'A million small, tedious tasks'



By Mel Antonen, USA TODAY

For those who grumble about a shift dragging on, consider A.J. Niland's workday. When the Mobile (Ala.) BayBears open a homestand, Niland puts in a 35-hour shift, yet the team's clubhouse attendant shrugs it off as another day - or days - at the office.

By Santa Fabio, for USA TODAY "You have to be nice to everyone you meet," says Detroit Tigers clubhouse manager Jim Schmakel. "You never know when you are talking to a future general manager."

"It's not a strenuous, hard-working laborious job, but it is a million small, tedious tasks," Niland says. "You work on Easter and the Fourth of July. You miss family vacations, and when you are sick, you have to go to work. No one is there to do the job for you."

In less than a month, the 20-year-old Niland heads back to his job as the BayBears' Director of Clubhouse Operations, a fancy title for someone known around baseball as a "clubby." The job pays about $35,000 for seven months and Niland, a sports-management major at the University of Mobile, hopes it will lead to a clubby job at the big-league level.

The high end

Jim Schmakel is at the other end of the career path.

The 53-year-old has been the Detroit Tigers' clubhouse guy since 1978 after working the Class AAA Toledo Mud Hens' clubhouse.

Schmakel, a former high school math teacher and basketball coach after graduating from the University of Toledo, likes the job because, "Being on the inside of baseball is a lot different than being on the outside."

His advice to Niland is to stay connected. "You have to be nice to everyone you meet, Schmakel says. "You never know when you are talking to a future general manager."

Schmakel was a batboy for the Mud Hens in 1966, then a New York Yankees' farm team, and one of the pitchers was Jerry Walker, who wound up becoming the general manager of the Tigers and Schmakel's boss in Detroit.

Big leagues or not, a clubby's basic responsibilities are the same, although Schmakel has all the perks. He works year-round, gets paid three times as much, travels and has a staff of 12, seven more than Niland. And Schmakel has enough flexibility in his schedule to catch a few innings from the Tigers' dugout. A big-league clubby can also pick up a $100 tip for having a pizza ready at a player's locker.

The toughest week for a big-league clubby is the one before spring training. Schmakel and his staff spent two days loading two 54-foot moving vans with equipment and front-office stuff for a trip to the spring-training home in Lakeland, Fla.

A good minor league clubby has a special get-it-done personality, BayBears GM Bill Shanahan says.

"Clubhouse managers are unique personalities that can make things happen," he says. "Radar on (the TV show) M*A*S*H is a lot like a clubhouse manager."

Niland's job never ends. He does errands, recommends restaurants, makes airport runs to pick up girlfriends and family and instructs players on how to get their utilities turned on at their apartment. He also plans pre- and postgame meals, washes stains from uniforms, polishes shoes and keeps the clubhouse tidy and stocked with everything from Twinkies to cereal. And he keeps the video library organized.

"I am the mom of the team," Niland says. "There are 30 guys that are not familiar with where they are. The toughest part of the job is keeping 30 different personalities happy when they like things done 30 different ways."

Ready for homestand

Niland catches up with friends when the BayBears are out of town, but he makes up for it the day before the BayBears return home.

If the BayBears start an eight-game homestand on a Monday, for example, Niland's work day begins at 3 p.m. Sunday with a shopping spree to buy supplies for both clubhouses.

Clubby saw no steroid use Clubhouse attendants do everything in a locker room and, in many cases, see everything.



Steve Vucinich, a "clubby" with Oakland since 1968, worked with Jose Canseco and questions the slugger's claims in his book that he took steroids and helped inject teammates with illegal substances in clubhouse bathrooms.



"I never saw it being administered in the clubhouse," Vucinich says, "and in Oakland you almost have to go through the trainer's room to get to the bathroom, so that is almost impossible to do what he said."



Vucinich concedes other forms of steroid use could have taken place without his knowledge.



Steroid use "in pill form or something  that's a little different," he says. "Taking a pill vs. shooting up in front of everybody."



Adam Hirshfield, USATODAY.com

"I've got shopping down to a science in about three or four hours," he says.

He goes to Hank Aaron Stadium to unpack and then waits in his office, which has a bed, TV and locker, throughout the night for the two teams' buses to arrive. "It's my home away from home," Niland says.

When the visitors' bus arrives at 2 a.m., he unpacks 33 individual bags and scrubs the cleats and arranges each player's locker with his equipment and personal items, such as family pictures or vitamins.

Then he washes uniforms. The tops go first and then the pants. They hang dry throughout the night. Uniforms with stubborn stains get washed again. When the BayBears' bus arrives at 5 a.m., the process starts again.

By noon, BayBears players start showing up, and he has to be there to get them anything they need. If a player wants a cheeseburger, Niland gets it. "Sometimes, they'll call and say they want a smoothie, and we are lucky if they tell us when we are still out," Niland says.

The pregame meal is cold cuts, fruit, vegetables and snacks. During batting practice, Niland and his staff straighten the clubhouse. "There's hair everywhere, and it looks like a party took place," he says.

At game time, the clubhouse staff eats and restocks the clubhouse refrigerator with water, soda and milk. By the second inning, he's ready to watch the game in his usual seat in the BayBears' bullpen.

By the seventh inning, he's back in the clubhouse, getting the postgame spread ready. The menu varies. One night, he'll serve spaghetti, broccoli and salad, and the next night, there will be fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans.

"The minute the players get to the clubhouse, it gets crazy," Niland says.

As the players leave, Niland starts polishing cleats, cleaning up the clubhouse and separating laundry into piles of uniforms, towels and personals, such as jocks and underwear. Two hours after the game, the only people left in the clubhouse are Niland, a couple of members of the staff and the BayBears manager, who is filling out his daily reports.

"It doesn't happen very often that we can't get out a stain," Niland says. "There are two sets of home uniforms. People think they get new uniforms. They don't know that they are old uniforms that are just kept up."

By 3 a.m., it's time to go home. If it is April, he gets up at 6:30 a.m. to get ready for classes. Otherwise, Niland doesn't get to the ballpark until 11 a.m.

Sports runs in the family

Niland gets a salary, but he's also an independent contractor who is paid by the players' dues system. Dues are $9 a day for each player or coach. Over a 70-game home schedule, that's $21,000, which goes to Niland, who uses the money to buy supplies and pay part-time help. Any money left over, he keeps. The average Class AA clubby makes $5,000 in tips, and Niland's biggest tip was $150 for driving outfielder Mark Kotsay to a shopping mall a mile away from the ballpark.

When the BayBears hit the road, Niland, a high school third baseman, hits the beach with his friends. His family is all sports. His grandfather, Joe, was an NBA coach, and his dad, Joe Jr., coaches basketball at NAIA Mobile. His uncle Dave coaches basketball at Penn State-Behrend, and a cousin, John Beilein, is the men's basketball coach at West Virginia. His aunt Bridgett is a lawyer who works for the NCAA.

"It's all very natural, and it doesn't seem like work," Niland says. "But it does take about two months after the season to get normal sleep pattern back."