Once Nolan Ryan deigns to stop the passive-aggressive posturing that has turned Texas Rangers spring training into a soap opera more than worthy of a storyline on "Dallas," perhaps Rangers ownership will realize their predicament really isn't much of a predicament at all.

In the 11 days since someone in Ryan's camp leaked to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram his dissatisfaction with the Rangers' new power structure that took away his title of team president, all Ryan has mustered publicly is a statement that said absolutely nothing, a hubristic response unbecoming a CEO whose organization is in crisis mode. Meanwhile, ownership has bowed to the altar of his Nolan Ryanness, saying pretty, pretty please stick around. President of baseball operations Jon Daniels, who was promoted to that position from general manager in order to give bigger titles to his consiglieres and keep them with the Rangers, has talked about what a pleasure it is to work with an icon. And all the people wanting to speak the truth have bit their tongues because revealing it amid Ryan's tantrum would be hypocritical.

Since no one else seems inclined to say it, then, here it is: Nolan Ryan is acting like a big baby. And if he has the best interests of the Texas Rangers in mind, maybe he should leave, because rarely do powerful men find détente when they feel as though their territory has been encroached upon, and because the last thing one of the game's model organizations needs is a festering wound.

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If this is hard for owners Bob Simpson and Ray Davis to stomach, they might want to take off their Texas glasses and adopt the perspective of the 49 others states looking at this and wondering why Nolan Ryan seems to believe he can have his cake and eat it. Well, mostly because Ryan represents everything Texans love about Texas, and the prospect of losing an icon to some New York carpet-bagger skunks their Shiner.

Reality is, Ryan's position in this fight – a fight he picked, mind you – is far weaker than anyone seems willing to acknowledge. There is no other team in baseball that would hand Nolan Ryan its reins. None. The Houston Astros might invite him on board as a figurehead, but with George Postolos as CEO and Jeff Luhnow as GM, they have no room for anything more. Considering Ryan's job with the Rangers now involves more than that, if it's input he truly craves, his current situation is better than any with the Astros. And unless Ryan wants to leave Texas – and one friend says that at 66, with children and grandchildren and business to look after, he wouldn't consider going elsewhere – it's Rangers or bust.

Daniels, on the other hand, has spent 7½ years turning the Rangers from habitual doormat into a major league and player-development force. Certainly Ryan has helped. His strengths (gravitas as one of the great players ever and respect from some of the game's bigger names) complement Daniels' (shrewd trades and signings, respect among Texas' player-development staff and a keen mixture of statistical know-how and scouting savvy), and they've made a good team, which is why Ryan's hissy fit was so surprising. If Daniels' ascending to president meant promotions for lieutenants Thad Levine, A.J. Preller and Don Welke, too, it would keep in place the Rangers' successful hierarchy.

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