Dave Stieb Tried, And Tried, And Tried, And Tried, And Finally Climbed The Mountain

With Mark Buehrle, Tim Hudson, and Dan Haren on the Hall of Fame ballot this year, I am reminded of a similar type pitcher who held sway over the course of three different decades, and was an absolute stud in my formative years, the ‘80s. For a guy who never took the mound before his college-playing days at Southern Illinois University, Dave Stieb was the essence of a “pitcher,” with an overpowering fastball (for the era), a plus breaking ball, and a devastating slider towards the end of his career. He quickly caught the eye of the Blue Jays scouts after only his second relief outing in college, and the rest, as they say, is history. No one has ever won more games for the Blue Jays than Stieb, who garnered 176 over a career that spanned from 1979 to 1992. But over the course of 412 starts, there are five in particular [watch after you read] that make him a legend in my (and many others’) eyes. And the fact that they happened sequentially makes it all the more delicious.

Herewith:

Game #1: August 24, 1985 vs. the White Sox

Stieb walked the second batter he faced in the bottom of the first, then induced Harold Baines to ground into a 1-6-3 double play. He then hurt his own cause in the fourth with a wild throw on a Bryan Little bunt. But he struck out the next two batters to escape unscathed. He walked Carlton Fisk to lead off the fifth; and Little in the sixth; but through eight innings, he had not given up a hit.

All of that changed in the ninth. With a 6-0 lead, Stieb went right after the White Sox, and was rewarded thusly: home runs by Rudy Law and Little (that guy again) to start the frame. At that point, Stieb’s night was done. As an aside, the White Sox were not. Gary Lavelle relieved Stieb and promptly gave a home run to Baines. He lasted only two more batters (a ground out a single), giving way to Tom Henke who sandwiched a single around two pop outs to end the game.

But Stieb established himself that night with eight innings of no-hit baseball that were only a precursor of things to come.

Game #2: September 24, 1988 vs. the Indians

Stieb retired the first seven batters before yielding a full-count walk to Andy Allanson. Two pitches later Allanson was cut down trying to steal second. And three pitches later, Paul Zuvella struck out to end the third inning. But Stieb was not exactly cruising, as it took him 46 pitches to get through the order a single time.

Things didn’t start great in the fourth, with a leadoff walk to the leadoff hitter, Julio Franco. But only four pitches later the side was retired, after a 4-6-3 double play and a three-pitch strikeout.

Stieb sailed through the fifth, sixth, and seventh. He hit a bump in the road with a hit batter with two outs in the eighth. But when pinch hitter Terry Francona flew out deep to right, Stieb was three outs away…again.

Allanson struck out swinging and Willie Upshaw grounded out to second to start the ninth. Now Stieb was one out away. After four pitches to the next batter, Stieb was one strike away. Then Franco hit was seemed like a harmless ground ball to second. But the ghosts of Lake Erie must have been present that Saturday night, as the ball hit the lip of the infield and catapulted over Manny Lee’s head into center field to end the no-hit bid. Shocked, if not dismayed, Stieb couldn’t spend too much time lamenting his bad luck. He was nursing a 1-0 lead, and Dave Clark was coming to the plate representing the winning run. Stieb got Clark to fly out to deep center to end the game, but it was – at best – a moral 1-0 victory.

Game #3: September 30, 1988 vs. the Orioles

If you are paying close attention, you will note that this was Stieb’s very next start after the heartbreak by the lake six days earlier.

Stieb cruised through the lineup the first time, on only 31 pitches. He plunked Joe Orsulak to lead off the fourth, but got square one pitch later with a 3-6 double play. When Cal Ripken, Jr. grounded out, Stieb was through four on only 40 pitches. He was through six on 58; and after issuing a one-out walk to Pete Stanicek in the seventh, got Ripken to promptly line into a double play to retire the side having thrown only 70 pitches.

It took eight pitches for Stieb to get through the eighth, at which point he had faced 24 batters. Three pitches into the ninth he was, once again, one out away. Four pitches later he was, once again, one strike away. Pinch hitter Jim Traber hit a ball even more softly (if that is possible) than Julio Franco had the week before. This time it was a blooper over the head of first baseman Fred McGriff. When the ball landed harmlessly inside the right-field foul line, all Stieb could do was roll his head around in despair. But Dave was able to keep his composure and get Orsulak to ground out to third to end the 4-0 Blue Jay victory.

Game #4: August 4, 1989 vs. the Yankees

Stieb started his 23rd game of the 1989 season against the Yankees with a 10-6 record and a 4.11 ERA. He had a season-high eight Ks on April 21 against the Rangers, and hadn’t had more than five (twice) the rest of the year. He had walked at least one batter in each of his starts in ‘89. And yet, on this night in Ontario, through 8-2/3, after facing the minimum 26 batters, he had recorded 11 strikeouts and yielded nary a walk, tossing only 82 pitches. Stieb was, once again, one out away. But after falling behind 2-0 to Roberto Kelly, he gave up a solid double down the left-field line. It just was not meant to be, and my guess is that Stieb was beginning to wonder if it was ever meant to be.

But just like in the game against the Indians, Stieb didn’t have time to bemoan his fate, as Steve Sax came to the plate representing the tying run. Yet unlike his previous outings, Stieb allowed the moment to get the best of him, giving up a single to Sax to make it a one-run game. But the Yankees’ comeback was quickly quashed three pitches later. Stieb got the win, but lost the perfect game, lost the no-hitter, and lost the shutout in the space of three pitches.

Game #5: September 2, 1990 vs. the Indians (again)

When Dave Stieb found himself back on the mound in Cleveland the first weekend of September two years after the fact, he was having the best season of his career. By that point he was 16-5 with a 3.07 ERA. He had gone at least six innings on all but three of his 26 starts and had only surrendered nine home runs pitching in the AL East during the steroid era.

The afternoon started inauspiciously, as Stieb walked Alex Cole to start the game. Cole was promptly cut down trying to steal second, and Stieb finished off Jerry Browne and Dion James to end the first.

Stieb walked Carlos Baerga with two outs in the second, but he too was caught stealing, to make it (essentially) six up, six down.

Stieb then retired the next fifteen batters in a row before walking Ken Phelps on a 3-2 pitch to start the eighth. With 103 pitches thrown, nursing a 2-0 lead, and the 5-6-7 batters coming to the plate, Cito Gaston elected to keep Stieb on the hill. Three deep fly balls later from Brook Jacoby, Baerga, and Cory Snyder ended the frame.

And so here he was…again. For the fifth time in five years, for the fourth time in two years, where it all began at Cleveland Stadium (commonly known as Municipal Stadium), Stieb was three outs away. After Chris James flew out to deep left-center and Candy Maldonado struck out swinging, Stieb was, once again, one out away. It is impossible to know what was going through Stieb’s mind as he toed the rubber to face Alex Cole (who, remember, led off the game with a walk), but it is fair to think that he momentarily lost focus, as he walked Cole on four pitches. Stieb locked in on Jerry Browne, allowing Cole to take second on defensive indifference. Fortunately, Stieb never got himself to one strike away. On a 1-1 pitch, Browne lined out to right sealing the 2-0 win; but, more importantly, ending Dave Stieb’s five-year no-hit odyssey. He had finally climbed the mountain and stood, exultantly, with his first (and ultimately only) career no-hitter.

We often talk about athletes overcoming adversity to achieve greatness. But this type of adversity is of an individual nature. Stieb – and the Blue Jays – won all four of the previous no-hit bids. The accomplishment of throwing a no-hitter had nothing to do with his team’s success, but only with slaying the demons that had thwarted him time and again. It takes great mental fortitude to deal with “failure” (such as it was) and to get back on that mound and do it over and over again. With those five games, culminating with a much-deserved no-no on September 2, 1990, Dave Stieb cemented himself in the hearts and minds of baseball fans everywhere.

PLAY BALL!!

Take the Money and Run

If you follow baseball at all – and if you are reading this newsletter, it’s a good bet that you do – you have seen the start of the cold-stove season bloodletting. Jay Jaffe of FanGraphs and Ben Lindbergh of The Ringer have already written about it, as have countless other baseball scribes.

When you look at the sheer number of options that were not picked up (only 4 of 28 of >$5M, and only 2 of 12 of <$5M) and the limited number of qualifying offers proffered (only 6, the lowest amount ever), you get that feeling in your belly. And that is before we learn how many arbitration-eligible players will simply be non-tendered, with Kris Bryant being potentially the biggest fish in what may become a great lake of free agents-who-didn’t-expect-to-be.

Hell, not only did the Indians decline to pick up Brad Hand’s $10M option, they put him on waivers in the hope that someone else would sign him, allowing them to avoid their $1M buy-out – and no one claimed him. Things are not looking good for players this off-season.

But, as I wrote during the Covid-related CBA squabble last spring, I am keeping an eye out for the 2022 season as well. With that on the horizon, my suggestion to any free agent and/or any arbitration-eligible player, is the following: sign the first contract they put in front of you. Bring a pen to any meeting you have with the front office; check to make sure they spelled your name correctly; and then find the dotted line toot sweet. Here is why:

As Patrick Ewing once famously said about professional athletes: “[We] make a lot of money, but we spend a lot too.” But the truth is that the making side of that ledger has become and will continue to be increasingly difficult. As we all know, players only earned 37 per cent of their annual contract amount for the 2020 season. We have no idea what 2021 will look like, but there is definitely reason to believe that MLB may again play less than 162 games, and most likely in less-than-packed ballparks. So that means that the owners will be looking to reduce salaries yet again. It is hard to calculate what that will mean, but it could result in having players’ salaries reduced by up to 50 per cent for 2021.

Which brings us to the 2022 season –- if it happens. Long before the world had ever heard the phrase “novel coronavirus,” there was talk of a potential lockout after the current CBA expires in December 2021. The players and owners have not been on the best of terms for quite some time, and after Michael Weiner passed away and Rob Manfred was elevated from chief labor negotiator to commissioner, things have only gotten worse. Throw in a global pandemic, a massive recession, a shortened season with no fans (save for limited capacities during the NLCS and the World Series), and the rancorous negotiations just to get us this far, and we are primed for players to find the gates locked when they arrive at Spring Training a year from February.

This is all conjecture, and there is no way to know if there will be a lockout or if there is, how long it will last. But, operating on the reasonable assumption that labor strife is in the offing, you certainly expect that players who earned 37 cents on the dollar in 2020 will most likely take some form of haircut in 2021 and may earn even less in 2022.

That may be due to a shortened season (after a prolonged work stoppage) or owners demanding more concessions after two seasons of reduced operating revenues. It could be because television revenues are down, or that the price of consolidating the minor leagues under the MLB umbrella was more costly than expected. However you slice it, the 2022 season could be the third year in a row for reduced player salaries.

And that only accounts for the players who have guaranteed contracts. If you think the current hot stove is going to be chilly, wait ‘til you see the 2021-22 version. In November of next year, teams won’t have any idea what the 2022 season will look like, so they will have a devil of a time setting a budget. Fewer qualifying offers will be extended, fewer options will be picked-up, fewer free agents will be signed. And once (if ever) that all gets cleared up, it stands to be another buyer’s market, with players taking dimes on the dollar to play professional baseball.

Let’s say you are Kiké Hernández. You were supposed to make $5.9M in this, your walk year, but due to the pandemic, you took home less than $2.2M. The Dodgers, for obvious reasons, did not extend Kiké a qualifying offer, and he is now a free agent. In a pre-Covid world, a player of his skills may have expected something like $5-$10M/year on a multi-year deal. But here is a brief list of players on the market in the same (relative) category as the Banana Man: Tommy La Stella, Kolten Wong, Brad Miller, Jurickson Profar, César Hernández, Jonathan Villar, Jonathan Schoop, Brock Holt, Ha-Seong Kim, and Dee Strange-Gordon. That is a lot of options to choose from – and this list specifically excludes DJ LeMahieu, Didi Gregorius, Justin Turner, and Marcus Semien, all of whom stand to get contracts regardless of who else is available.

So back to Kiké. He made $3.7M less than expected in 2020. His career earnings are $8.6M. Let’s say the Royals offer him a 2/$8M deal. Under normal circumstances, he would reject the offer and wait it out. He might look for a higher AAV or just a better one-year deal. But the problem is, he has no idea what 2021 or 2022 will look like. So rather than taking a “pillow contract” (which, truthfully, would be pretty lumpy for someone of Hernández’s stature), he needs to get multiple years, even if the AAV is low. Again, under normal circumstances, a player of Kike’s unique IF/OF skills, his ability to crush left-handed pitching, his post-season experience, including a two huge home runs in the most recent NLCS, might be able to do better. But he lost 63 per cent of his salary last season, and if he holds out for more this year, teams will easily and gladly move on to one of the other names listed above, or someone from their farm system (see, Witt, Bobby, Jr.) whom they can play on a split contract and save millions. And all of that is before we get to 2022.

Come next off-season, there will be even more available players –- some of the names we already know who didn’t get signed or took one-year deals; free agents; non-tenders; prospects rising through the ranks. But having a multi-year, locking in the guarantee of a few million bucks –- which may (again) be prorated in 2021 and/or 2022 if either season is truncated -– is considerably better than hocking your wares (again) in another crowded market.

Current free agents may think a better deal is out there –- that Steve Cohen will become their personal benefactor –- and will play the odds. But the market stands to be slow and choppy, and at some point the money music will stop, and many players –- whose agents led them astray –- will find that there are simply not enough chairs. And that will have a lasting impact on both 2021 and 2022.

So, as I stated above, bring a Mont Blanc, a Bic, or even a Sharpie to your next meeting with the front office, and just sign whatever they put on the table. Two years from now, you –- and your accountant –- will be glad you did!

PLAY BALL!!

Note: This article first appeared in the IBWAA Here’s The Pitch Newsletter.

Enough Already About the Mookie Betts Trade

After stealing second, stealing third, and then diving around a sweeping tag to score in the 5th inning of Game 1 of the World Series, my son asked me: “Are you still mad that the Red Sox traded Mookie?”

My response, which has not changed since the rumors began last off-season: “I was never mad that they traded him. I thought it was the right thing to do.” I went on to lament that I am sick of hearing Bill Simmons cry that they traded the best Red Sox player of his lifetime, or how the team will regret making the deal, or what a stupid decision it was, or how Boston fans must enjoy wearing their “payroll flexibility” jerseys around the North End. Enough already!

On the eve of the season I wrote the following about the trade:

But the fact of the matter is that Boston could never “force” Mookie to sign a deal – a concept that keeps getting lost in the haze of vitriol. The team offered him at least $300M and he didn’t even counter – he was quite clear that he wanted to test free agency. Maybe he didn’t want to finish his career on the east coast and wanted to go somewhere warmer; maybe the pandemic changed his point of view and he felt like it was a bad idea to go into the market after an abbreviated season; maybe he just so loved it in L.A. that he couldn’t imagine playing anywhere else. We may never know why he chose to sign, but sign he did. And kudos should be given to Andrew Friedman and the Dodgers ownership, not criticism of their counterparts in the Back Bay.

And this week NBC Sports reported that the Red Sox actually offered Betts what he wanted, but he turned it down. That story has not been verified, but it jibes with Buster Olney’s reporting over the winter and into Spring Training that Mookie wanted to test the free agent market, and that he was under tremendous pressure from the MLBPA to get the best/highest deal possible to lift all other boats. One thing we do know for sure: Boston offered Betts at least 10/$300M to finish his career with the club, and he didn’t even respond. So, sure, go on with how the Red Sox could have resigned Betts if only they wanted to, if only they weren’t too cheap.

Fast forward to the 2020 playoffs, and Mookie is doing EVERYTHING. He is hitting and robbing home runs, he is making shoestring catches and stealing bases. Hell, he is responsible for delivering tacos to an entire country. CC Sabathia and Joe Posnanski (he of the Top 100 Players of All-Time List) proclaimed that Betts is now the best player in the game; and Joe Buck and John Smoltz are taking turns delivering Mookie hosannas every other inning. And they are all deserved – Betts is that good.

In 2020, Mookie turned in a 3.4 bWAR season, which, when extrapolated over a full 162 games, would/could have been his third best season in his short career. But if he had done that next to the Pesky Pole this year, the Red Sox arguably would have still only won 27 or 28 games and still would have missed the playoffs. And once you account for Alex Verdugo’s 1.9 bWAR as a steady if considerably less flashy or beloved replacement, the net loss was a total of 1½ wins. Instead of losing Betts to free agency and getting a supplemental draft pick, the Red Sox have Verdugo under team control for four more years, and have Jeter Downs and Connor Wong waiting in the minors.

“But wait,” Red Sox critics will say, “Boston could have still held on to Betts.” The haters point to the fact that Betts signed an 12/$365M extension with the Dodgers as ample evidence that the BoSox could have done the same. But that omits a few glaring details that no one – not writers, not radio callers, not broadcasters, not the “Boston Sports Guy” – ever seem to mention:

  • First, as stated above, Betts plan all along had been to hit the open market.
  • Second, the Dodgers organization is in a much better position – organizationally and financially – to compete now and into the future. Had Betts signed an extension with Boston on the same day that he signed his extension with the Dodgers, he would have known the following: (1) the team’s best pitcher would be out for at least twelve months, and most likely longer; (2) their second best pitcher was out indefinitely (due to Covid); (3) their second best hitter had opt-outs in his contract at the end of each of the 2020 and 2021 seasons; (4) one of his best friends on the team was about to become a free agent with only a small chance of being retained; and (5) only five teams had a worse farm system than the team he just resigned with (according to MLB Pipeline 2020 rankings).
  • Third, and most importantly, after the trade we all collectively faced a global pandemic. Much has been written (including by me) about the financial hit that MLB teams took having a shortened season with no fans in attendance. It is well beyond the conventional wisdom that this year’s free agent market is going to be a blood bath. Where Betts may have been thinking 10/$400-$420M, and thus looked at the Red Sox $300M offer as at least nine-figures too low, once the pandemic hit, everyone – including the (second) best player in the sport – had to downgrade their expectations.

Maybe the Red Sox – with their analytic gurus – could have anticipated Covid-19, and the long, hard CBA negotiations to get the players on the field, and the resulting 60-game schedule, and the lack of fans in the stands. And maybe they could have analyzed the massive impact that all of that would have on society at large and on baseball writ small, and been prescient about the upcoming off-season, and determined, with all of that information, how to discount Mookie’s expectations by just the right amount. And then Mookie would had to have bought into such a flight of fancy – he would have to have believed that Chaim Bloom was a soothsayer and knew more than the President of the United States, the CDC, the WHO, and Anthony Fauci – and said to himself: If what you say about a once-in-century plague is true, it is probably safest for me just to stay here in Boston. That whole scenario is and was a fairy tale.

When the Red Sox traded Mookie in early February, they were staring down the barrel of: a 162-game schedule; improved Yankees and Rays clubs (which proved to be exactly right); a middling season with holes in their rotation, their bullpen, and the right side of their infield; a low-ranked farm system; and another season over the CBT.

If the NBC Sports story is correct, there was nothing more the Red Sox could have done to keep Betts. But, if we assume the story is wrong, we can only speculate how Mookie would have reacted to a “Godfather” offer. My guess is that he would have shopped it to see if the bottomless-resourced Dodgers, or the newly-ownered Mets, or the another World Series season-less Yankees, or the nearly-made-it Braves, or the rebuilding Giants, or the brand new-ballparked Rangers, or the have-to-win eventually Phillies, or the we must get Trout to the playoff Angels, would have been willing to match whatever the Red Sox put on the table. And my hunch is that one of those teams – probably the Dodgers – with more resources and better short and long term prospects would have done so.

And if that had happened – if the Red Sox played the season with a lame duck star – they would have won about 27 games, missed the playoffs, and have no right fielder for next season. They would have an additional draft pick after the fourth round in 2021; so they would have that going for them…which isn’t so nice. Instead, they had a wasted season (which would have happened either way), found a potential new quasi-star in Verdugo, have an infield prospect who could make some noise in Spring Training next year, have a catching prospect that may make Christian Vasquez expendable in a year or two, and have reset their luxury tax.

So, again, go on with your howls about the Red Sox being cheap, or stupid, or short-sighted. Let’s continue to hear about Babe Ruth and the potential of a second curse. Let’s have another writer/broadcaster/guy at the bar (I know there is no such thing in 2020) tell us how we don’t root for financial flexibility and what is the point of owning a team if you don’t care about winning or having players like Mookie Betts.

The word “fan” is short for “fanatic.” Merriam-Webster defines fanatic as: “marked by excessive enthusiasm and often intense uncritical devotion.” The key word there is “uncritical.” It is easy to get caught up in emotion – especially when Mookie Betts is making a game-saving catch every night, running all over the bases, hugging his teammates and his opponents, and leading his team back to the World Series. But if you step back, just for a moment, and stop being a fan, stop being uncritical, and use reason, logic, and sound judgement, you are left with no alternative other than the Red Sox absolutely made the right decision in making the trade.

And that is even before we talk about the extra benefit of dumping David Price and the $96M left on his deal.

Agree or disagree, it’s time to…

PLAY BALL!!

Fan(less)tastic Finishes: What We Will Miss This Post-Season

A few days ago, for the first time this year, my son and I went to Dodger Stadium. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for a game or to ridicule the Astros. It was just to get a Covid test.

I simply cannot remember going this long without watching a baseball game in person (which makes me kick myself for not venturing to Spring Training before everything shut down). But, alas, even though Rob Manfred is opening the gates in Arlington, I would need to buy both plane and playoff tickets in order to attend any baseball games in 2020. At this point I would put the odds at 30/70.

When the season started and certain teams populated their parks with cardboard cut outs, I was immediately on board. Putting aside the fact that a group of comedy friends bought one for the late Brody Stevens so he could posthumously represent the “818” at Dodger Stadium; and putting aside all of the great stories about family members getting to watch another game (or season) with a loved one, having “bodies” in the stands lent some dimension to the viewing experience. Having the “people” there made the ballparks look less empty, less cavernous, less lonely. But, the truth of the matter is that stadiums across the country were lonely this summer (just ask the play-by-play guys who broadcast away games from the press box in their empty parks). And that got me thinking about the impact of having insentient facsimiles rather than living, breathing fans in the stands.

Sam Miller of ESPN recently wrote an incredible article about the actual, real life impact of having patrons at the game, including the extra distance David Freese’s ball may have traveled in the ninth inning of Game 6 of the 2011 World Series due to the ambient heat of 43,000 fans. But I have a different angle: would the moments that we so cherish have the same resonance if they happened in sterile ballparks rather than ones foaming with fanatics?

Sure Willie Mays’ catch in the 1954 World Series is an all-timer, but few of us actually saw it happen live. Is part of that memory more endurable because the camera caught a shot of these guys:

Imagine if Kirk Gibson hit his home run in the 1988 World Series into a poster board rather than a screaming hoard of Dodger bleacher bums? Go back and re-watch the full the nine-minute video and try to imagine the entire at bat happening in silence. But more than that, would this be the top-rated moment in Los Angeles sports history if Vin Scully didn’t turn off his mic for an astounding, stupefying, glorious 68 seconds (start at the 6:47 mark) and allow the roar of the crowd to carry Gibby and us – viewing at home – around the bases and back home again?

Piggy-backing on Sam Miller’s article, does anyone honestly believe that the 55,000 screaming patrons in Shea Stadium on the night of October 25, 1986, didn’t have any effect on Calvin Schiraldi? Do we think that Bob Stanley wasn’t at least a little rattled by the cacophony in Queens? Does Rich Gedman get crossed up on mediocre fastball if the park was so quiet that the players could hear Jason Gay pecking away on his laptop? (Ed. Note: Jason Gay was 16 in 1986, and most likely wouldn’t have had one of the first mass-market laptops, but you get the point.)

Is our memory of #755 made more indelible by the image of two white men chasing down a black man as he rounds second base after receiving too many death threats to count, after being provided FBI protection for him and his children, after breaking the most hallowed record in the game? Those two fans added to the relief then anxiety and then relief again of the moment. Not true if that had happened in an empty Fulton County Stadium.

Reasonable minds might differ about the distance of Jose Bautista’s bat flip/throw in the 2015 playoffs. But at least part of his reaction had to be attributable to the nearly 50,000 Fosters-induced Canadians losing their minds on contact. Bautista may have been fired up in a desolate Rogers Centre, but certainly not *that* fired up. That said, Fernando Tatís, Jr. did a pretty fair impersonation last night in an empty Petco Park, so who knows?

In the aforementioned Miller article, he makes reference to Mariano Rivera throwing over to first base only three times in Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS; and how, with no fans in attendance, pitchers are now more willing to throw over four times or more. Did New Englander’s lusty boos keep Rivera from doing so, as Sam posits? Did the energy of the crowd give Dave Roberts that tiny extra bit of adrenaline to beat a ridiculous pop time and throw from Jorge Posada to keep an 86-year curse at bay by a fingernail? Could the players have pulled that same rabbit out of their hats in a silent Fenway Park at 1:22am and then again less than 22 hours later? This lifelong BoSox fan is dubious. Would Mark Bellhorn’s dinger in Game 6 even have been reviewed if it hit off a cut-out rather than a lurching fan? Is a huge chunk of our collective memories of those final four games enhanced because of the insanity of the Fenway faithful and the silence of the Bronx zoo (especially after Johnny Damon’s grand slam in Game 7)?

Did the sight of 55,000 white “Homer Hankies” flying around under the white roof of the Metrodome have any impact on our memories of the 1987 and 1991 Twins? Do the fans behind the outfield glass make Kirby Puckett’s Game 6 catch any more of a Web Gem?

And no list of this sort would be complete without asking about an eighth inning foul ball in Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS. With no fans in attendance, we would be able to answer the to-date unanswerable question of whether or not Moises Alou would have caught Luis Castillo’s pop fly. But assuming he couldn’t (some might say that is a fair assumption), our memory of that game, and the ensuing collapse (looking at you, Alex Gonzalez), and the following twelve years of futility, are forever altered by the fact that there were fans in the Friendly Confines on the night of my 31st birthday.

This recitation could go on and on (and I am sure you all are thinking of a few moments right now), but it will not for 2020. Regardless of how many people Manfred allows into the giant Costco that is Globe Life Field (it looks like it will be 11,500), it will not be comparable to having rabid fans rooting on their hometown team in the late innings on a cold October night. It will be antiseptic, it will be hollow, and it just won’t be the same. And, potentially, neither will the outcomes.

And yet, we will still watch.

PLAY BALL!!

The Unknown Impact

When I was about six years old, as a favor to my father’s cousin, Doug DeCinces brought me (and my dad) onto the field at the “Big-A” before a game. He introduced us to Jimmy Reese and Rod Carew, and let us step into the dugout. When it was over, I am pretty sure I floated back to my seat in the grandstand. More than four decades on, I still remember that day.

When Tom Seaver died this past week, the result of Lewy body dementia and Covid-19, the collective baseball community opened its nostalgia vein and bled all things “Tom Terrific.” So many great stories were written about Seaver not making the varsity team until his senior year of high school; his brief enrollment in the Marines before a late growth spurt; his time at USC and his then-voided draft by the Braves in 1966; and, of course, the serendipity of the Mets winning a mini-lottery and landing “The Franchise.” There was no shortage of tales about Seaver’s brilliance on the mound, and the lives he touched off of it.

In the midst of the Seaver hagiography, a buddy sent me an essay written by Josh Wilker of Cardboard Gods. It tells the story of an 18-year old Josh hitchhiking his way to Fenway Park in 1986 to watch Seaver pitch for the Red Sox. I won’t step on the article – it is well worth your read – but suffice it to say that watching a future Hall of Famer on the mound that day had a lasting impact on Josh’s life.

Reading Wilker’s story got me thinking about the relationship between athletes and us mere mortals, and the asymmetricality [Ed. Note: I know it is not a word.] of that bond. Performers perform, they do their job, and unbeknownst to them, our lives are oftentimes changed.

Athletes put on their uniform, take the field, and earn their pay. They have no idea the effect that that performance, on that one day, in that one game, has on the people in the stands. And I am not talking about Reggie Jackson or Kirk Gibson, Don Larsen or either “Game Six.” I am not talking about the games wherein the announcer states “35,000 in attendance but millions will claim to have been here.” I am talking about quotidian instances when a first baseman tosses a ball to a boy in the stands; or when a utility player gives his broken bat to a little girl; or when one man stepping on the mound fulfills a kid’s dream of witnessing that player pitch in person.

This phenomenon can happen in any sport, or any form of performance (see, Hamilton), but the imbalance seems that much more acute in baseball where they take the stage (in non-pandemic seasons) 162 times each year, so no particular game should have any more meaning than another…to the players. But to the fans, to the people who pay their hard-earned money, who surprise their children with tickets, or those who hitchhike from out of town, each game represents an opportunity to have a life impacted in ways one can never anticipate. And it doesn’t just have to happen on the field – it can just easily happen at a card signing or a chance encounter in the grocery store.

This concept begets a little chicken and egg dilemma. Do these encounters affect us because we hold athletes in such a high regard, or do we hold these athletes in such high regard because of the effect of our encounters? I, for one, am not philosophically adroit enough to answer that question. But I do know the impact is real. Any of us who have been fans for any period of time can think back to a specific moment and remember with perfect clarity what a player did or said that one time. These earworms are permanently embedded, but accessible enough to become stories told over and over, often to bored and weary friends and relatives.

But that begs a larger question – does this happen in our everyday life, outside the theater or the stadium? Is it possible that as we go about our lives, we are the players and the people with whom we interact are the fans? Maybe you gave up your seat on the subway to a pregnant woman, and she carries that act of chivalry with her forevermore. Maybe you allowed a driver to get ahead of you in traffic, and that allowed him to make the light and get to his kid’s game moments before he hit his first home run. That man will always hold the guy in the silver Civic in high regard. And the Civic driver – like Tom Seaver in Wilker’s story or Doug DeCinces in mine – is none the wiser. Maybe you passed along your friend’s kid’s resume to HR with a short note, and thus began a long and illustrious career. This concept could, conceivably, apply to everyone, everyday. It just may be that it is heightened when the do-gooder plays on a field in front of 40,000 fans.

People spoke of Seaver’s passing as if they lost a family member. And what a wonderful testament to a life lived – that a man who you didn’t know could impact your life in such a profound way that his death feels like losing one of your own. But Seaver didn’t know any of that. He went about his day, he did his job (better than maybe five or ten other people in the history of the game), and then behaved admirably off the diamond. He didn’t know whose life he affected, whose life he changed, whose earworm he created.

Bill Simmons is one of the most well-known sports journalists in the world, he calls any number of coaches and players good friends, he runs a media empire and can get anyone on the phone at nearly any time (including President Obama). And yet, even he has a Tom Seaver earworm. He reflects with great revelry the time he stood in a makeshift batter’s box while Seaver played catch with Bill’s buddy, Gus. Bill has traveled the world and seen every form of competition up close; he has hosted thousands of podcasts; he has written two books and millions of column words. And yet, nearly forty years after the fact, he can still describe, with precision, standing in his friend’s front yard when Tom Terrific buzzed him with a curveball. If you had asked Seaver about that day prior to his death, I feel fairly certain he would have had no recollection. But, no matter, Simmons does. And there are any number of stories just like that; when a performer did something or said something that impacted our lives – maybe not permanently, maybe not even significantly – but impacted us nonetheless.

These stories represent an important life lesson – our actions have reverberations well beyond our vision. The next time we pass a homeless man begging on the street or a kid selling chocolate bars or someone asks for a letter of recommendation, think about the impact that our response might have; consider those who may always remember a small word or deed, a simple act of kindness, something that we will forget in a day’s time, but they will keep with them forever. Tom Seaver did that for a generation of Mets fans; and so too have athletes, actors, and performers all across the world for their fans. We would be wise to follow their lead.

PLAY BALL!!

The Baseball Gods

Every season, it seems, for one reason or another, we are thrown into the abyss of the “unwritten rules.” The list is long, if not readily understood. There are the age-old tropes of the “right way to play” and “that’s not how it is done” and “everyone knows not to do that.” And even with those, we learned a new one this week – one with obvious racial undertones – by Rangers manager Chris Woodward when discussing not swinging on a 3-0 pitch up by seven runs:

“It’s kind of the way we were all raised in the game [emphasis added].”

There has been much written about Fernando Tatís, about his exuberance, and that of fellow Latin players. There has been gallons of ink spilt about new school vs. old school, about “letting the kids play,” about stodgy standard-bearers, and the aforementioned “unwritten rules.” There is no need to rehash the same here.

But what struck me this week was the beauty of the Baseball Gods (capitalized out of reverence). Don’t believe in them? Live as a Red Sox fan until mid-October, 2004; or as a Cubs fan until the rain started to fall in Cleveland on November 2, 2016; ask an announcer about mentioning the number of base hits allowed when a pitcher is pulling his car up for his date with destiny; or just ask any Astro about the status of their pitching staff this season. Or read either of these books.

The Baseball Gods struck back this week in ways only they know how.

On Wednesday, I had the following text exchange with my brother-in-law about the aforementioned Tatís brouhaha:

Him: Our house is buzzing with Tatís talk. We don’t get all the hoopla because in MLB people come back from 7 run leads and it’s on the pitcher to not give him that pitch.

Me: 7 runs in that bandbox is not insurmountable…

We discussed more, like Chase Tingler’s poor handling of the matter, and how Tatís should be more accountable if he missed a sign, but you get the essence.

And here is where the Baseball Gods decided to show up and flex all their celestial might: On Thursday, just about twenty-fours after the above back-and-forth, the Phillies put up seven runs on the Blue Jays in the first inning. Now, granted, a seven-run lead after half an inning is different than a seven-run lead after seven; and, granted, Sahlen Field is not the new Globe Life Field. Nevertheless, the lead is/was the same. The Jays scored two in the bottom of the first; and then – that magic number again – seven in the bottom of the sixth to take a 9-7 lead, ultimately winning 9-8.

No sooner had the baseball purists stepped down from Mt. Pious to say that players should play differently with a seven-run lead did a team come back from that exact deficit. Was the ultimate outcome of that Phillies-Blue Jays game the impetus for Tingler and Chris Woodward to change their respective tunes? Did all-timers like Johnny Bench and Reggie Jackson coming out on Tatís’ behalf change the temperature?

Did the sheer number of think pieces and/or the leveling of Woodward’s hypocrisy make this nothing more than a tempest in a teacup?

Or, did the Baseball Gods strike down once more to remove this silliness from the front pages of sports columns by opening Thom Brennaman’s mic before the second game of the Reds-Royals double-header on Thursday night? The truth is, we will never know.

But, if we learned anything these past few days it is that we doubt the Baseball Gods at our own peril.

PLAY BALL!!

Honor Among Cleves

I spent nearly my first two decades on the planet playing baseball, and nearly the next three observing the game (some might claim too closely). What I learned in that time is that baseball players are a lot of things, they are tough, they are competitive, they are ready to fight, and they have hollow legs when it comes to post-game libations (see, Boggs, Wade). But one thing you don’t hear too often is “principled.” Sure, baseball players abide by the “unwritten rules,” and will willingly throw at a batter’s head if the previous guy pimped a home run (thankfully that practice is employed less and less these days), but they don’t often take a stand. Ask Bruce Maxwell how well kneeling for the national anthem worked out for him.

It is with this as the backdrop that I was shocked, I dare say astonished, to hear what transpired after an Indians’ team meeting late this week. For those you who may have missed the story or don’t know all the details, allow me a small recap:

  • The Indians, like all teams, are governed by the strict MLB rules and regulations regarding Covid protections.
  • The Indians, like some teams, are more acutely aware of the potential impact of violations insofar as one of their star pitchers, Carlos Carrasco, elected to play this season even though he missed most of last year after being diagnosed with leukemia. Carrasco’s doctors warned him against joining the team, but he wanted to help his club win their first World Series since 1948.
  • The Indians, unlike some other teams, have so far managed to avoid the Covid bug, and have played all of their scheduled games to date.
  • The Indians were in Chicago last week to take on the White Sox and then the Cubs. After Saturday’s game, pitchers Zach Plesac and Mike Clevinger went out to dinner with some friends and back to one of the friend’s houses to play cards. In violation of the rules, neither player informed the team he was leaving the hotel. And Plesac was spotted by MLB security arriving back after the 10pm curfew. Clevinger was not sighted, nor was his absence from the team known at the time.
  • After the team learned of Plesac’s malfeasance, they ordered a car service to drive him back to Cleveland, and forced him to quarantine for three days. Clevinger, however, kept his part of the sojourn to himself, and boarded the team flight home. A flight, it should be noted, that also carried Carlos Carrasco and rest of the Indians players and coaching staff.
  • The team ultimately learned of Clevinger’s participation, and sent him home to quarantine as well.

The Indians players – non-Chicago dinner division – were apoplectic. They felt betrayed. They were hurt.

Pitcher Adam Plutko put it bluntly:

“They lied to us. They sat here in front of you guys [the media] and publicly said things that they didn’t follow through on. So those grown-ass men can sit here and tell you guys what happened and tell you guys what they’re going to do to fix it. I don’t need to do that for them.”

All-star shortstop Francisco Lindor was a little more gentle, stating:

“We’re humans, and we make mistakes. We’ve got to be accountable when we make those mistakes, and we’ve got to understand that you can’t put yourself first. In the times we’re in, you cannot put yourself first.”

Here is where the story gets interesting. The team ultimately traveled to Detroit to take on the Tigers. After completing their quarantines, Plesac and Clevinger each loaded up their respective cars and drove to outskirts of the Motor City to meet the team at their hotel. Once there, they pleaded their case, and attempted to fall on their swords.

It bears mentioning here that prior to the trip to Detroit (or possibly on the way) Plesac recorded a six-minute video to Instagram (while driving) wherein he tried to explain his side of the story, intimated that the MLB protocols were confusing and did not match with the CDC, claimed he is a responsible human because his mother is a nurse, and then blamed the entire episode on the media. Here is my favorite nugget:

“The media really is terrible, man. The media is terrible and they do some evil things to create stories and to make things sound better, makes things sound worse. Truthfully, I’m disgusted the way the media has handled this whole situation surrounding our team.”

So, in short, Plesac is a good guy, MLB bolloxed their rule-making, and it’s all the media’s fault. Okay. Got it. Now back to two players driving themselves to Detroit.

At the hotel Plesac and Clevinger spoke with the team and there was a Q&A. They provided their accounts. Now, this is where one would expect that baseball players being baseball players, guys who care about winning first and foremost, guys who overlook their teammate’s transgressions each and every day, guys who know that losing two-fifths of their starting rotation is less than ideal in this 60-game sprint, would, if not forget, at least forgive, and allow the players to rejoin the team. And that is where you would be wrong.

The front office and the coaching staff, after taking the temperature of the players in the room, elected to send the two offending pitchers to the team’s alternative training site in Eastlake, Ohio, where they must remain – by league rules – for at least ten days (unless someone gets injured). They drove three hours with the hope of recovering their dignity and their place in the rotation; they were forced to drive three hours home with their tails between their legs and their reputations in tatters.

I have never been a Cleveland fan. I rooted against them in the 2007 ALCS when they played my Red Sox; I rooted against them in the 2016 World Series against the (There’s Always Next Year) Cubs. But, with this season in shambles for the BoSox, I am pulling for the Indians. I want them to go all the way. I want them celebrating on the mound; I want Tito Francona and this group of players who stood on principle, who stood by one another, and who refused to stand for selfishness and self-importance; I want them to stand at the podium and hoist the Commissioner’s Trophy for the first time in 72 years.

And if, by that time, Plesac and Clevinger have properly repented and re-earned their teammates’ respect and ultimately help the team achieve that goal, then all the better. Go Tribe!

PLAY BALL!!

The $10,000 Fine

About three years ago I wrote an article entitled “The $25,000 Fine,” which dealt with the scourge of batters not running to first on an uncaught third strike. Surprisingly, much of the feedback I received from that missive was negative, as people didn’t seem to care too much about players’ laziness; people did not seem to think that players should be pecuniarily punished for their failures on the field; people didn’t seem to think that publicly shaming athletes for their indolence was good policy. Okay, fine, whatever. It was an idea, a lark; it was meant at least 50% tongue-in-cheek.

But my latest concept has much more serious implications – many of which are playing out in real time. In an effort to play the season safely (if that is even possible), MLB and the MLBPA developed what is called the 2020 Operations Manual, a 101-page document detailing the league’s health and safety protocols. The sheer volume of this document is staggering, and covers nearly every eventuality you could imagine – except, of course, what to do if four players on one team test positive before a Sunday afternoon game. But I digress.

There is no need to delve too deeply into the inch-thick document, but suffice it to say that it was well thought out and intended to keep the players as safe as possible. For our purposes, however, it is important to highlight just a few of the provisions:

• The only contact allowed on the field are tag plays and other incidental contact that occur during normal play.

• Players, coaches, and trainers are required to wear face coverings everywhere except the field.

• High fives, fist bumps, and hugs are prohibited.

• Dugout seating requires at least six feet between each player.

• Players and staff are required to put a personal towel over the dugout railing when leaning over the same.

• A ball will be thrown away after it is touched by multiple players, and throwing the ball around the infield is discouraged.

• First- and third-base coaches are not to approach baserunners or umpires, and players should not socialize with opponents.

I have pointed out these specific rules because after having watched baseball for six days, it seems that all of them are being broken…with impunity. And, in Houston last night, the Dodgers and Astros came dangerously close to breaching the “fighting will be met with severe discipline” edict (I guess severe discipline can be assessed for not fighting as well, as Joe Kelly, Dave Roberts, and Dusty Baker learned this afternoon).

What don’t the players and coaches understand about the global pandemic? Maybe some of them believe it is just a hoax. Maybe some of them believe – like the recently diagnosed Congressman, Louie Gohmert – that wearing a mask can actually give you coronavirus? Maybe some of them believe that the rules don’t apply to them, or that they are impervious to a disease that does not discriminate based on age, gender, or profession.

But if what happened with the Miami Marlins this week is not enough to scare players straight, I have an additional incentive. The players were informed of the litany of rules in late June, before they embarked upon Summer Camp. They have lived with the protocols for more than four weeks. If they don’t know or understand them by now, and if they don’t appreciate the gravity of adhering to them by now, they never will. So let’s put some money where their mask is supposed to be. Each player is given a mulligan for everything that has transpired to date – and that includes the Marlins players who (allegedly) went out on the town in Atlanta and were the architects of their own demise – and they are, as of today, given one additional warning for infractions. It is useful to note that while the league cannot track everything personnel does (especially away from the ballpark), a violation of any of the rules listed above can be seen on television every night. One need not contact trace to find an infringer; one just needs to log in to MLB.TV. After the warning, each player is fined $5,000 for each violation, and the team is punished in an equal amount. If Don Mattingly keeps his mask under his nose while in the dugout, $5,000 for him + $5,000 for the Marlins. If the Athletics jump on Matt Olson after a walk-off homerun (all but two without masks, natch), $5,000/each + $55,000 for the team (Olson does not get fined). All proceeds go to Black Lives Matters or other charities dealing with social justice issues.

Unlike the $25,000 fine I previously wrote about, there would be no announcement or public shaming aspect. Just cold hard cash. Players walk into the clubhouse the next day to find a bill from the league. Despite Charles Barkley’s protestations to the contrary, athletes are role models. And although it seems that more and more people are getting behind the idea of masks being incredibly helpful in curbing the spread of this disease (including, ever-so-gingerly, the Commander-in-Chief), and that social distancing is vital to keeping the disease at bay, you can turn on your television every night and see well-known athletes not abiding by these nearly-universally accepted concepts and not obeying their specific rules. What does that say to the general public?

And even if this is not about setting an example for society at large, what about the non-athletes these players encounter every day? It was reported today that a visiting clubhouse staffer in Philadelphia tested positive after the Marlins were in town. That guy doesn’t make millions of dollars per year; my guess is he doesn’t make six figures. And yet the players, so cavalier in their approach to the protocols, have put his life in danger. If the risk to the season isn’t enough; if care for your fellow man isn’t enough; if being a role model for kids and adults isn’t enough; then maybe taking a hit to their wallet will be. And you can be sure that if the owners, who fought and scratched to make the best financial deal possible for this abbreviated season, are forced to scratch a check every night for their team’s failures, they will be demanding that their manager starts running a tighter ship. There simply may not be any other way.

Here’s to hoping that everyone stays (and/or gets) healthy and that we continue to hear this every day from now through October:

PLAY BALL!!

 

 

A Good Reason to Sign Betts

The Los Angeles Dodgers just signed Mookie Betts to the largest contract in the team’s history. Depending on how you calculate the money and the years, and the reduction due to a shortened 2020 season, it is either worth more or less than the deals given to Mike Trout and Gerrit Cole. But where the deal ranks all-time is somewhat irrelevant. It is a monster contact, and one Mookie richly deserves as the consensus second best player in the game.

With the deal now done, the Red Sox are getting raked over the coals for not signing Betts to a similar contract. The argument being that the Boston ownership, which owns a regional sports network, Liverpool FC, and a racing team, could afford – competitive balance tax or not – to pay Betts whatever he is worth, plus 10%.

But the fact of the matter is that Boston could never “force” Mookie to sign a deal – a concept that keeps getting lost in the haze of vitriol. The team offered him at least $300M and he didn’t even counter – he was quite clear that he wanted to test free agency. Maybe he didn’t want to finish his career on the east coast and wanted to go somewhere warmer; maybe the pandemic changed his point of view and he felt like it was a bad idea to go into the market after an abbreviated season; maybe he just so loved it in L.A. that he couldn’t imagine playing anywhere else. We may never know why he chose to sign, but sign he did. And kudos should be given to Andrew Friedman and the Dodgers ownership, not criticism of their counterparts in the Back Bay.

The reasons the Dodgers chose to lock Betts up are obvious. He was the 2018 MVP; in six years he has accumulated 41.8 bWAR; has scored at least 100 runs in each of the last four seasons; and has never had an OPS less than .800. Not to mention that he is beloved by his teammates and plays hard every night. But in all of the writing and all the summaries of the deal that I have read, there is one angle I have not yet seen discussed.

When one thinks of the Dodgers, when one looks at their 2019 World Series lineup, when one peruses the official program (do they still have official programs without fans?), this is what one sees:

Clayton Kershaw
Cody Bellinger
Corey Seager
Justin Turner
Walker Buehler
Max Muncy
Chris Taylor
A.J. Pollock
Joc Pederson

What do all of these players have in common? In 2020, after the death of George Floyd, after the death of Ahmaud Arbery, after the death of Breonna Taylor, after the nationwide unrest and the Black Lives Matter marches and rallies, the Dodgers – playing in one of the most racially and ethnically diverse cities in the world – were an incredibly white group.

It is not every day that a team has the opportunity to sign one of the best players in the game. And when that team essentially has unlimited money, and that team has won seven straight division titles, but has lost two of the last three World Series, and that team hasn’t won a World Series in more than three decades, then you throw whatever you can to get that player. And so the Dodgers did.

But, I believe it would be naïve to think that Mookie being Black didn’t factor into their rationale, even just a little bit. He is a five-tool star. He is a pillar of the community. He is a player you want in your organization for the next baker’s dozen years. But his being Black, on a team with only two other Black players on its Opening Day roster, on a team without a marquee Black player since Matt Kemp roamed the outfield in the prime of his career in 2014 (an argument can be made for Yasiel Puig, but he was a polarizing figure in Los Angeles; and Curtis Granderson in 2017 doesn’t count as “marquee”), certainly helped the cause. This was a signing the Dodgers had to make; it was the right deal on many levels.

Much has been written about how patient Friedman has been; how he never handed out a nine-figure contract; how he was waiting for the one big score. But it is not like he didn’t try. He offered Gerrit Cole $300M; he offered Anthony Rendon more than $200M. He wanted either/both of those guys. And either/both would have made the Dodgers better…and whiter. So, in hindsight, it was a blessing they both chose to pass and sign elsewhere. Having the opportunity to sign Betts may not have been a happy accident, but it was made possible because two white players didn’t become Dodgers.

One has to believe that part of Betts’ $365M (or $375M depending on how you calculate it) contract served a public relations purpose; signing Mookie checked at least two boxes for the organization. I don’t fault them for that, but I also don’t overlook it. In these fraught times, when every corporate decision is viewed through multiple lenses, when companies and teams are working overtime on their DEI initiatives, when how you act is finally becoming a measure of who you are, it is not too far-fetched to believe that at least part of the Dodgers’ calculus in giving Mookie Betts more than a third of a billion dollars was the color of his skin.

And the team and the city (not to mention Mookie) are all the more rich because of that.

It’s Opening Weekend.

PLAY BALL!!

Taking the Low Road

I have been negotiating deals for more than two decades. In fairness, I have never been involved in collective bargaining, nor have I had any multi-billion dollar deals cross my desk. But, there are some principles of negotiation that are applicable to all types of deals – regardless of industry, venue, or value. One of those principles is that the best place to be in any negotiation is on the high road. You may win some and you may lose some, but in the end, you can hold your head high if your side of the street is clean. Muddy the waters, hedge on the truth, or fail to be forthcoming, and you will either cower under a sword of Damocles for the life of the deal, or, in the event of an impasse, you will carry the burden of “what if.” Neither is a great way to go through life; and neither bodes well for a long and/or successful career.

As I watched what I guess can be called a “negotiation” between Major League Baseball and the Major League Baseball Players Association unfold over that past two months, I kept asking myself, “Who is going to take the high road?” I wanted to know which side – press coverage be damned – was going to present an offer or series of offers that would allow them and their constituents to sleep well at night, regardless of the outcome. Well, baseball is starting up again (maybe?), no “deal” was done, and neither side ever even hinted at taking the northern route.

I can understand and appreciate that many of you reading this didn’t follow this as closely as I did; and some of you may be confused by the outcome. So, at the risk of being pedantic, and without stepping on the thousands of fingers that have already written about the current state of the state of baseball, allow for this basic primer.

After spring training shut down and the prospect of an actual season became tenuous, the owners and the players – back in late March – came to an agreement about what to do for the coming season (or, what to do if there was no season). The problem is that once they pulled that contract out of the drawer, they couldn’t agree upon what they had previously agreed upon. That’s an inauspicious place to start. But we do know a few things for sure:

  • The players were provided an advance of $170M against their eventual 2020 salaries, to be divvied up based on service time. If the season didn’t happen (it still may not), this money was the players to keep, no give backs.

 

  • If the 2020 season happens, no matter how many games get played, each player would get credit for a full season of service time. (For the uninitiated, service time affects when a player is eligible for salary arbitration and free agency. This is obviously an important issue.) And if the season is scrapped, players would get the same amount of service time for 2020 as they received for 2019. So, Mookie Betts would still become a free agent next fall as he would get credit for a full season (he played a full season in 2019); and Gavin Lux would only get credit for about 1/7th of the 2020 season, as he only spent about that much time on the Dodgers’ roster in 2019.

 

  • The one issue that you have been reading about ad nauseam is what would happen if the teams played with no fans in the stands. The players believed the March contract was iron clad that they received a pro rata share of their salaries – with or without fans. The owners disagreed, and seized on this language: “[T]he Office of the Commissioner and Players Association will discuss in good faith the economic feasibility of playing games in the absence of spectators or at appropriate substitute neutral sites.” Somehow the players didn’t believe this says what we can all read it says. And this, my friends, was the first time the players could have taken the high road and chose otherwise.

My guess is that the players received some bunk legal advice. I think they were told that it was pro rata no matter what, and then the die was cast. There was no slinking back to the membership to say, “Um, guys, remember what we told you about that pro rata thing? Yeah, well, we forgot about that other provision that mentions economic feasibility and the absence of spectators.” Rather, they charged right ahead and essentially dared the owners to “prove us wrong.”

It seems that the owners must be afraid of heights as well, because they twisted themselves into various Wetzels trying to get out paying the players. First they claimed that pro rata was only if fans were in the stands (not an unfair reading). But then they said they could only play X number of games because they would lose $640,000 for each game played in empty parks. When asked to provide the proof such assertion, they hemmed and they hawed, but they didn’t bring any receipts. Then they dawdled. They fiddled while Rome burned. They took their sweet time responding to the players. And when they did respond, they simply dressed up the same offer in different clothes. When you drilled down on their offers, they presented the players with about $1B in salaries, payable either (a) over 82 games, or (b) over 76 games, or (c) over 60 games, or (d) to be allocated amongst the players based on how much they would otherwise be paid. But it was like a Taco Bell menu each and every time – all of the ingredients were the same, it was just a question of what shape you wanted it delivered. The players rejected each one.

“Wait a minute”, you may be saying. “Didn’t they come to an agreement? And isn’t that why we have an upcoming season?” Unfortunately, they didn’t. One of the provisions of that March agreement allowed the commissioner to set the schedule if no agreement could be reached. And it seems that this was the trump card the owners kept in their back pocket the whole time. If they could just delay the negotiations until only 50-ish games became feasible, they could implement the schedule and save a bunch of dough.

The players knew this; they knew that at the end of the day, they could be “forced” to play. But, they wanted to make sure if that ever happened, they would get their pro rata salaries. So, they continually pushed back against offers that would have actually earned them more money (e.g., 80% for 70 games vs. 100% for 50 games), because they should get “a day’s pay for a day’s work.” At some point in this battle (about two months too late), the owners realized two things: (1) the players were never moving off the pro rata concept (right or wrong, they were willing to die on that hill); and (2) the players were setting the owners up for a grievance.

A quick sidebar about grievances. These are available in labor situations when one side doesn’t believe the other side acted reasonably in a negotiation. They are long and costly. But, by the players estimation, if they could show the owners were being unreasonable, they could win a grievance and extract the value of the difference between the number of games the owners instituted, and what they could prove was a reasonable and feasible number of playable games. The players believe(d) this could be somewhere in the neighborhood of $1 billion. A grievance could and would happen while games are being played, so it would not result in any work stoppage.

Back to our story. Once the owners gave up on trying to reduce salaries below a pro rata share, they offered the players a 60-game schedule, but conditioned on the players waiving their right to file a grievance. The players countered at 70 games with the aforementioned waiver. The owners responded by saying they would not respond. The players then took to press releases and social media to proclaim, “Tell us when and where.” They told the owners to set the schedule and they would be there. So the owners did just that.

Low road, meet the players. The players then started to balk at some of the health and welfare provisions; they started to complain about the number of days in the schedule; they said they couldn’t necessarily be there “when and where” the owners wanted. Ultimately, the owners set a schedule the players would abide by, the health and welfare issues were resolved, and a season was set.

So now we have a season to look forward to. I am not a huge fan of Trevor Bauer – I think he is mercurial, not a great teammate, and oftentimes thinks he is the smartest guy in the room. But, I have to say he nailed it with this tweet:

“So we gave up shares of playoff money, eliminating the qualifying offer for 2021, paycheck advance forgiveness, Covid 19 protections, and protection for non-guaranteed arb contracts for next year in order to hold on to our right to file a grievance…”

As stated above, the grievance may ultimately be worth a lot of money, so waiving that right is a big deal. But, that is a roll of the dice. And it is money that if it comes, won’t come for years. And the players were willing to waive it for just an additional 10 games. So, to preserve their right to file a lawsuit, the players passed on the following (h/t to Jeff Passan), all of which were on the table at one point or another:

  • Expanded post season (from 10 to 16 teams) for 2020 and 2021. This was agreed. It was a done deal. More teams competing (which, over 60 (or 70) games, would have been incredible). More money for more playoff games (see below). Losing this was simply asinine.

 

  • Universal DH for 2020 and 2021. This was agreed. It was a done deal. As it stands, we will have it for 2020, but no guarantee beyond this season. This is an additional roster spot for an aging slugger, or a toolsy fringe prospect who can play various positions allowing a corner outfielder or first baseman to have an occasional day off. Losing this is taking money out of players’ pockets.

 

  • Forgiveness of $33M of the above-referenced $170M advance. This one was not agreed, but seemed playable. And it has real-life implications for certain players. If a player has a guaranteed MLB contract, he received a minimum of $286,500 from the $170M allotment. The players demanded pro rata compensation; and now they are playing 60 games, or 37% of the regular season. Some examples:

A player like Collin McHugh of the Red Sox has a guaranteed contract of $600K, of which he is only entitled to 37%, or $222,000. But he has already been paid $286,500. So, he technically owes the Red Sox $64,500 for the right to play this year. Yes, they figured that out, and he does not have to write a check to the team every two weeks. But save for incentives in his agreement, he will not be paid anything additional for playing in 2020. Cant’ see how that was a win for the players.

But McHugh is relatively rich (he has made about $16M so far). Take the case of Braves prospect Cristian Pache. He is entitled to $46K for a “split” contract (between the majors and the minors). If he doesn’t spend any time in the majors this season, he is entitled to $17K. Per the March deal and the $170M advance, he has already been paid $16,500. There is no minor league season this year, so no minor league salaries. But Cristian won’t go home to become a barista. He most likely will be on the 60-man “taxi squad” that is ready to fill in when a player gets hurt or gets Covid. For that right, for being a professional athlete required to remain in shape, for being ready to play at a moment’s notice and exposing himself to sickness with roommates and in the clubhouse, Mr. Pache will get an additional $500 over the next three months. Yes, that is correct. He will get about $40/week – pre-tax. I am sure Pache could have used some of that $33M in salary forgiveness.

According to Bob Nightengale of the USA Today, 19% of all players will be playing for virtually free this year, earning $25,000 or less since they already received their share of the $170M advance. Doesn’t seem like a good deal.

 

  • The players had asked for a 50/50 split of incremental playoff money. The league offered a flat $50M. They will get neither.

 

  • To protect future free agents in a down economy, the league offered to eliminate direct draft-pick compensation for free agents tagged with qualifying offers. Teams losing a top free agent would get a compensatory draft pick, but the signing team would not be penalized by having to give up a top pick. This would be a boon to the players and an extra incentive (or not a disincentive) for teams to sign a free agent. That proposal, too, went the way of the dodo bird.

 

  • And for the fans, the owners had asked and the players had agreed to additional commitments to wearing microphones on the field and other broadcast enhancements. The players had also offered to hold events such as an off-season All-Star Game or Home Run Derby to generate additional revenue. All gone in a fit of pique.

 

  • If there is one silver lining in all of this, it is that in the player’s final proposal, they offered to allow advertising on jerseys. Thankfully, that also died in their inability to close a deal.

 

Covid-permitting, there will be baseball in 2020. To crib Jayson Stark, ultimately they didn’t drive the bus off the cliff. But neither side passed the driving test. It is easy to stand on the sidelines and judge the parties and their various chess moves; it is much harder to be in the arena. And yet, some decisions seem quite simple on their face.

Joel Sherman, I believe, was the first to posit that the owners could offer pro-rated salaries, with a three-year deferment. Imagine how much more smoothly this could/would have gone if the owners offered that as soon as the players hardened their position with regard to further salary reductions. Sure, the owners didn’t want to take on additional debt in these trying times, but they could have made up the difference by offering smaller contracts and making fewer free agent signings in the future. Three years down the road, they could have been in an even better financial position. And they would have called the players’ bluff. And they could have started down the road to recovery with additional playoffs, and additional television revenue, and advertising on uniforms, and an extra-seasonal All-Star Game and Home Run Derby. And they would have taken the high road which would go a LONG way towards mitigating the risk of a potential $1B grievance award. They did none of that.

The players could have made the same deferment offer. They could have gotten more players, and more games, and more revenues, and more advantageous free agency, and more fun and excitement. They could have positioned the owners to make more money to give them less ability to cry poverty next off-season. And they could have shown strength by wisdom, not intransigence. Going into the 2021-22 labor negotiations, the players will have very little leverage; the game is somewhat damaged; the billionaires have the resources and capital reserves to hang on a whole lot longer than the vast majority of players. The owners’ assets will be there for decades, they have ample time to recoup any losses brought on by a strike or a lockout. But the players have just a few years to make their money, to monetize their asset. Lose (part of) another season to labor strife and the losses will be considerably more than the value of 10 games (which, due to Covid, may never get played).

The players won this battle in the court of public opinion, but they didn’t win anything else. They lost time, they lost money, and they lost the high road and any chance to win the next one. And whether they actually play the 2020 season or not, the next one portends to be a doozy.

July 23…

PLAY BALL!!