The Futility Infielder

One Happy Camper

When I returned to civilization--as much civilization as Pinedale, Wyoming allows, at least--last Thursday after five days in the woods, I was disappointed to find that the players and owners still hadn't reached an agreement to avert a strike. Disappointed, but hardly surprised. After all, what's a labor crisis without an 11th hour?

I'd spent a good portion of my five days in the Wind Rivers mountains of western Wyoming--in between the times when I wasn't catching sardine-sized trout, chasing wayward llamas (don't ask), or donning my Gore-Tex to fend off torrential rain and hail--debating with my fellow backpackers as to whether there would be a strike. An air of resignation and disgust held over the group; the general consensus was 1) there would be a strike; 2) who cared anyway? and 3) those greedy players were the root of it all.

I'm still alarmed that such a belief prevails among the great majority of baseball fans--over three quarters of them according to some polls. Why do fans direct their anger at players making $200,000 or $2 million or even $20 million a year doing what they do extremely well and with passion, instead of at incompetent sandbaggers worth $200 million or $2 billion who hamstring their franchises with millstone contracts and hold cities hostage until taxpayers cough up stadiums? Sufffice it to say that the owners' badmouthing of the product (the players) took a powerful hold on a public which still refuses to understand the issues. Why anybody would believe (for example) Bud Selig instead of Forbes Magazine when it comes to an objective look at the game's finances is beyond me. And why anybody would side with the likes of the Seligs, the Reinsdorfs, the Mooreses, and the Hicks instead of the players also escapes me.

Both ESPN Magazine's Tim Keown and that famed iconoclast Jim Bouton offer similarly interesting views on this phenomenon. The former writes: "There is perhaps no issue galvanizing our nation quite like the distasteful notion of young, able-bodied men making millions of dollars playing baseball." Keown remains as mystified as anybody when it comes to the reasons behind this phenomenon, especially given the Commissioner's ineptitude as the game's chief spokesman:

The direction of public opinion is mystifying, really. Everyone seems to understand and accept Bud Selig's epic incompetence and seemingly bottomless capacity for -- to be highly generous -- twisting the truth. Just to pick something at random, Selig can't even embrace the game's best stories -- the allegedly impossible small-payroll successes in Minnesota and Oakland. Those two franchises are models, and Bud calls them aberrations. They should be honored, instead they are belittled. Has there ever been a worse spokesman for the game than Selig?

Bouton, in a New York Times Op-Ed piece, attempts to direct fans' anger towards the owners instead of the players. He writes that the owners have engaged in a systematic PR campaign against the players ever since the advent of free agency:

The owners are counting on your resentment of the players to frighten them into giving in at the bargaining table. Their campaign to turn you against the players, by calling them greedy and overpaid, began soon after the players won a measure of free agency in 1976. Yet all the owners have succeeded in doing is turning a nation of fans against players they once loved and admired. Which is pretty foolish when you consider that players are not just employees — they're the product.

Bouton points out that since winning free agency, the players have been expected to compromise on top of compromise every time the Collective Bargaining Agreement comes up for renewal, "effectively giving up their free agency in bits and pieces."

But let's cut to the chase: I'm ecstatic there is no strike. Without being too particular about the particulars of the deal, I'm elated that the season can continue unabated. I'm happy that Minnesota Twins players and fans alike can stick it to Bud, knowing that their franchise has survived a bout with the Grim Reaper, as contraction is off the table for the duration of the new CBA. I'm filled with glee that the three-team dogfight for the AL West can continue. I'm practically turning cartwheels knowing that A's fans and Twins fans can continue to speculate on whether their team can beat the Yankees this fall. Hell, I'm even thankful that I can fret about Mariano Rivera's shoulder (and psyche) withstanding the rigors of the postseason. It beats the Selig out of staring at an October devoid of baseball.

And I'm not going to worry too much about whether the Yankees and George Steinbrenner will suffer unduly at the hands of the revenue-sharing and luxury-tax portions of the new agreement. Let's face it: Raul Mondesi plays a mean rightfield when he's so motivated, but acquiring an $11 million mediocrity midseason just because the Boss loses patience with a platoon of proven role-players doesn't speak well for the status quo. Let Steinbrenner tighten the Yankee belt this winter, showing Roger Clemens the door when the Rocket asks for another $10 million on top of his $10 million "option" and burying Sterling Hitchcock in the Tomb of The Next Ed Whitson so that he can pick up Andy Pettitte's option instead. Let him find a taker for Rondell White so that he can give Juan Rivera a shot at a starting job. And let him pass up Japanese star Hideki "Godzilla" Matsui so that Nick Johnson can continue to develop. We don't need those steenkin' free agents--well, most of them--anyway.

The one thing about the new CBA which truly troubles me is that there's still nothing to prevent revenue-sharing recipients from pocketing the money and continuing to sandbag. The one potential positive about a strike would have been shaking out some of those skinflints crying about their inability to keep up with the Yanks while shaking Steinbrenner down for cash. What's going to stop those owners from dragging their feet for another four years in exchange for even more concessions from the players' union? There's also nothing in the new CBA which distinguishes between a relatively well-run small- or mid-market team (like the Cleveland Indians or the Seattle Mariners) and the blundering large-market Philadelphia Phillies. The system can still be abused.

I'm not exactly crazy about the MLBPA's concession on the contraction issue come 2007, but so long as it's the Devil Rays, the Marlins, or anything with Jeffrey Loria's fingerprints on it, I don't really care too much from this distant vantage. I'm curious to see how the Expos situation is resolved, with regards to the team's currrent ownership status, its future in Montreal (or Washington, D.C.), and the pending RICO lawsuit by the former minority partners which names Selig and Loria as defendents.

But on the whole, I'm impressed that the two sides were able to avert a work-stoppage. If nothing else, it sets a precedent that future negotiations don't have to end in bloodshed, acrimony, and litigation. Perhaps the new CBA will restore some of that phantom "competitive balance" we've supposedly been missing, offering "hope and faith" that the Kansas City Royals and Pittsburgh Pirates can continue to bungle things on their own accord. Perhaps it will give some of those billionaires their cues to skiddoo instead of whinging about their inability to compete. Perhaps Bud Selig will stop badmouthing the product and instead work on rebuilding baseball's fan base.

Or better yet, perhaps Bud will view this as an opportunity to exit the Office of the Commissioner, taking his bad rug and ugly mug home to Milwaukee. Or Timbuktu--let's provide some hope and faith for Brewers' fans, after all. While Selig may deserve at least some modicum of credit for averting a stoppage, it's still not enough to atone for a decade of ineptitude, badwill, and a missing World Series. If a season without a strike seemed like a pipe dream a week ago, at least permit me to hold onto one more dream.

But enough of my ranting about Selig. On a Labor Day with labor peace, I'm ready to put all of this aside and get back to the game I love. It's about time.