Jones, the Dallas owner, agrees, saying, "Put it this way: He's as qualified an individual as I've seen in sports. He's that good."

For now, Baker relishes his role as the common man's commish. Working the nosebleed seats during the third quarter of the Avengers-SaberCats game, Baker signed a few autographs and chatted up a tattooed season-ticket holder before venturing out to the concession area. Spotting an eight-year-old boy in a San Jose jersey, Baker broke into a wide grin. "As commissioner, I'm in a weird position," he said. "I work for the owners, but sometimes, when I discipline them, they might think they work for me. But do you see that kid right there? That's who we're all working for."

COLOR PHOTO: PHOTOGRAPH BY PETER GREGOIRE PRICE HIKE Thefor something.

"Look, I get it that you don't want me here. The real estate agent was message enough."

Pete didn't say anything, but she thought she saw contemplation in his eyes.

"Can you let me out please?" She swallowed to alleviate her drying mouth. "I need to pick up some boxes..."

Pete took a step back to allow her to open the door. She got out, pushed the door shut, and stood across from him, still wanting to tell him everything she'd been thinking. Not knowing how to begin or what to say, she settled on simply an apology. "I'm sorry I said what I did before I left," she said.

She looked up at him, the sun in her eyes, which was a good thing because she could blink away more