Major League Baseball has always been good at setting smokescreens while ducking the major issues. The latest example is last night's All-Star Game in Arizona. According to MLB, the major issue was the selection process of game participants and contest competitors, with special criticism reserved for SF Giants/NL manager Bruce Bochey infesting his roster with undeserving Giants like Tim Lincecum, and Prince Fielder for choosing a pal for the Home Run Derby over a far more deserving Arizona Diamondback. To anybody with a remote semblence of intelligence, the real issue was the voluntary absences of several stars like Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera, and C.C. Sabathia, who claimed they needed rest.
Some player apologists would argue that the 162-game season is grueling, and players deserve a 3-day break midseason. Still others would argue that the players were making a covert protest against Arizona's recent anti-immigrant legislation by refusing to play at Chase Field. Are you kidding?
Some stars sat out for a very good reason: they have the power and they know it. Express gratitude to the game and fans that made them rich? Forget it. Why not grab a 3-day holiday in Las Vegas or Florida? There is no punishment for no-shows at the All-Star Game. There should be. No wonder fan disillusionment grows by the day as players like Jeter (ironically considered one of the good guys) and Alex Rodriguez flex their power by giving fans, networks, and even their own teams the finger by sitting out.
How could Jeter's absence hurt his own Yankees team? Doesn't three days of rest help Jeter's health for the second half of the season? Maybe, but his All-Star absence gave the American League team one less potent bat in the line-up. The American League lost 5-1 last night. As a result, due to the 2003 policy change, the winning league gets home-field advantage in the World Series. If the Yankees make the World Series in 2011, they would not have home-field advantage. This could definitely detrimentally impact the team. Superstar arrogance and power continues unabated in Major League Baseball.
Now it's time to turn to more important issues impacting baseball. Belatedly, MLB focuses on the "steroids" era, citing it as the biggest blemish on its sport. Really? All major sports have "problems" with performance-enhancing drugs. There have always been and there will always be individual cheaters looking for competitive advantages when the stakes are so high. As testing becomes more refined, so does the ability of cheaters to mask the performance-enhancing drugs they use. Ask Lance Armstrong.
Anabolic steroids have been around since the 1940's. Schwarzenegger and others were winning juiced Mr. Olympia titles in the 1960's. Now we're supposed to believe that steroids have only been in baseball since the '90s? Really? Even Jose Canseco is proof that they were alive and well in the 1980's. "Steroid" era? Laughable.
Picking on sluggers like Barry Bonds is ridiculous when pitchers like Roger Clemens and Andy Pettit were also using similar drugs. The press likes to persecute Bonds because he didn't like to spend three hours after games answering the same 3 questions.
What Bud Selig and MLB does not focus on are the other reasons for the "Steroids" Era inflated statistics. Can anybody spell "juiced ball"? Can anybody spell "smaller park dimensions"? Can anybody spell "over-expansion leading to diluted quality of pitching talent"? After the crippling strike of 1994, baseball needed a quick boost in popularity. The easiest way to return fannies to the seats, eyes to the televisions, and headlines to media print publications and broadcast shows was to create superhero sluggers. This was done.
In that respect, baseball was borrowing a page from its own illustrious history. In 1919, after the Chicago White Sox scandal showed fans that some players had thrown the World Series in order to receive payments from gamblers, the game was in crisis. Public confidence was shaken. If the games were a sham, nobody would attend. What did baseball do? They entered the live ball era and started promoting sluggers over pitchers. Offensive statistics soared in the 1920's, led by Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx, and Lou Gehrig. What else did baseball do? They made sure the biggest and best talent and teams wound up in the media and advertising capital: New York.
One could argue that New York still retains a preponderance of the talent, not due to lopsided trades as in the Ruth era, but due to free agency.
With steroid investigations as the smokescreen, MLB continues to skirt around the main issues demolishing its popularity: revenue sharing, minimum salaries, free agency, and long-term, guaranteed contracts.
First, revenue sharing. Major League Baseball does not share nearly as much of the total pot as the NFL does. Before 2006, very little was shared, leading to dynasties by major-market, highly-capitalized teams like the Red Sox and Yankees. In 2007, revenue sharing of 34% of local revenue streams occurred for the first time. Approximately $312 million was transferred from high to low revenue teams that year. In 2009, $433 million was transferred. In 2010, $404 million was transferred. Meanwhile, total revenues went from $6.8 billion in 2009 to $7 billion in 2010.
Big market teams rightfully argue that not all small-market teams use their revenue sharing windfall for payroll and other team improvements. They actually profit more by remaining a low-revenue team and taking subsequent revenue sharing bonuses. The system is far from perfect. Not only should the percentage of local revenue streams be upped to at least 80% for revenue sharing, but all teams (high and low revenue alike) should be monitored and held to a competitive standard in salaries for players, coaches, managers, and scouting systems. That would avoid the possibilities of enduring a future Frank McCourt scenario, the irresponsible Dodger owner who has a propensity for sinking his team revenue into personal mansions, planes, parties, and salaries for children, leaving him barely able to meet payroll and cutting valuable security personnel.
The next major issue affecting the popularity and health of Major League Baseball is the standard minimum salary. In 1966, the average major league salary was $16,000 with a minimum of $6,000. Non-stars had off-season jobs to supplement their player salaries. They were real people with real problems that real fans could identify with. By 1973, the average had jumped to $36,500, thanks to the MLBPA's Marvin Miller and arbitration. This was still reasonable. Stars have always deserved more. They are fan magnets.
But what about a .220 career average second baseman earning six figures? That occurred in the 1980's. Then it truly became crazy. While big-market teams could afford the increases, small-market teams were left behind.
By 2006, the standard minimum major league salary had risen to $327,000. A strike was averted in 2007 by owners and players agreeing to another five-year CBA that boosted the minimum to $380,000 in 2007. The owners were gutless and spineless wonders. Such pre-emptive caving has led to players like Jeter telling the league what to do and what he is going to do during All-Star breaks.
In 2011, the standard minimum reached $414,000, a $14,000 increase over 2010. Why? The 2006 CBA allows for a salary to keep pace with the annual rise of the Consumer Price Index, aka inflation. It's tough to live on only $400,000, live on it and hit a robust .210. Even minor league players now earn a $65,000 minimum.
Solution? Reduce minimum salaries to less than $80,000. Why? So players are more motivated to hit, field, and pitch better (to become highly paid stars) and fans are motivated to attend games. The dog days of summer are more aptly called the dogging-it days of summer when referring to major league baseball.
The next big issue is free agency. Naturally, all of the big issues are inter-related. They all adversely affect small-market teams, making them little more than farm teams of the big-market, high-revenue teams.
The once proud Athletics and Padres can no longer afford to retain their stars and future stars. This is unfortunate, for both teams have excellent farm systems of their own, and should be rewarded for identifying and developing talent. If minimum salaries were lower, low-revenue teams could afford to retain at least one star under a franchise tag (if only). If there were a more complete revenue sharing policy, there would be greater competitive parity as well. If there weren't unlimited free agency, small-market teams wouldn't lose their best players every other year and have to start over again.
Where did free agency come from? It came from Marvin Miller, arbitration, ignorance, and press sympathy. However, the catalyst was Curt Flood, a star outfielder for the St. Louis Cardinals who didn't appreciate being traded to the Philadelphia Phillies for the 1970 season.
Instead of reporting, Flood sued Major League Baseball, calling the Reserve Clause unconstitutional and akin to slavery-even though players of all races and ethnicities were treated equally and Flood was getting paid $90,000, a decent salary for 1970. The case went to the U.S. Supreme Court, where in 1972 Flood lost, the Reserve Clause was retained, but the groundwork was laid.
The first of eight work stoppages in baseball occurred in the spring of 1972. Players, propped up by the sympathetic press, were feeling it. The new CBA gave them expanded medical coverage, and the first opportunity to have salaries equate with market value. Independent arbitrators were now determining salaries, not the owners.
In 1975, Dave McNally and Andy Messerschmitt did not sign their contracts, making the season technically their option years. While McNally retired, Messerschmitt went on to challenge MLB policy, the Reserve Clause. True free agency was born. Before the 1976 season, teams went crazy for great talent no longer tied down to one team for life unless traded or released. The Athletics saw their great empire vanish, with one star, Joe Rudi, going to the Angels and another, Reggie Jackson, going to the Yankees. Big-market, high-revenue teams became cherry pickers, picking the best talent from smaller teams. Players now were only tied to their first team for the first six years. After that, they could file for free agency.
As a result of free agency, long-term, guaranteed contracts became the norm for superstars, further widening the gap between the haves and have-nots. Why? A small-market team may be able to afford to sign its star at $20 million for two years, but the big-market team could sign them at $20 million for five or six years. Guaranteed. Disabling injury or not. Baseball became like horse racing: high-risk ventures of signing talent and hoping it would stay healthy. Such long-term contracts unraveled mid-market and small-market teams when they were able to beat the bigs in the open market, but then saw players fall apart or lack discipline and drive and become underachievers until the contract year. This further dilution of talent caused by such contracts also led to fan displeasure. It helped football become number one in popularity, for football didn't have such ridiculous agreements with its players.
How ridiculous? Before the 2001 season, the Texas Rangers signed Alex Rodriguez to a 10-year, $250 million contract. Rodriguez delivered the stats, but his contract made the mid-market Rangers incapable of fielding a competitive team. The Rangers remained losers, causing them to trade A-Rod to the Yankees after a few years to leave room on their payroll for more quality players. If they weren't superstars with superegos before, they were after the A-Rod signing. I'm not talking about baseball players now; I'm talking about the agents. Men like Scott Boras became too important in the sport.
How ridiculous? The Giants signed Barry Zito to a seven-year, $126 million contract a few years back. He was so effective, whether injured or not, that the Giants did not put him on the post-season roster for 2010. He is, at best, the fifth starter on an excellent staff. Only recently has he shown signs of a winning streak.
How ridiculous? The Cubs signed Alfonso Soriano to an eight-year, $136 million contract, with awful results so far. The Rockies signed Mike Hampton to an eight-year, $121 million contract. Hampton won 56 games over that span, with as high an e.r.a. on the road as at home in hitter-friendly Coors Field.
How ridiculous? As was pointed out recently, the Dodgers still owe Manny Ramirez over $30 million on his contract, although Manny is far from Chavez Ravine. Kevin Brown and Vernon Wells were other Dodgers missteps. Back to the present, the Mets have a bad deal in Oliver Perez (3-year, $36 million) and the Red Sox have a worse deal in John Lackey (5-year, $80 million). Even the Yankees were royally burned on the A.J. Burnett deal, worth about $16.5 million annually.
What is the solution? First, eliminate guarantees. If a player get seriously injured or chronically underperforms, a team should have the right to release him without further fiscal obligation. Second, limit contracts to two years with an option for a third maximum. That should prevent less motivated players from dogging it for entire years, yet it's still better than what players had prior to 1976: one-year contracts with an option for a second.
Baseball remains the greatest game on the planet.Any team game that does not rely upon a clock is perfect for leisure, the opposite of business. In early 1942, after America's entry into World War Two, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt made a quick decision to have Major League Baseball continue, saying, "Americans will need a chance for recreation and for taking their minds off their work even more than before."
Unfortunately, the labor strife and squabbles and strikes of the past forty years in baseball make Americans view the game as a reflection of work rather than an escape from it. Unfortunately, players went from having no control to having too much, as witnessed by the absence of Sabathia, Rivera, and Jeter from the 2011 All-Star Game. Too bad.
The Yankees boast the biggest payroll in baseball: well over $200 million. However, revenue is so high that they are willing to pay a luxury tax (which kicks in when the payroll exceeds $178 million). In 2008, the Yankees paid $21.6 million as their penalty. Meanwhile, teams like the Marlins and their $37 million payroll never need to worry about a luxury tax.
In closing, Major League Baseball has major problems. The business loves using smokescreens to obscure those problems. With $7 billion in total revenue in 2010, the game is not in danger of disappearing anytime soon. Yet, how long will small-market and mismanaged mid-market teams survive in this depressed economy? Why should they survive if their only role is to provide talent to the big-market, high-revenue teams?
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