"The Reserve Clause"

FADE IN:

CUT TO BLACK.

INT. PITTSBURGH STEELWORKERS UNION HALL — NIGHT

The room smells like cigarettes and old coffee. Folding chairs. Fluorescent lights. A hand-lettered banner on the wall reads: LOCAL 1397 — UNITED STEELWORKERS OF AMERICA.

Forty men in work clothes sit in rows. They are tired. They are skeptical. They have heard promises before.

At the front of the room, RAY DOLAN (44, compact, a face that has been argued at) stands at a podium that is slightly too tall for him. He doesn't adjust it. He leans into the microphone.

RAY

The company's final offer is four percent over three years. Inflation is running at nine. You do the math.

A man in the third row — EDDIE KOWALSKI (50s, forearms like rope) — raises his hand.

EDDIE

We do the math, we get a strike. You telling us to strike, Dolan?

RAY

I'm telling you what the numbers say. What you do with the numbers is your business.

EDDIE

My business is feeding four kids. My business is not getting locked out in February.

RAY

Then take the four percent. Sign the paper. Come back in three years and we'll do this again.

A beat. Ray looks at Eddie. Eddie looks back.

RAY (CONT'D)

Or you could remember that the last time Local 1397 took what the company offered, it took eleven years to get it back.

Silence. The kind that means something is being decided.

INT. UNION HALL — PARKING LOT — LATER

Ray walks to his car. A 1971 Buick Skylark, blue, one dent in the rear quarter panel. He loosens his tie.

His briefcase is heavy. He sets it on the hood, opens it, pulls out a file folder. Inside: a photocopy of a legal brief. He's read it so many times the pages are soft at the edges.

The cover page reads: FLOOD v. KUHN — DISSENTING OPINION — JUSTICE WILLIAM O. DOUGLAS.

Ray reads a line he has underlined three times:

RAY

(reading, quietly)

"The Court's decision is an anomaly in the law. It is a derelict in the stream of the law that we, its creator, should remove."

He closes the folder. Looks up at the parking lot lights.

RAY (CONT'D)

(to himself)

Derelict.

He puts the folder back. Closes the briefcase. Gets in the car.

INT. RAY'S CAR — CONTINUOUS

He doesn't start the engine. He sits. On the passenger seat: a copy of The Sporting News, folded open to a story about the upcoming 1975 season. A photo of a pitcher — DANNY KOWALSKI (27, Eddie's son, though Ray doesn't know that yet) — with a caption: "Kowalski's arm is the question. His contract is the other question."

Ray reads the caption. Reads it again.

He starts the car.

INT. RAY AND CLAIRE'S HOUSE — KITCHEN — NIGHT

A small house in Squirrel Hill. Clean, organized, slightly too many books for the shelves. CLAIRE DOLAN (42, a woman who has learned to read silences) is at the kitchen table with a legal pad. She's a labor lawyer. She works at a firm that does not pay her what she's worth, and she knows it.

Ray comes in through the back door. Sets his briefcase down. Opens the refrigerator. Stares into it.

CLAIRE

How'd it go?

RAY

They'll vote to strike. Eddie Kowalski will vote no and then be the loudest man on the picket line.

CLAIRE

That's not what I asked.

Ray closes the refrigerator. Turns around.

RAY

I've been reading the Douglas dissent again.

CLAIRE

I know.

RAY

The reserve clause is a restraint of trade. It's been a restraint of trade since 1879. The only reason it's survived is because the Supreme Court made a mistake in 1922 and nobody's had the nerve to make them say so out loud.

CLAIRE

Ray.

RAY

The arbitration mechanism in the Basic Agreement — it's there. It's in the contract. If a player files a grievance, the case goes to Peter Seitz. And Seitz isn't a baseball man. He's a lawyer.

CLAIRE

You're not a baseball lawyer.

RAY

I'm a labor lawyer. This is a labor case.

Claire sets down her pen.

CLAIRE

Who's the player?

RAY

I don't have one yet.

CLAIRE

(a beat)

So you've built the entire legal theory and you don't have a client.

RAY

I have a name. Danny Kowalski. Pitcher for the Pirates. His contract expires at the end of this season and the team's going to invoke the reserve clause to keep him. He's twenty-seven years old and he's never once been able to negotiate his own salary.

CLAIRE

Does he know you exist?

RAY

Not yet.

Claire picks up her pen. Goes back to her legal pad.

CLAIRE

Eat something.

INT. THREE RIVERS STADIUM — PRESS ENTRANCE — DAY

Ray walks up to a security gate. He's wearing his best suit, which is not a very good suit. He's carrying his briefcase and a press credential that belongs to a friend at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

The SECURITY GUARD (60s, has seen everything) looks at the credential. Looks at Ray.

SECURITY GUARD

You don't look like a sportswriter.

RAY

I'm the business reporter.

SECURITY GUARD

We don't let business reporters in.

RAY

That's an interesting policy.

A beat. The guard waves him through.

INT. THREE RIVERS STADIUM — BULLPEN — DAY

Ray stands at the railing, watching batting practice. He has a scorecard he doesn't know how to use. He's watching DANNY KOWALSKI throw in the bullpen — a loose, easy motion, the kind that looks effortless until you see what it does to the batter.

A man appears at Ray's elbow. FRANK BAUER (55, Pirates front office, the kind of man who has never once been uncertain about anything), holding a cup of coffee.

FRANK

You're not press.

RAY

I'm considering becoming a fan.

FRANK

You're Ray Dolan. You rep the Steelworkers.

RAY

Among others.

FRANK

(not friendly)

This isn't a union hall, Mr. Dolan.

RAY

No. The pay's worse and the coffee's better.

Frank doesn't smile.

FRANK

Whatever you're thinking about, stop thinking about it.

He walks away. Ray watches Danny Kowalski throw another pitch. The catcher's mitt pops like a gunshot.

INT. THREE RIVERS STADIUM — CORRIDOR — LATER

Ray is walking out when he hears his name. He turns.

DANNY KOWALSKI is standing in the corridor, still in his practice uniform, a towel around his neck. He's younger than he looks in the newspaper. He looks like someone who has been told what to do his entire life and has only recently started to wonder why.

DANNY

You're the union guy.

RAY

Labor lawyer. There's a difference.

DANNY

My dad says you're the reason Local 1397 didn't take the four percent.

RAY

Your dad's going to be on the picket line in February and he's going to be glad he didn't take the four percent.

Danny looks at him. Something is being calculated.

DANNY

Bauer told me you were here.

RAY

I figured.

DANNY

He told me not to talk to you.

RAY

I figured that too.

A beat.

DANNY

What do you want?

Ray opens his briefcase. Pulls out a folder. Hands it to Danny.

RAY

Read page twelve. The section on the reserve clause and the arbitration mechanism in the Basic Agreement. Then call me.

Danny takes the folder. Looks at it.

DANNY

I'm not a test case.

RAY

Not yet.

He closes his briefcase and walks away.

INT. COMMISSIONER'S OFFICE — NEW YORK — DAY

BOWIE KUHN (57, Commissioner of Baseball, a man who genuinely believes that the rules he enforces are the natural order of things) sits behind a desk the size of a small country. He is reading a report. His assistant, MARGARET (40s, efficient, invisible), stands at the door.

MARGARET

Mr. Commissioner. The owners' call is in five minutes.

KUHN

(without looking up)

Tell me about Dolan.

MARGARET

Pittsburgh labor lawyer. Steelworkers, mostly. No baseball background.

KUHN

(still reading)

Who's he talking to?

MARGARET

We're not sure yet.

Kuhn sets down the report. Looks up.

KUHN

Find out.

INT. RAY'S OFFICE — PITTSBURGH — DAY

Ray's office is on the third floor of a building that used to be a bank. The vault is still there, now used for file storage. The office itself: a desk, two chairs, a window that looks out onto a parking garage, and walls covered in legal briefs, newspaper clippings, and a single framed photograph of the 1972 Pittsburgh Pirates.

Ray is on the phone.

RAY

(into phone)

I understand that. What I'm telling you is that the language in Article XI is unambiguous. The arbitrator has jurisdiction. If your client files the grievance, Seitz has to hear it.

He listens.

RAY (CONT'D)

No, I'm not saying it's without risk. I'm saying the legal theory is sound. The risk is that the owners fire Seitz before he rules. The risk is that your client never works again. The risk is that I'm wrong and I've never been wrong about a labor case in my life, but there's a first time for everything.

He listens again.

RAY (CONT'D)

Tell him to read page twelve.

He hangs up. Leans back in his chair. Stares at the ceiling.

His phone rings immediately.

RAY (CONT'D)

(answering)

Dolan.

DANNY (V.O.)

(on phone)

I read page twelve.

Ray sits up.

RAY

And?

DANNY (V.O.)

I want to understand something. If this works — if Seitz rules the way you think he'll rule — what happens to me?

RAY

You become a free agent. You can negotiate with any team in baseball. You find out what you're actually worth.

DANNY (V.O.)

And if it doesn't work?

RAY

You probably never play again.

A long silence.

DANNY (V.O.)

I want to meet.

INT. PITTSBURGH DINER — DAY

A corner booth. Ray and Danny. Coffee. Danny has the folder open on the table. He's been reading it. His copy of page twelve has its own underlines now.

DANNY

The owners are going to say the reserve clause is what makes the game possible. That without it, the big market teams buy everyone and the small market teams fold.

RAY

That's what they'll say.

DANNY

Is it true?

RAY

It's what they've been saying since 1879. The game survived Babe Ruth going to the Yankees. It'll survive a free market.

DANNY

You don't actually like baseball, do you?

RAY

(a beat)

I like the law.

Danny looks at him.

DANNY

My dad thinks I'm going to blow up my career for a theory.

RAY

Your dad's not wrong.

DANNY

But you think the theory is right.

RAY

I think the reserve clause is an illegal restraint of trade that has been in place for ninety-six years because no one has had the right combination of legal argument, contractual mechanism, and a player willing to stand in front of it.

DANNY

And you think that's me.

RAY

I think you're twenty-seven years old and you've never once been able to choose who you work for. I think that bothers you more than you've said out loud to anyone. And I think if you don't do this now, someone else will do it in five years and you'll spend the rest of your life knowing you had the chance first.

Danny looks at his coffee. Looks at the folder.

DANNY

I want my dad in the room when we decide.

RAY

That's fine.

DANNY

He's going to hate you.

RAY

He already hates me. He voted no on the four percent.

Danny almost smiles. Almost.

INT. MARVIN MILLER'S OFFICE — NEW YORK — DAY

The Players Association. A different kind of office than Ray's — more money, more staff, the weight of an institution behind it. MARVIN MILLER (57, Executive Director of the MLBPA, a man who has spent twenty years building something and is not going to let a Pittsburgh labor lawyer with a theory dismantle it by accident) sits across from Ray.

They have been talking for forty minutes. It has not gone well.

MARVIN

The Association has been building toward this for years. We have a strategy. We have a timeline.

RAY

Your strategy is Messersmith and McNally. Two players who played the entire 1974 season without signing their contracts. That's a two-year runway. I'm talking about a grievance filing that gets us in front of Seitz in six months.

MARVIN

And if Seitz rules against us?

RAY

He won't.

MARVIN

You don't know that.

RAY

I know the law.

MARVIN

(leaning forward)

Mr. Dolan. I have been fighting this fight since 1966. I have watched Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale hold out together and lose. I have watched Curt Flood sacrifice his career and lose. I have watched the Supreme Court of the United States look at an obvious antitrust violation and decide that baseball is special. I do not need a Pittsburgh steelworkers lawyer to tell me he knows the law.

A silence. Ray doesn't look away.

RAY

I'm not asking for your blessing. I'm telling you what I'm going to do. I thought you deserved to know.

MARVIN

(quietly)

If you lose, you set us back five years.

RAY

If I win, you get everything you've been building toward, five years early.

Marvin studies him.

MARVIN

Who's your client?

RAY

I'll let you know when it's settled.

He stands. Picks up his briefcase.

RAY (CONT'D)

For what it's worth — everything you've built here is the reason this is possible. The Basic Agreement. The arbitration mechanism. None of this works without what you've done.

He leaves. Marvin watches the door close.

MARVIN

(to himself)

That's what I'm afraid of.

INT. RAY AND CLAIRE'S HOUSE — KITCHEN — NIGHT

Late. The kids are in bed. Ray and Claire at the kitchen table. The folder is open between them. Claire has been reading it.

CLAIRE

You've thought about what happens if this works.

RAY

Yes.

CLAIRE

Have you thought about what happens to us if it doesn't?

RAY

Yes.

CLAIRE

And?

RAY

I think it works.

Claire closes the folder.

CLAIRE

That's not what I asked.

Ray looks at her. He knows what she's asking. He knows she knows the answer.

RAY

If it doesn't work, Danny Kowalski never plays again and I probably can't represent a union in this city for the next ten years. The owners will make sure of that.

CLAIRE

And you're going to do it anyway.

RAY

(a beat)

I've been reading labor law for twenty years. I've never once seen a case where the law was this clear and the outcome was this wrong. It's wrong, Claire. It's been wrong since 1879 and everyone knows it's wrong and nobody's done anything about it because the cost is too high.

CLAIRE

The cost is too high.

RAY

For someone else. For someone who has something to lose.

Claire looks at him for a long moment.

CLAIRE

We have something to lose.

RAY

I know.

She stands. Picks up her coffee cup. Rinses it in the sink. Stands at the window looking out at the backyard.

CLAIRE

I want to read the full brief before you file anything.

RAY

(quietly)

Thank you.

CLAIRE

Don't thank me. I'm going to find every hole in it.

RAY

I know. That's why I'm asking.

INT. THREE RIVERS STADIUM — OWNER'S BOX — DAY

FRANK BAUER is on the phone. Through the glass, batting practice continues below.

FRANK

(into phone)

He met with Miller. Miller didn't throw him out, which means Miller's either going to use him or he's going to let him hang himself and use the wreckage... No, I don't know who the player is yet... Yes, I understand. I'll find out.

He hangs up. Watches Danny Kowalski throw in the bullpen below.

His jaw tightens.

INT. RAY'S OFFICE — NIGHT

Ray alone. The office dark except for the desk lamp. He has the Douglas dissent open in front of him. He reads the underlined passage again.

"The Court's decision is an anomaly in the law. It is a derelict in the stream of the law that we, its creator, should remove."

He picks up a pen. On a legal pad, he writes:

GRIEVANCE FILING — KOWALSKI v. PITTSBURGH PIRATES

He looks at it. Crosses out the title. Writes:

KOWALSKI v. THE RESERVE CLAUSE

He looks at that. Puts down the pen.

He picks up the phone. Dials.

RAY

(into phone)

Danny. It's Dolan. I need you to come in tomorrow morning. Bring your father.

He listens.

RAY (CONT'D)

Because we're going to file.

He hangs up. Looks at the legal pad. Looks at the photograph of the 1972 Pirates on the wall.

He turns off the desk lamp.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

END OF PILOT