An examination of America's game.

Nearly twenty summers ago, your author very nearly pulled off one of the greatest plays in the vast and proud history of baseball, as a third baseman.  That year I decided to play baseball after the season had begun, and as a result, whatever position happened to be open on the day of the game was my positional home.  On the day in question, third base was home, and because we were children playing as children, no one was getting to third, instead either stopping at second (this was rare) or rounding third to score.

Late in the game, with a runner at first, a slow roller was hit to the first baseman, who expertly scooped it up and tagged his base in one smooth, continuous motion; the runner formerly occupying first was rounding second and preparing to slide into third.  Before throwing to me at third, the first baseman looked me square in the eyes for just a split instant – as if to somehow communicate the unstated significance of a play so grand coming from two children so small – finally letting fly a perfect strike to this columnist, who made an adjustment to the left and caught the ball before reaching over and attempting to tag the advancing runner, who had just slid in under the tag.  A near miss, but a glorious one; so glorious, in fact, our coach walked onto the field and shook both mine and the first baseman’s hands.

Baseball has behind it more than a century of rich and grand tradition, ranging from tee ball to little league, to the Negro Leagues, to the modern day game, and even today, in a society whose overall mentality is much too hurried to consider baseball’s deliberate and intellectual movements, the game endures.  Every now and then you can turn on the television and see evidence that, not only is baseball everywhere, but that it’s also a great equalizer, as well: there are tee ball games played at the White House, kids in wheelchairs playing on specially constructed fields (as to allow for easier movement) … hell, even the fat, beer swilling pigs playing at the corner park have a palpable sense of belonging to something greater than themselves, a game of true equality.

Which brings us now to professional baseball’s current problems, those that could lend to not only its ninth work stoppage in 30 years, but possibly the cancellation of the World Series for the second time in eight years.  Baseball’s troubles are difficult to explain, to fans or non-fans alike, but for the purposes of this column, they are broken down as follows: the players don’t want a salary cap, ensuring contracts not unlike the one awarded Texan Rangers shortstop Alex Rodriguez two seasons ago (10 years, $250,000,000) will not only endure, but indirectly drive up the salaries of lesser players.  The owners are hoping for some sort of economic relief, through not only a salary cap but through a league wide distribution of profits, which would benefit the lower teams, enabling them the ability to compete with the big boys.  Credence is lent here to at least some points of each side’s arguments …

One: Whenever someone tells me no one is worth $25 million a year (Rodriguez’s salary), I am quick to remind them that, while on a philosophical level it may be true (in that it’s certainly hard to imagine something made of three dollars worth of materials pulling down $25 million a year), the fact is that a man is worth in salary whatever it is another man is willing to pay him, provided he proves to be worth – in terms of effort put forth and revenue produced for his bosses – the investment.  While reasonable men can debate whether or not Alex Rodriguez has put forth $25 million worthof effort this season, there’s no reasonable doubt he has produced much more than $25 million worth of revenue for the Texas Rangers, and in presenting himself as a serious American league MVP candidate, has held up his end of the bargain.  That said …

Two: Alex Rodriguez may very well be the man who forever changed the face of professional baseball.  Major League Baseball is the last American major sports franchise to refuse the notion of a salary cap, a policy that would state Team X could absolutely spend no more on overall player salary than Team Y, all in the interests of a level playing field.  From this level playing field it is routinely suggested the markets would be opened wider for smaller market teams, who can then compete with the traditional giants in seeking out big name free agents.  Supporters of the salary cap point to football and basketball as examples of success stories in economic diversity.

The winning of championships seems to suggest otherwise.  In basketball’s case, its last twenty World championships (a number chosen at random) have been won by only seven teams (The Los Angeles Lakers, Philadelphia 76ers, Boston Celtics, Detroit Pistons, Chicago Bulls, Houston Rockets and the San Antonio Spurs), and only one team has not at least repeated as basketball’s champions since 1987 (the San Antonio Spurs).  In football’s case the doors seem to be a little wider open, though not much wider: since 1982, 10 teams have won the Super Bowl (Washington Redskins, Oakland Raiders, Beloved San Francisco 49ers, Chicago Bears, New York Giants, Dallas Cowboys, Green Bay Packers, Beloved Denver Broncos, St. Louis Rams and the New England Patriots); of those, four won back to back titles, and in some cases has produced dynasties (The Beloved 49ers won four in that time, the Cowboys won three out of four).

Now in baseball’s case, its last twenty champions have produced, as an aggregate, only a slightly dissimilar argument: Fourteen different teams have won World championships since 1982, including the strike year of 1994, when no World Series was played.  (The St. Louis Cardinals, Baltimore Orioles, Detroit Tigers, Kansas City Royals, New York Mets, Minnesota Twins, Los Angeles Dodgers, Oakland Athletics, Cincinnati Reds, Toronto Blue Jays, Beloved Atlanta Braves, Florida marlins and the Arizona Diamondbacks.)  In the last two decades, the sport without the salary cap has produced the largest number of individual World champions, and the fewest number of repeat champions.

Three: There’s no better way to say it: most of the discontentment among baseball’s franchise owners speaks directly to the success of the New York Yankees, who are accused of making pivotal trades every season, essentially throwing money at whatever holes they may have, which leads to the inevitable championship.  In Fair Ball, Bob Costas suggested that those teams who routinely spend the most money are often those teams in the best positions to play for, and win, championships.  Right; but there will always be teams who spend and spend and spend for nothing (the Baltimore Orioles are a fine example, the Cleveland Indians are another), it just so happens the Yankees have dedicated a disproportionate (this is, compared to other teams) amount of the exact same resources to the art of talent scouting, thus ensuring they are picking up players that matter, not just players who can play.

There exits a certain argument: If the New York Yankees were forced to financially play on a level field with the rest of baseball, it’s less likely they would win championship after championship, and more likely there would exist some diversity among the league’s elite teams.  Maybe, maybe not; but baseball’s franchises already play on an equal surface, in that all teams are owned by either individual billionaires or billionaire conglomerates.  Every one of them would spend whatever money they wanted in acquiring the players needed to help them take them closer to baseball’s promised land, but don’t (or won’t) because they aren’t owners who commonly love and cherish the game, instead they are making an investment.

And that’s fine; men of free will and deep pockets will spend as they want to spend, by whatever motivation.  But someone who plunks down several hundred million dollars on a bad team, and who takes no large steps to correct the state of their franchise, has no intellectual right to castigate George Steinbrenner, who (whatever his numerous faults) has always dedicated his money and energy to making the Yankees a winning franchise.

Of course there is something to be said about a salary cap saving teams from themselves, in that an already wobbling franchise that spends $90 million a year only to finish in last place pushes itself closer to extinction.  Exactly; this is called financial Darwinism – it’s for the best the weaker teams are eliminated, as they are a cancer on the sport.  There is no reasoned justification for keeping active those teams who are going out of their way not to succeed, and who are losing money.  (I am speaking here of the Montreal Expos, Tampa Bay Devil Rays, Milwaukee Brewers, Florida Marlins and other similar teams.)  And in the same vein, those bottom-of- the-barrel players currently occupying those clubs can be shuttled back to the minors, where they belong.  In this we’re not only strengthening the remaining franchises, but the talent pool, as well.  These reasons (and others) are why contraction is not only relevant, but preferable.

Four: Another lesser point to consider is whether or not players should be tested for steroids.  On this, at least the owners and players are in quiet agreement on the principles: 1) steroid use is against the law, and can end up leading to your death (e.g. Lyle Alzado), which is why all major American sports have panned their use.  2) But that doesn’t mean players aren’t juicing up, and professional baseball doesn’t test for them to precisely because a fair percentage of its players will be forced out, including some very big names; the sort of names even non-fans would be able to identify.  But 3) eventually testing must and will become a reality, because not even baseball is above the law, so long as 4) more then enough advanced notice is given, allowing the users enough time to either distance themselves from usage or devise a more stealthy, Olympian-style means of masking said usage.  Here both baseball and labor are protecting one another, and will continue to do so because its in both of their best interests.

Should baseball have another work stoppage, can (and will) the fans come back?  Recent history suggests they will, to whatever their own detriment, because the die hard fans possess a love of baseball greater than its flaws.  But should they?  Conventional wisdom says no; there has never been another American sport that has mistreated its fans, and their unspeakable loyalty, quite like professional baseball has.  I know I’ll be back, like most fans, because baseball is indeed the great equalizer, even if it’s just to make suckers of us all.