In Part 2 of ESPN The Magazine's March 5 cover story, writer Dan Le Batard explains why Manny Ramirez left the Tribe in a world of hurt. Click here for Part 1.

You want a voyeuristic peek into why baseball is dying a dollar at a time? If this sport shuts down again, you want to see why even McGwire and Sammy Sosa might not have the strength to lift it from underneath all this money?

Take a look inside here -- inside Suite 1621 of Miami's Mandarin Oriental Hotel, which features a panoramic view of a sun-soaked Biscayne Bay and costs $3,000 a night, taxes not included. It is early December, the first meeting between Ramirez and the Red Sox, and all of baseball's major power brokers are represented. Two sports agents. An accountant. Two ESPN television cameras. A four-person TV crew. Boston's general manager. His assistant. A superstar. And, of course, $107 million on the table. Figuratively speaking. Or, if you prefer, figures speaking.

That was Boston's initial offer to Ramirez. And it wasn't nearly enough. It was about $53 million light, even for a man who once left two weeks worth of salary behind in a cowboy boot, once got a concerned call from Cleveland management after forgetting to cash five consecutive paychecks and once left $40,000 cash in his Impala's glove compartment. The reason Ramirez wears that cheap earring? He's afraid he'll misplace anything more expensive.

Ramirez's agent, , had allowed ESPN into Suite 1621 as part of an inside look at the negotiating process. Duquette was clearly uncomfortable with the cameras, but he also knew that in today's game, $107 million is only enough to buy you a seat in the room, not the right to pick the furniture. So here's the snapshot you have developing in your hands as baseball heads into the final season before the collective bargaining agreement expires: The leader of a proud franchise begging a player, for all to see, to please, please take his mountain of millions ... and being told by the player's handlers that the mountain isn't nearly large enough yet ... even though the player himself doesn't need any kind of mountain at all.

Ramirez says today that he knew late last summer he wouldn't return to Cleveland: "There wasn't enough money in the world." He remains hurt and angry that, while he missed 44 games with a misbehaving hamstring last season, landing on the disabled list for the first time in his eight-year career, management questioned how hurt he really was.

Indians owner Larry Dolan said, "It doesn't look like he wants to help us." GM John Hart added, "Manny is killing us." A career .313 hitter, Ramirez returned to hit .371 with 25 homers and 75 RBI in his final 71 games, dragging Cleveland back into the race practically by himself, but not before telling teammate Enrique Wilson, his only close friend on the team, that he was playing his final season for the Indians. To punctuate his point, Ramirez homered in his last at-bat at Jacobs Field.

"What they said hurt a lot," Ramirez says now in Spanish. "Those people behaved badly. I'm in my last year, and I don't want to play? That doesn't even fit in the mind of a crazy man. They didn't even ask me if I could play. They asked Sandy [Alomar], not me. They're like that. They tell you one thing and do another. They always lie to the players. They wanted to make me look bad with fans so they could look good. They don't know what they're doing. The owner doesn't know anything about baseball. I was a calf raised on that farm, and I appreciate the opportunity they gave me, but they should be ashamed. They weren't thinking of me. They were thinking of themselves. I was tired of just winning division titles. I want to win -- really win."

Hart did not return calls requesting comment, but Ramirez's agents maintain they negotiated in good faith and that their conflicted client had not made up his mind about leaving Cleveland until minutes before signing with Boston. They say Ramirez would have remained an Indian if Boston hadn't come up with the extra $53 million and, as proof, they point out that he wept upon making his decision official.

"Manny could easily live off $50,000 a year, but he wanted to be respected," says Eugene Mato, Moorad's associate. "It was very important for him to be baseball's second-highest-paid player."

Mato knows Ramirez better than most. They met two years ago, after Moorad client Roberto Alomar told Moorad that Ramirez was unhappy with his agent. Moorad couldn't connect with Ramirez speaking English, so he brought Mato, of Cuban descent, along. A trust developed. Mato proved to be someone who could get Ramirez things cheap -- stereos, insurance, tickets. Ramirez wanted things at cost. Mato always got them, by saying they were for Ramirez.

"He called me for everything," Mato says. "Then his parents and sisters started calling."

Ramirez learned to value money early, while living on the sixth floor of an apartment complex with no elevators. The dollar, after all, cost him his parents for two years. They left the kids with grandparents and came to the U.S. in 1983 because Dad wanted to start anew after seeing too many colleagues die from work-related toxins. Manny and his sisters arrived in 1985 and worked in department stores to contribute to the rent, but they still slept four to a bed. At 13, Ramirez made deliveries to buy his first baseball uniform.

The family remains so close today that Ramirez has bought his parents and sisters homes and cars in the U.S. Six family members, including his parents, lived with him throughout his time in Cleveland. Ramirez's parents and grandparents don't speak English, and Manny never really learned either, because he lived among Hispanics in high school, and his every class had a translator. If he could change one thing about his childhood, he says, he would have learned better English.

He describes himself as "very timid" with reporters because "I don't know how to express myself enough," but he says he will try to speak more in Boston because it looks "ugly" not to try. And, besides, Sosa has gotten pretty far with just a little English and a lot of smile.

"If I don't talk, nobody will know me," Ramirez says in Spanish. "I put up MVP numbers a few years ago, but they didn't give it to me because I didn't talk. We're not in a time where the numbers talk enough. You have to talk too. I'm getting better, though. I surprised even myself the first day in Boston. I was relaxed talking to 30 reporters!"

Says Manny's sister Clara: "People misinterpret his shyness for being surly, moody, self-absorbed. He has to let people know him. He has to share. It?s not enough to hit the ball far. People want their applause returned. He's trying."

The Red Sox, celebrating their 100th anniversary this year, are banking big on Ramirez's bat, which remains fluent in any language. A beer-bellied ghost hovers over this haunted franchise, and now $160 million has been spent on a quiet, childlike exorcist.

Babe Ruth better beware.

Because Baby Ruth doesn't know enough to fear.

This article appears in the March 5 issue of ESPN The Magazine. To read Part 1, click here.