NO CRYING? FREEMAN’S TEARS ARE REFRESHING IN A COLD BUSINESS

Disrespected by the team he served admirably for 15 years — damn the analytics — he is entitled to honesty about how much he misses Atlanta, even if Dodgers teammates and fans don’t approve

     They’re the smartest men on the planet. Just ask them, the numbers geeks who stare dispassionately at computers in their ballpark offices, if not in their sleep. They are smarter than the Australian mathematician with the 230 IQ, certainly smarter than Elon Musk, and definitely smarter than Stephen Hawking and Albert Einstein if they were alive.

     Don’t bother them. They are geniuses at work, prisoners to the precious data they’re unearthing, convinced that baseball games are won on spreadsheets by automatons. The actual field of play? Those very real people in uniforms? Oh, that’s just a screensaver. And if you dare to doubt it, check out the Ivy League diploma on the wall.

     Never mind that the rest of the room is bare, empty, lifeless.

     Heart? Psyche? Spirit? Happiness? Life force? All the human elements that have characterized sport’s greatest athletes through time? None of it matters, the smart guys insist, when advanced analytics are delivering a final verdict. I happen to believe those very metrics and projections — the ruination of 21st-century life — are why Freddie Freeman no longer is a member of the Atlanta Braves, a drama like nothing we’ve seen in the long, gnarly history of emotional breakups between star players and teams.

     Without analytics, Freeman wouldn’t be playing for the Los Angeles Dodgers. He’d still be with the Braves, the team he never wanted to leave as he continues to make known, much to the irritation of those in his new clubhouse — and those who think he’s a bit old to enact an Olivia Rodrigo heartbreak song. Without analytics, Braves front-office boss/geek Alex Anthopoulos wouldn’t have focused on Freeman’s age, 32, while heeding the organizational and civic legacy he was building, not to mention his continued production ahead. The Braves and their corporate masters, Liberty Media, would have grasped why Freeman should play his entire career in Atlanta, as the icon who signed with the franchise out of high school, joined the big-league club at 20 and grew up before Georgia’s eyes. Without analytics, they’d have been the ones giving him the $162 million for six years, realizing he’d been the cornerstone of a delicate rebuild that kept the fans interested until a new stadium and retail complex was completed in Cobb County, which led to the team’s first World Series title in 26 years and newfound riches that generated $568 million in revenue last season.

     But because Anthopoulos was a slave to the data, he chose to play a game with Freeman and the fans who always will adore him. What should have been a no-brainer after he reigned over the championship parade — a new deal for King Freddie, extending the two-way love affair deep into the decade — became a lockout-long slog guided by an algorithmic agenda. All along, the Braves were identifying a Georgia native, Matt Olson, who is four years younger than Freeman. In baseball’s geekery world, this is known as market efficiency. Suddenly, the local hero was disposable. Management had used him up, to win a trophy and make a fortune, and with a sturdy foundation established at Truist Park, they could wave goodbye to Freddie.

     All of which led to a wildfire of lies and double-talk that prompted Freeman to sign the $162 million deal in L.A., just after the Braves traded for Olson and gave him an eight-year, $168 million extension as their new first baseman. Months of angst bubbled over when Freeman returned to Atlanta for the first time with his new team, a tear-filled ordeal that ended with the dumping of his agent, Casey Close, because Freeman thinks he wasn’t entirely informed in the final messy days of negotiations. After originally believing Anthopoulos was the heel, Freeman flipped to thinking Close did him wrong. He had it right the first time.

     Look, the Braves could have made the deal happen if they’d wanted. He wasn’t demanding any amount beyond the pale. They preferred to stall for a reason: Analytics told them Freeman’s output would sputter as he approached his age-37 season. This is what’s wrong with sports today — the scheming, the over-reliance on information, the absence of humanity and instinct, the all-business chill. And disloyalty happens on both sides of the table, as seen every summer in the NBA, where Kevin Durant is starring in the latest edition of pre-agency get-me-outta-here-ism. In Freeman’s case, it didn’t matter what was inside his soul, his connection to the city, what he meant to the people. Once the computers were through with him, he was washed.

     Let all the parties keep spinning the story, with Anthopoulos and Close blaming each other. What matters now is where the theatrics are headed this season and beyond. If tensions weren’t thick enough, Freeman’s performance ultimately could determine if the Dodgers return to the World Series two years after winning it … or if the Braves muster a title defense. The principles will be sweating away the coming months: Was Anthopoulos right to obey the data or wrong to disrespect such an endearing and enduring figure? The story also is unique because Freeman still hasn’t gotten over an exceedingly ugly divorce. They say there’s no crying in baseball, but he hasn’t seen the memo while revealing refreshing honesty about his deepest feelings in a cold, calculating and cutthroat business. He freely admits he dearly misses Atlanta, the fans, his former teammates. His wounded feelings have caused a stir among some of his new mates, who watched him break down during the pre-game ceremony last month.

     “Man, I love the Braves organization with all my heart,” Freeman said. “That will never change.”

     Then there was this: “I don’t know if I ever will find closure.”

     The outpouring begged a fair question: How will he help the Dodgers win a championship if his emotions are tied to Atlanta? “I hope we’re not second fiddle,” said Clayton Kershaw, the team leader and conscience of Dodger Blue. When Freeman responded on national TV by suggesting the Dodgers might have to share lead fiddle — “I’m not looking to have any closure. I don’t want to close something that was so special to me for 15 years,” he said — it only exacerbated a complicated subplot that will be with us for some time.

     That is: If the Dodgers and Braves play in the postseason, will Freeman have enough focus to help his new team win a National League pennant? And what is so awful, some would say, about a second chapter with a blueblood franchise, a fat contract in his pocket, in his native southern California? So far, he is able to compartmentalize, enjoying his usual outstanding season, which is why manager Dave Roberts pushed back against the criticism. “If anyone has a problem with it, that’s on them. It shouldn’t be a problem,” he told The Athletic. “This guy has helped us win a s—ton of games this year and will continue to do so.”

     I agree. Why slam or mock a high-profile figure who isn’t afraid to be himself, especially in a sports world filled with phonies in the C-suites and locker rooms? We should applaud someone who values a previous life and uses it as a continuum. Why should Freeman shovel all those wonderful years into a dumpster because he’s playing elsewhere now? If he wasn’t performing well, it would be an issue. But until he stops winning ballgames for L.A., he deserves the benefit of doubt. It’s his life, his emotional fountain. Let him be.

     Rather than make rash judgments, consider WHY he’s upset. Like many employees in the business world, he feels railroaded by an organization he served well. He toiled through the rebuilding years, taking the floods of losses hard. Then, when it finally was time to celebrate, his bosses lowballed him and finessed him away. Freeman’s fairy tale ended with an abrupt jolt. Who can blame him for being hurt?

     He embraced his Atlanta homecoming fervently, as if pretending he never left. He and his family stayed not at the Dodgers’ hotel but at their house, which they are not selling; in fact, they’ll spend Thanksgiving there with family members, some of whom moved to Atlanta in recent years. They ate breakfast at their favorite haunt, where Freeman received a standing ovation from the other diners, some of whom may have ordered a “Freddie Omelet” that remains on the menu.

     When he ventured to the ballpark, he lost a battle to his tear ducts. This is an uncommon story in an industry where fans often have no use for a major athlete after he leaves town, regardless of the reasons. Clearly, Anthopoulos didn’t recognize the possible consequences of screwing with the soul of the Braves. At some point, the championship honeymoon will wear off, and if Freeman comes to Truist Park in October and eliminates his old team with a home run, don’t be shocked if the cheers are louder than the boos.

     At which time, Alex Anthopoulos officially can change his name to Al Gorithm. He’ll need an alias as Atlanta’s new public enemy, the man who removed the halo from their hero and pointed him to the airport.

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     Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.