Ozzie Guillen #13 of the Chicago White Sox looks on during the game against the Minnesota Twins on September 7, 2011 at Target Field in Minneapolis, Minnesota
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The Marlins, now owned by art dealer Jeffrey Loria, are betting--mostly with taxpayer money--that the team's new retractable-roof stadium can generate enough revenue to pay for top players for years. Many citizens of recession-racked Miami are outraged, though, over the public spending for the new ballpark, a palatial spaceship plunked in the middle of a poor neighborhood that will cost Miami-Dade County some $2.4 billion in debt payments over 40 years. (The Marlins were profitable in 2008 and '09, earning a total of $33.3 million those years, according to financial statements obtained by the sports site Deadspin.) Thanks in part to the stadium controversy, Miami-Dade Mayor Carlos Alvarez was recalled by voters in March of last year. The Securities and Exchange Commission is investigating the deal. "It's a tragedy for taxpayers," says Norman Braman, a billionaire Miami car dealer who unsuccessfully sued to stop the ballpark plan.
The Marlins apologize for nothing. "We are in business to make money," says David Samson, the Marlins' president and Loria's stepson. And apparently not to risk too much of it. He points out the prior owners sold the team after failing to win a stadium deal. "Everyone could have built it with their own money. But you don't do that."
In sports, winning tends to quiet such political disputes. Miami is stocked with talent for a serious run. But will the Marlins warm to Guillen's no-nonsense approach, which wore down White Sox players and management by the end of his eight-year tenure in the Windy City? "There were a fair amount of people who weren't a fan of playing for him," says Buehrle. "But to hear your manager say 'You sucked last night,' not just 'Hey, hang in there, kid'--I kind of enjoy it."
Ozzie is rough not just on his players. A few years ago, he told his mother, who still lives in Venezuela, to stop asking him for money. "What do you think I am, an ATM?" he said. Unlike Buehrle, Mom didn't appreciate the tough talk. "She didn't take it too well," Guillen says.
He doesn't mind if you dislike him. Just don't assume his lifestyle is as wild as his vocabulary. "People think I'm crazy," Guillen says. "People think that when I leave the ballpark, I go to bars, I go to the discotheque--boom, boom--they're going to see me with my shirt off, dancing." He stands up behind his desk and starts to shimmy. "No. I'm very, very opposite," he says. One favorite form of entertainment: shopping with his wife at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
O.K., Ozzie, you're a family man off the field. But you're giving us reason to watch the Marlins? Now that's crazy talk.