ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. _ For about 10 minutes, Vince Naimoli was our hero. A simmering combination of fierce and relentless at a time when Tampa Bay was in desperate need of both.
If he was also ruthless and short-tempered, well that could be overlooked in a community that had repeatedly come up short in its pursuit of a Major League Baseball team.
This was the ultimate game of hardball and Naimoli, who passed away on Sunday night, played it well. If he viewed life as a competition, then business had to be a war.
So when it finally came to pass, when Naimoli had secured the Devil Rays for Tampa Bay, he was allowed to bask briefly in the glory and adulation he had never known as a corporate turnaround artist.
And if this was a fairy tale, the story would have ended there. The hero would have stepped aside with the cheers still ringing in his ears.
Unfortunately, Naimoli never recognized his greatest strength was also his eventual downfall. He was a street fighter. An optics-be-damned kind of leader. And the reality that he was horribly miscast as a baseball team owner never seemed to cross his mind.
In that sense, his passing is even sadder still. Naimoli deserved a hero's trip around the bases in his retirement. He should have had a reserved booth in every sports bar in Tampa Bay. He should have been taking selfies with fans every night at Tropicana Field.
Instead, he was pushed out as the team's managing general partner in 2005 and the stories of his outlandish management style followed him for the rest of his days. Naimoli the conquering hero had been turned into a punchline.
It was an unfair coda for a self-made man. The son of a subway worker, Naimoli took on a paper route as a boy in Paterson, N.J., and didn't stop busting his hump for nearly 60 years. His appetite for 80-hour work weeks gave him an edge that others were unwilling, or unable, to match. And if success provided him with luxury, it never softened his edges.
In a way, that was why he was so ill-suited in the entertainment/service industry. Naimoli had battered his way to the top, and never grasped that attracting customers required different skill sets than cutting costs and maximizing profits.
Naimoli wore his celebrity like a suit that wouldn't stop itching. He alienated fans and the corporate community before the first pitch was ever thrown with his demands and impudence. By the franchise's second season, he was already hinting the team could be moved elsewhere. Naimoli didn't just have disagreements, he had angry, and petty, public spats.
He argued with department stores. Scouts. Cops. His partners. Tourism officials. Newspapers. High school bands. Even, comically, the raccoons in his Avila neighborhood.
Oh, there was supposedly an awakening somewhere down the line. Naimoli declared he was a changed man, and famously wore a Hawaiian shirt at a press conference to introduce the new, more agreeable Vince. But underneath the floral print, the same restless heart raged on.
