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Logan's new world

After a torrid start to the season, Logan hurt his foot and spent three weeks on the disabled list, one in a series of challenges that would make his season even more difficult.

In early June, Diane's brother, Steve, died of a brain tumor. The next day, Marlins hitting coach John Mallee was fired. Mallee had been with Logan since he entered the organization, was "the architect of my swing," Logan says; it was almost as if Logan had lost another family member. The media asked him for his reaction, and Logan spoke his mind, all but blaming the firing on Loria.

Logan says he felt he "owed" it to Mallee to "stick up for him," and didn't see -- because he spoke the truth -- how his words would matter. They did. Slighting the man who signs your checks is usually unwise -- even if fans love rare, raw honesty.

"I think he was getting a lot of emotion off his chest, and it all kind of burst out of him," says Logan's agent, Fred Wray. "That being said, calling out a front office or ownership, I don't know too many times when that's a positive."

A few days after Mallee was fired, Rodriguez resigned, on Father's Day, after the Marlins had gone on a 1-17 losing stretch. Logan's public missteps -- albeit rooted in what he felt were just causes -- continued. Calling out Loria and later privately questioning teammate Hanley Ramirez were side issues compared with the final straw in early August, when Logan skipped a season-ticket holders' event.

Logan had boycotted that event over frustrations stemming from a charity event two days earlier that he had arranged for the American Lung Association -- a way to honor his dad. That event, which the Marlins had promoted very lightly, was canceled at the last minute because of a lack of interest. Two days later, he signed game-used bats for the Marlins' team charity, but when he was asked to attend another meet-and-greet with season-ticket holders a few hours later, Logan balked. He'd had enough, so he asked his union rep whether he could skip the event, was told he could and did just that.

Chris Stanford for ESPN.com

Days after the event, Diane wonders what Tom would have said about all of that, what he would have thought. She thinks Tom would have reminded his son he still had a long way to go before he earned the right to stand on his principles. She thinks Tom would have told his son to take "the high road" and be somewhat "tactful" addressing it.

"Tom wasn't always real good at it," Diane says, "but he got better. He learned."

Logan regrets none of it. Yet there are small signs that being sent to the minors -- even if the Marlins still insist it was because of his batting average and not his perceived sense of entitlement -- has had an effect. Nearly three weeks ago, he didn't want to talk about his relationship with Loria or the team and said he planned to be "Captain Cliché" with the local media, insisting that his honesty was taken advantage of and his quotes about Ramirez were taken out of context. He said that he is playing for his teammates -- and that he'll continue to "play hard for them."

It's clear that his relationship with the Marlins has changed, even if Loria says it hasn't and Logan refuses to say so. Six months ago, Loria sat on a picnic bench in Jupiter, raving about Logan's makeup and his talent. In New York in early September, he did the same, insisting that Logan's demotion was a "baseball decision." But Logan doesn't think it was, and has filed a grievance against the Marlins -- a risky and bold move for a young player.

"I wanted to stand up for what's right," Logan said Wednesday. "So players who come after me -- this won't happen to them again."

Diane isn't so sure it's the right choice. "I don't want my son to be labeled as somebody who causes problems."

As for Loria, he says there is no doubt in his mind Logan was talking about him after Mallee was fired, and he attributes that to a "learning" process for Logan.

Loria says that Logan got bad advice about the charity boycott and that the "tremendous" loss he has had in his life presented challenges most people his age would not handle well. Logan telling reporters that his relationship with the team boiled down to simply wearing a uniform was, in Loria's mind, thinking before he spoke -- a sign of restraint, not a rift.

As for Logan, he acknowledges that many of the conflicts this season probably would not have happened had Tom still been alive. Instead of "asking some of my teammates what I should do, I'd rather have asked him," he says.

The emptiness he felt in spring training has dissipated but can resurface in dreams. In some, Tom is still sick in the hospital, an agonizing thought for Logan. It angers him because he feels as though he's breaking the promise he made to Tom that he would only remember him healthy. But other dreams are about baseball, hitting off a tee or back on the mound in Wilmington. The one dream that stands out, though, came this year when he hit a home run in a major league ballpark -- something Tom never got to see in person. As he crossed home plate, Logan pointed to his father, sitting in the stands. Tom, wearing his white fedora, waved and smiled.

It's a new world for Logan Morrison, and even though years ago some thought he might have been better raised without Tom's overbearing presence, it has become clear, nine months after his father's death, that just the opposite is true.

Amy K. Nelson is a staff writer for ESPN.com. She can be reached at Amy.K.Nelson@espn.com and on Twitter at @amyknelson

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