Beane Counter

"He really has no desire at all to be in college," says the first scout, almost admiringly. "This guy was designed to play ball."

"I'm not really jazzed about a guy who has no desire whatsoever to go to college," says Billy. "That's not a badge of honor."

"Put a Milo on him."

Billy doesn't interfere much in the search for bad makeup, and Paul says nothing at all. The meetings, from their point of view, are all about minimizing risk. They can't afford to have guys not work out. There's no point in taking risks on players temperamentally, or legally, unsuited to pro ball. At one point Billy looks up and asks, "Who's that f———guy we took last year we had to release because he robbed a bank?" The others are too absorbed in weeding out the bad makeup to even consider how remarkable the question is.

Most of the first few days are devoted to culling the original pile of 680 players. Other than an excessive affection for one's girlfriend or a criminal record or other signs of bad makeup, there are just two reasons why the Oakland A's do not waste further time on a player. One is age: with rare exceptions, the new scouting directors toss all high school players immediately onto the dumping ground, leaving the younger scouts who spent their days following them wondering why they bothered. The other is what is delicately known in the draft room as "expectations."

"What are his expectations?" Eric asks, of a promising college pitcher.

The scout who knows him best says, "His dad said, and I quote, 'Four-point-two million is a good place to start.' "

"Put him over there," Eric says. When his name is tossed onto the dump heap, nobody in the front office cares.

By the end of the third day the scouts have organized the players into two groups: the prospects not worth considering further and everyone else. The second group, maybe 400 players, they parse further by position. They'll rank 120 righthanded pitchers, 37 catchers, and 94 outfielders. But before they do, they turn their attention from eliminating players to selecting them. Billy's already made it clear that this year he has only a secondary interest in pitchers. The past few years he has stocked up on arms. It's the bats he needs.

On the white board closest to Billy, the Big Board, there is space for 60 players. One by one he takes the names of the players the old scouts have fallen in love with and picks apart their flaws. The first time he does this an old scout protests. "The guy's an athlete, Billy," the old scout says. "There's a lot of upside there."