I was well aware of his reputation as a dynamic and successful sports entrepreneur, his knowledge and love of sports, and his ability to traverse the sometimes difficult civic and business roadblocks that confront owners of sports franchises. Most important, I knew that Jerry’s first love was baseball. He was a terrific high school pitcher from the south side of Chicago—having pitched ahead of former major leaguer Jim Bouton one year—and might have made it to the big leagues had he not blown out his pitching arm.

Jerry pursued a major league franchise with all the passion and vigor that he exhibited in turning the Phoenix Suns into one of the preeminent franchises of the National Basketball Association. He performed all his due diligence with great care and embarked on the construction of a state-of-the-art baseball facility for the baseball fans of Arizona. His planning was extraordinary and impressive, and he was awarded the franchise—the Arizona Diamondbacks—on March 9, 1995, and Bank One Ballpark was built in time for his club’s first pitch in 1998.

In just over a year, Jerry has established the Diamondbacks as one of the game’s most successful expansion franchises and himself as one of the leaders of our industry, through his keen business insight and his ability to develop and nurture personal relationships. One of the reasons for his success is that he has participated in just about every level of the sports industry—as an athlete, as a marketing director, as a coach, general manager, and franchise operator and owner. The transition from athlete to owner is a fascinating story of hard work, dedication, and loyalty, which Jerry has achieved with grace, sensitivity, and intelligence. I am proud to have him as a colleague and a friend.

Read this book. It’s a sports story on one level, but a story of life and how to achieve your dreams on another, more important level.

ALLAN H. (BUD) SELIG

Acknowledgments

RARELYDOES THE opportunity arise to thank all the people who have played a significant role in your life in such a public forum, and I, for one, shall not let this opportunity pass by.

All the stories and ideas inside these pages are the result of a lifetime of experience and relationships, personal and professional. No one walks that journey alone, and neither have I. A few people, outside my family, have been with me year after year, decade after decade. They are woven into the fabric of my life in a profound way.

First among all the people in my life is Ruthie Dryjanski, whose commitment and dedication are unparalleled.

I would like to acknowledge and thank Frankie and the whole gang back in the old neighborhood, who’ve been with me through the years, from the beginning, and also all the people who have backed me, from the media and the business community, in both Chicago and Chicago Heights, since my boyhood days.

My journey with the Suns has been a tremendous ride, and I’ve been blessed by great people who’ve made exceptional contributions. Most notable in this group are Harvey Shank, Bob Machen, Tom Ambrose, Ray Artigue, Ted Podleski, John Sakata, Chris Bianco, and Joe Proski. I also want to recognize all the coaches and players, and everyone else who has helped build and sustain the franchise.

The Diamondbacks have just begun what promises to be an equally amazing journey, and the people who have had the greatest impact on the franchise’s genesis include Buck Showalter, Rich Dozer, Joe Garagiola Jr., Scott Brubaker, Tom Harris, and Roland Hemond, as well as all the coaches and players, and the entire baseball staff.

I also would like to thank my attorneys, Jay Ruffner, Mike Kennedy, and Mike Gallagher.

I’d also like to mention my long-time partners David Eaton, Mel Schultz, Eddie Lynch, and John Teets, along with Bill Shover and Chip Weil.

Now to the matter at hand: the publication of this book. I’d like to express my appreciation to the people at AMACOM who were so enthused, from the start, about the prospects for this work. In particular, I would like to thank publisher Hank Kennedy, editor Ellen Kadin, and copy editor Karen Boyd.

I would be grossly remiss if I did not express my deepest appreciation to all the fans, in Phoenix, in Chicago, and throughout the country, who have supported our organization, our teams, and me, and have made every venture and championship run worth all the effort.

Finally, the very first page of this work is surely one of the most important: the dedication to my family. It is perhaps beyond my ability to fully express in words what each of them means to me, in every way, and so I shall say no more, trusting that they know that they are always in my heart.

Prologue

THIS BOOK IS about what I believe. Of course, what I (or anyone else) believe is the culmination of many things: family and faith and experience, education and intuition, all mixed together to provide a share of knowledge and—hopefully—a touch of wisdom.

I have been interviewed on many occasions and have spoken about some of these ideas, values, and experiences. Despite all those interviews, this forum, this book, is my opportunity to speak fully and completely, for the first and only time, without interruption or editing.

I have spent more than thirty years in the sports industry, and I have learned many lessons. A few I learned easily, and others I learned the hard way, through trial and error, and sometimes error and error. Still, through it all, I have worked and persevered and gone on to build a business and an organization that employs thousands, and brings a measure of joy to thousands upon thousands more.

My career, both as an entrepreneur and as a corporate executive—not to mention athlete, scout, general manager and coach—has taken me throughout the country and around the globe. I have visited places unimaginably distant, and not merely in physical terms, from my boyhood home on Hungry Hill in Chicago Heights, Illinois. My work has led me to the business brink and back through endless rounds of jousting and contending with fellow owners and governments, sports agents, and transnational corporations. I have passed through the infinite layers of horse-trading and deal-making, compromise and intrigue, that command industry, sports and otherwise. I have become intimately familiar with the rules and risks that dominate the world of power and influence.

I have also had an awful lot of fun. And I have succeeded at attaining most though certainly not all of my goals, frequently far beyond what I ever dreamed conceivable.

When I consider the trajectory of my life, from the old neighborhood of my youth to the glossy arenas and glistening fields of professional sports that now constitute my home ground, I recognize that my career mirrors the explosive growth of professional sports in this country. And that mirror reflects not only the evolution, or revolution, in sports, but also the extraordinary changes in American culture and society. Some of these changes, both in sports and society, are for the better, and some are not. Nothing exists in a vacuum, and that definitely applies to the business of sports.

I began with the expansion Chicago Bulls, an uncertain proposition in a city where two professional basketball teams had already failed, then moved to Phoenix to take on another untried expansion club, the Suns, which also reached amazing heights and suffered ignoble calamities. Now I am immersed in Major League Baseball and our latest franchise, the brand-new Arizona Diamondbacks. Along the way, I helped build two state-of-the-art venues for the Suns and the Diamondbacks and created unique public-private partnerships to facilitate the costs of America West Arena and Bank One Ballpark, to the accompaniment of widespread sound and fury. I have participated in the transformation of professional sports from an often hit-and-miss proposition, with unpredictable profits and prospects, to its emergence as a major component of the global entertainment industry, with leading performers as famous as presidents and as privileged as movie stars.

And while the Bulls, the Suns, and the Diamondbacks are the best known and most successful of my plans and projects, I have a handful of other successes, and a couple of failures, to my name. We brought the Phoenix Coyotes to town, where they have flourished. The Arizona Rattlers of the Arena Football League have acquired a loyal following, and the Phoenix Mercury of the WNBA is quickly building its own fan base. On the other side of the ledger are the late, widely unlamented Phoenix Smash of World Team Tennis and the Arizona Sandsharks of the Continental Independent Soccer League. And I would be remiss if I neglected my start in organized sports, before the pro ranks beckoned, in my high school and college teams.

Through this reel through my athletic endeavors, both on the court or field, and behind the scenes, too, I intend to explain where I began and where I am now, and what I have known about not only sports but business and other matters as well.

For my life has not been and is not only about work. Joan and I married while in college, and we have four children and eight grandchildren to show for it. And without her, without them, and without everything we have done and gone through together, I would not be the man I am.

We have many topics to discuss, replete with many places and people; memories and stories; the past, present, and, most consequently, the future, mixing together, as we explore the reasoning and risks and responsibilities that have always determined and directed my decisions.

This book is about what I believe and what I have learned, and what I hold to be true and important. I hope it rings true and perhaps even a bit important to you, too, for I have something of a larger purpose here, larger than merely recounting the hows and whys of my personal journey for recounting’s sake. I’m going to tell you what that purpose is right now, giving away a little bit of the ending.

As you will soon see, I started pretty much at the bottom and have worked my way to a position where I have been able to fulfill many of my ambitions, achieve many of my goals. I did not use the secrets of the Knights Templars to accomplish this, or a trust fund, or magic. I used whatever abilities God granted me, and I worked hard and then harder. Expressed another way, my story is a story of passion. Passion for my family, my work, my beliefs. That passion has carried me through life. And the point to all this, the underlying, essential, crucial point, is that if I can do it, then so can you. So can anyone who truly wants to, and truly believes in what he is doing.

If you haven’t already realized the remarkable scope of possibilities that are out there, I hope I can help you recognize them. If you have realized the possibilities, then I hope I can help you find a better way to reach them. If you have reached most of your goals, then I hope I can help you see that even more awaits.

CHAPTER ONE

Back to the Beginning

HOME.

For more than thirty years, Phoenix has been my home. It is where I settled my young family so long ago and labored to build a business, a reputation, and a life.

But there was a time for me before that, a life before Phoenix, and it began in Chicago Heights, a working-class suburb south of Chicago. And today I have returned to Chicago Heights, to my first home. Today I have come full circle.

This is not to suggest that I haven’t returned in three decades. Not at all. Not by a long shot. I still have family here. I still have friends here.

I still have my roots here.

Nonetheless, today—these past few days, in fact—are special, for reasons that are both personal and professional. For starters, I did not travel to Illinois alone, but accompanied the Arizona Diamondbacks, Major League Baseball’s newest team, scheduled to play a three-game stand against the Chicago Cubs in Wrigley Field. The Cubs were the first team I loved, the team I loved and followed and supported during my early years—until March 9, 1995, when a group of investors I assembled and led was granted a MLB franchise that would soon become the Diamondbacks, a franchise I would head as the managing general partner.

And Wrigley Field. . . . Wrigley is a special gem of a ballpark, as beloved as the Cubbies themselves, and the stadium where I attended my first professional sports event. How old was I then? Seven years old? Eight? The place seemed immense, unbelievably gigantic. This was pretelevision, so the closest I could get was listening to the games over the radio. Seeing the players live, face-to-face, to actually be there, was incredible.

Back then, of course, I was happy—thrilled, even—to sit in the bleachers. Now, my seat is directly behind the visitors’ dugout—the Diamondbacks’ dugout. And I’m surrounded by dozens of old friends from the old neighborhood, whom I invited for this occasion.

Wrigley epitomizes what is best about baseball, with its foul lines set close to the stands, the ivy growing up the wall, the fans yelling and cheering from every corner. Wrigley is an integral piece of Chicago, part of the fabric of the community, as vital to Chicago as the subway or parks. Approaching Wrigley Field on the elevated train, affectionately known as the El, the cars jammed with those going to the game, riding through the neighborhoods and past the apartment buildings and houses, so many of which have rickety wooden porches and staircases grafted onto the backs, facing the tracks, Wrigley slowly comes into view, big, solid, commanding. The energy on the streets surrounding the ballpark pulsing and electric; the sounds of the gathering inside Wrigley echoing in waves of exhilarated anticipation; the smells of the ballpark—hot dogs and peanuts and pizza and beer—mixing together, brewing a heady, unmistakable elixir; the roofs overlooking the ballpark filled with fans getting a free view of the game; traffic halting as people rush around buying hats and miniature bats and tickets; so much motion, so much excitement, so much laughter. . . .

This is Chicago. This is baseball. This is terrific.

I recall another Cubs game in June 1993, almost exactly five years ago. I was in town because the Phoenix Suns were battling the Chicago Bulls in the NBA Finals. The team had an off night, and I came to Wrigley Field to take in a game. It was a night game, the first one I had ever seen at Wrigley, and the stadium was filled and the place was jumping. I sat there and imagined how terrific it would be to have Major League Baseball in Phoenix.

Two weeks later, I had a visit from a couple of fellow Arizonans—a politician and a lawyer—intent on achieving exactly that dream, bringing a major league expansion franchise to Arizona. They wanted my assistance; actually they wanted me to take the lead. I had to think long and hard and do some diligent investigating before determining if I was willing to assume that imposing commitment. A couple of months later, I made the decision to put together an investment group and raise the money and try to get that franchise for Arizona.

Now, half a decade later, I’m back at Wrigley, back with the Arizona Diamondbacks, back to take on the Cubs. The Diamondbacks won the first game, 5–4, before a sellout crowd. To return home with our own team and win . . . amazing. The memories flood back. I remember being about nine years old, sitting in the upper deck at Wrigley, and Roy Campanella of the Dodgers, future Hall of Famer, smacked a foul ball right at me. I reached out my hand and the ball landed in my palm.

Which was more amazing? A nine-year-old’s foul ball or a grown-up man’s team winning one from the Cubs?

Why choose?

It has been a whirlwind trip, punctuated by events, flavored by family and friends, resonating with those memories. A couple of nights ago, the National Italian American Foundation held a dinner in my honor. Mayor Richard Daley was in attendance and declared Thursday, July 2, 1998, Jerry Colangelo Day throughout Chicago.

The Diamondbacks moved on to Houston this afternoon. After taking that first game from the Cubs, we lost the next two. We’ll work to do better next time, and better yet the time after that. Count on it.

I’ve stayed in town because I’ve been invited to serve as the grand marshal for Chicago Heights’s 1998 Independence Day parade, this year held on July 3. And so this morning we drove south to the Heights, a small caravan in tow, the cars filled with three of my four kids and seven of eight grandchildren. Having my family along with me to enjoy these events and this week renders it all that much more special.

We stopped at Louise and Frank Narcisi’s house. I’ve known Frank since I was a kid. We played together and then, for a short while worked together, before I joined Dick Klein, and together we created the Bulls. Frank stayed in Chicago Heights, recently retiring as the superintendent of maintenance of Bloom Township High School, our old high school. I make sure that he and Louise travel to Phoenix each year for an extended visit.

Frank greeted us as we parked in his driveway. He and Louise had breakfast waiting, highlighted by a huge box of long johns, donuts stretched like long, thick cigars, topped by vanilla icing. Long johns are a tradition between us, reaching back to our youth, when we used to eat two each in the early morning to start the day.

The parade was much like those experienced across small-town America. The route wound down Chicago Road, which was lined with older people seated in their lawn chairs, families spread out on blankets, children chasing each other in circles.

A brief review of classic cars kicked off the parade, followed by a police motorcycle, a fire engine, both with sirens blaring, and a Marine Corps color guard. Politicians running for office—governor, lieutenant governor, attorney general, so on—were interspersed throughout the ranks. Ronald McDonald waved to the kids from his perch on top of a giant shoe. A seven-man Mexican band played, courtesy of a local Mexican restaurant. Teenage cheerleaders from the Chicago Heights Park District leapt about the street. Senior citizen square dancers from the Chicago Heights Happy Swingers swung their partners to the urging of a caller. The Order of Sons of Italy of America, Lodge 1430, was represented, as were the members of the Catholic High School marching band, Polish-American dancers, the Majestic Star Casino, the Lions Club, and the Jesse White Tumbling Team.

That was Chicago Heights. And right in the midst of all this working-class diversity was a float with a staircase on either side, forming a pyramid, covered with white paper and streamers, and adorned with the words Phoenix Suns and Arizona Diamondbacks. That was the Colangelo family float, and we climbed aboard, Joan and myself, and all the kids and grandkids, and were driven along the parade route, waving to the townspeople we had known all these years. That’s the way it is with Fourth of July parades in small-town America—even when they’re held on July 3.

Afterwards, we all went to the Crossroads Festival of Chicago Heights, the local carnival with games and rides and food. When I was in high school, I used to attend the local fairs and act as the designated shooter for my buddies. They would give me their quarters; I would find the basketball toss concession, score, and win dolls or other prizes for them. For my efforts, I was informally banned from more than one such attraction.

On the stage, I was introduced to the crowd by Mayor Angelo Ciambrone. Chicago Heights has a long history, the mayor said, and he talked about a community that was diversified, schools that nurtured, families that cared.

And one native son has always felt Chicago Heights is his native city, he said, presenting me with a plaque commemorating the occasion. Jerry, you make us proud.

Burt Moore, my high school basketball coach, was next up, and he presented me with my old jersey, number 23. I don’t know who had it first, he said, you or Michael Jordan.

He recalled how I went out for the team as a freshman, causing him to ask his assistant coach, How in the devil are we going to put some meat on this guy?

It was my turn at the microphone, and I handed Joey Longo the trophy representing the first Jerry Colangelo Award, lauding the eighth grader and basketball star for leading his team in several categories and exemplifying an attitude of hard work, dedication, and commitment.

It had been a busy day, and a busy week, but the climax of the trip still awaited. The family, Frank and Louise, and Mayor Ciambrone drove over to 22d Street, on Hungry Hill. I don’t know for certain why Hungry Hill was so named, though I suspect it