Author: Dan Freedman

Dan Freedman is the Executive Vice President of Business & Legal Affairs at Lionsgate Films. This is his unique (?) perspective on baseball, and how the same oftentimes relates to life.

Fighting Over Dollars Doesn’t Make Sense

Money, they say, is the root of all evil. The question is, is it also the root of all stupidity?

On Monday, MLB owners approved a proposal that Commissioner Rob Manfred presented to the MLBPA on Tuesday. There were a bunch of goodies in that proposal, including a potential 82-game schedule beginning in early July; expanding the playoffs to include 14, rather than 10, teams; universal use of a designated hitter in both leagues; playing only in your geographical area (e.g., AL East plays only against the AL East and the NL East); a 30-man roster, with up to 50 players being available. But the biggest item on the list is the one that may derail the whole enchilada: the owners want to put in place a one-season revenue sharing model, wherein the teams and the players would split all revenues on a 50/50 basis.

If you like math, or you want more specific details, I encourage you to read Jeff Passan’s article from Tuesday. Before this proposal even made it to the MLBPA, its president, Tony Clark, shot it down. Here is the quote that is getting a lot of press, and tells you the starting position of the players:

“A system that restricts player pay based on revenues is a salary cap, period. This is not the first salary-cap proposal our union has received. It probably won’t be the last. That the league is trying to take advantage of a global health crisis to get what they’ve failed to achieve in the past — and to anonymously negotiate through the media for the last several days — suggests they know exactly how this will be received. None of this is beneficial to the process of finding a way for us to safely get back on the field and resume the 2020 season — which continues to be our sole focus.”

This does not bode well.

It is necessary – or it certainly will become necessary – to parse Tony’s words to separate the fact from the hyperbole. While it is true that all other sports that have revenue sharing also have a salary cap, that is not necessarily the case here. If a vaccine for Covid-19 were discovered tomorrow, and the season were able to start in 30 days, then based on what the owners have offered, the players could potentially make more than they would under either the current 162-game construct, or the revised version wherein they get a prorated portion of their salary. Now, we all know that a vaccine is not coming that soon, so I have merely presented that as a strawman to thwart Clark’s rhetoric. In short, under this proposal, salaries would technically be capped by the total amount (actually 50% of the total amount) of revenues this season; but it is not, technically, a salary cap. This is because the salaries would be predicated on an unknown number (2020 revenues), and not prior year revenues (as utilized for the NBA and the NFL). But, let’s not get too deep into “Capanomics” here.

The union’s reasoning seems to be: we don’t get an uptick in salaries when the league, on the whole, does better in a given season, so we shouldn’t be penalized when the league, on the whole, does worse in a given season (which, without question, will be the case for 2020). This is a fair point, in a vacuum, but misguided in the current situation and under the current proposal. Again, this is a one-year fix in the face of a worldwide pandemic; not a reworking of the entire collective bargaining agreement. I know, I know, I can already hear the slippery slope arguments.

The better argument is that the player and owners already agreed to a new deal. You may have noticed the words “revised version” a few paragraphs above. Maybe you read right past them; but they are important. Although it may seem like several lifetimes ago, it was less than seven weeks ago that the two sides came to an agreement about salaries for the coming season. Or, at least they thought they did. That deal provided that the players would get $170M to be shared and allocated based on service time, and then those amounts would be applicable against any eventual salary for the season. The deal also provided that the players would get a prorated portion of their contracted salaries depending on the number of games played. So, in the 82-game version, players would get 50.6% of their 2020 contract amount. As far as the players are concerned, this issue was done and settled.

As an attorney, I live in fear that a contract I drafted or negotiated has some ambiguous language or some loophole that is only discovered after-the-fact. If this has ever happened to you, you can feel that pit in your stomach as you read these words. That must be what a bunch of high-priced lawyers in New York must be experiencing right now.

On Page 1 of the March 26th agreement between the players and the owners, the first point of the “Resumption of Play” section states: “[T]he 2020 championship season shall not be commenced unless and until each of the following conditions is satisfied.” It should be noted here that among the conditions is a laundry list of health and safety measures. Neither side was willing to take unnecessary risks just to play baseball; and, at present, none of those terms appear to be at issue.

However, one of the conditions ends with the following words: “[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.” And that is where we find ourselves today – playing games without fans.

You can read that contract language ten times and still not be exactly certain what those words were intended to mean. ESPN sent the language to four attorneys not involved in the negotiation, and they got two in favor of the owners and two in favor of the players. But any posturing about the intent or specificity of that language is irrelevant. If we ever get to a point where we are determining which side has a the “correct” interpretation, the season is lost; and so too may be the sport as we know it.

Gordon Gekko once proclaimed that “Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit.” But, in this particular case, greed may take that evolutionary spirit to its logical conclusion: extinction. There are 30 million people out of work in this country; unemployment is headed towards 20%. More than 85,000 Americans have lost their lives in the last few months alone. No one, and I feel pretty confident in using those particular words, wants to hear that baseball wasn’t played in 2020 because millionaire players (and, yes, I know, not all of them are millionaires) and billionaire owners stood on principle claiming they were “right.”

They are so many smart ways to square this circle – without relying on courts to interpret contract language. There are too many smart people involved in these negotiations to allow it to go that far. The New York Post’s Joel Sherman posited that, as with this upcoming draft, players agree to a base salary for this season, with the remainder deferred and paid over the next two years. This solves the teams’ cash flow issues in what is a $10.7 billion industry. Agree to that concept, and then all you have to argue about is the interest rate.

The owners have stated – without actually opening their books – that if the games are played without fans, they will lose 40% of their revenue, and some teams will lose more than if the entire season is simply canceled. Okay, then open those books. Maybe seeing their actual revenues is worth the financial hit this year, giving the players ample ammunition when they start their collective bargaining after the 2021 season.

If the owners are going to lose 40% (again, for our purposes we will take them at their word), propose to split the baby with the players, and each player takes a 20% reduction in salary. Now we could be getting somewhere. And, in return, each player gets a hotel suite on the road. Or each player is allotted an additional 20% of service time for the upcoming season. Or the players agree to a 25% haircut, but the owners agree that free agency can begin after five years, rather than the current six. Give and take; back and forth. This isn’t hard. But, as we have seen all too often, egos get in the way of practical solutions.

It was heartening that after Tuesday’s meeting with the players, there were no leaks to the press. That is a step in the right direction. This battle cannot be won in public; it can only be lost. And, to be sure, a loss for either side is a loss for both.

On this morning’s Baseball Tonight podcast, Buster Olney said that Rob Manfred and Tony Clark should lock themselves in a conference room and not come out until they have a deal. I couldn’t agree more.

I won’t go as far as Scott Boras or J.B. Pritzker, but we need baseball this summer. We need it for the collective good. We need it for a feel-good distraction. We need it for civic pride. We need it for television content. The coronavirus is an actual life and death situation; baseball negotiations are not.

As Carl Fox says to his son Bud in that same seminal movie, “Money’s only something you need in case you don’t die tomorrow.” In this time of great uncertainty, player and owners would be wise to heed those words.

PLAY BALL!!

Wally’s World

People really seem to be nostalgic these days. As I previously wrote, it could be The Last Dance or it could be being cooped up at home and finally going through those old family photos, or it simply could be that because we have no “present” sports, we need to look to the past. Whatever the reason, it is our current state of mind.

One of my daughters turned fourteen this week, which got me thinking about when I turned fourteen (there is that nostalgia again). The year was 1986, and baseball was great. Now, this article will make no reference to October of that year, nor will it mention a defunct stadium near La Guardia Airport, nor will you read the first name of the Dodgers’ (in theory, anyway) new right fielder. No, this piece will hearken back to the beginning of the season, and a player who captured everyone’s attention – seemingly out of the blue.

After having a break-out winter in Puerto Rico, the California Angels chose Wally Joyner, the fresh-faced kid from BYU, as their starting first baseman over team stalwarts Juan Beniquez, Daryl Sconiers, and “Hall of Famer Rod Carew.” And the rookie did not disappoint.

Many of us can still remember Wally Joyner’s first month in the big leagues. He was – in a word – incredible. Joyner went hitless in his first three Major League at bats before doubling for the first of his 2,060 career hits. And that double got him going. He hit in 20 of his first 25 games, collecting 35 hits, with a slash line of .337/.386/.615 and a 1.001 OPS, to go along with eight homeruns. It is hard to say if that is the best first four weeks of a MLB career, but it is up there.

Joyner’s hot start got him a feature article in the May 26th edition of Sports Illustrated, back when that meant something. By the end of May, Wally had played 48 games, hit 16 dingers, was batting .305, and had an OPS of .928. By the time we reached the All-Star break (where Wally was voted the starter over Don Mattingly and Eddie Murray), he was hitting .313 , with 20 homeruns, 72 RBI, and a .904 OPS. The kid was flying high.

And then the second half of the season happened. Wally hit .257 with only two more round-trippers and a .664 OPS. What was once a lock Rookie of Year season was passed on the outside by Jose Canseco (not the only time steroid use affected a year-end award).

By the end of the season, Canseco had the same slugging percentage as Joyner (.457) and a worse OPS (.775 vs. .805), but he hit 11 more homeruns and drove in 17 more runs. Canseco’s second half fell off as much as Joyner’s, but back in 1986, voters looked at counting stats, and Wally didn’t match up to Jose. Had Wally hit five or six more dingers, or drove in 10 or 15 more runs, there is great chance he walks away with the hardware. But the baseline for his career was set. It would be 14 years before Wally had a season with an OPS+ of less than 101, averaging a 120 OPS+ in that span (i.e., on average, Joyner was 20% better than the typical Major Leaguer for those 14 years).

We all remember that rookie season, and maybe we can still picture him in those Royals or Padres uniforms later on, but I don’t think we accurately recall what a totally consistent player he was for a decade and a half.

Wally finished his career with 11 seasons in which he hit .280 or better; 12 seasons with an OBP above .350; 12 seasons slugging at least .400; and 12 seasons with an OPS of .750 or higher (including eight with an OPS in the .800s). And yet, we remember Canseco’s career more fondly. We think he was the better player because he was a Bash Brother, won a World Series, and went 40/40.

A little thought experiment:

Player A (career): .266/.353/.515/.867; 42.4 bWAR
Player B (career): .289/.362/.440/.802; 35.8 bWAR

One additional fact, Player A played one more season than Player B, which may account for some of that bWAR discrepancy.

You are all smart readers, so by looking at that third column, you know that Canseco is Player A. But Joyner’s career is pretty comparable – on paper. He never dated Madonna or wrote a tell-all book or had a ball bounce off his head for a homerun in Cleveland. His name is Wally for heaven’s sake; he is easy to forget.

But Wally Joyner went about his business each and every day and put up solid Major League numbers. He was a joy to watch. He played the game the right way. He was slick defensively, and had a beautiful lefty stroke. I just wish more people remembered him, his game, and his career. Had he kept up the pace he started with, we would be talking about “Hall of Famer Wally Joyner.” But he wasn’t meant to be a superstar, just a super player. My guess is, at the end of the day, he is perfectly okay with that.

PLAY BALL!!

1982: What a Glorious Year

Sure, “The Last Dance” is on everyone’s lips as it taps our mental keg for nostalgia in this time of nothingness – sports-wise, at least. I watched those two hours last Sunday night, just like six million other people. And I will do the same for the next five weekends.

But what has really tickled my fancy, what has really brought me back to my youth, to the days of boat shoes and non-ironic trucker hats, has been a little gift from FS1. In our time of need – when there is no baseball and no baseball on the immediate horizon – FS1 has filled my Saturday mornings with…

Well, let’s just say: “Hello there everybody, this is Mel Allen.” If you cannot hear those words as you read them, if you cannot hear that theme song behind those words that you hear as you read them, if you do not get a tingle up your spine when you hear that theme song behind those words that you hear as you read them, then to quote Mrs. Landingham, “then, G-d, Jed, I don’t even want to know you.”

In an effort to find a silver lining in this cloud of corona virus, I have discovered watching my childhood unfold on the MLB Network every night and on FS1 every weekend. I am still amazed at what a thrill these are to watch, and how many players I still remember (Lenn Sakata, anyone?). And the beauty of TWIB is that FS1 has neither rhyme nor reason in their airing schedule – they are random shows from random years in the early ‘80s. Last weekend we were treated to an episode from September of 1982. The Brew Crew and the Cards were surging, but so too were the Orioles and the Braves. After the first commercial break – before we got to bloopers and great plays – Mel took us around the league to visit the best rookies of 1982. Oh my! I had long since forgotten – if I ever even knew – the murderers row of players who got their start in the second year of the Reagan Administration.

In case your memory is as foggy as mine, here is a list of the Top 20 from 1982 (ordered by career bWar; with an (*) denoting Rookie of the Year winner):

1. Cal Ripken, Jr.*
2. Wade Boggs
3. Tony Gwynn
4. Ryne Sandberg
5. Brett Butler
6. Frank Viola
7. Gary Gaetti
8. Jesse Barfield
9. Kent Hrbek
10. Chili Davis
11. Willie McGee
12. Von Hayes
13. Mike Moore
14. Dave Henderson
15. Dave Stewart
16. Steve Sax*
17. Johnny Ray (anyone remember JR?)
18. Howard Johnson
19. Tom Brunansky
20. Bud Black

That is a ridiculous group of players, with four Hall of Famers and 94 career All-Star appearances. By way of comparison, here are the three seasons on either side of 1982:

  • 1979: Rickey Henderson (HOF); 41 All-Star appearances
  • 1980: Harold Baines (HOF)?!; 40 All-Star appearances
  • 1981: Tim Raines, Lee Smith (HOF); 51 All-Star appearances
  • 1982: Ripken, Gwynn, Boggs, Sandberg (HOF); 94 All-Star appearances
  • 1983: No HOF; 35 All-Star appearances
  • 1984: Kirby Puckett (in fairness, Roger Clemens was in this class as well); 77 All-Star appearances
  • 1985: No HOF; 26 All-Star appearances

And, oh, by the way, here is a short list of players whom you may remember from 1982 that didn’t make the bWar Top 20:

• Wally Backman (he could have been on the manager list below, but he got fired by the Diamondbacks three days after he was hired due to his failure to disclose a bunch of personal issues (legal, financial, domestic))
• Bob Dernier (only included him on this list because I loved watching him on WGN when I got home from school)
• Jack Perconte (only included him here because I love the “what if” between him and Steve Sax)
• Onix Concepcion (only included because what list isn’t better with Onix Concepcion?)
• Rusty Kuntz (because, why not?)
• Eric Show (only included because he sat down on the rubber after giving up hit #4,192 to Pete Rose)

And here is a list of players who debuted in 1982 who have gone to manage in the big leagues:

• Bud Black (#20 above)
• Bob Brenly
• Terry Francona
• Ron Gardenhire
• Brad Mills
• Ron Roenicke
• Ron Washington

There is really no point of this other then to look back with fondness at Harvey’s Wallbangers and appreciate the greatness that was Darrell Porter, Tommy Herr, and Ken Oberkfell. There will be more This Week in Baseball on FS1 this weekend. It is strong recommendation that you tune in and flash back.

PLAY BALL!!

Is Dave Roberts That Bad?

My dad is in good company. Although he LOVES Dave Roberts for that certain stolen base in Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS, he DESPISES Dave Roberts as the manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers. He is at times exasperated by moves that Roberts makes, or – just as often – moves he doesn’t make. He quibbles with Roberts’ lineup construction, his bullpen usage, and the positioning of the defense. My father vacillates between thinking that Roberts makes all of these bad decisions on his own, and the idea that he is merely a pawn for the “propeller heads” in the front office (my dad is fond of phrases that could easily appear in Halt and Catch Fire and were certainly said at Comdex in the mid-80s). Regardless, my dad no like Dave Roberts.

Contra to the Roberts-haters, Tommy Lasorda is universally beloved in Los Angeles. Maybe it is his jovial manner; maybe it is his raspy voice; maybe it is expletive-fueled tirades; maybe it is his beating the hell out of the Phillie Phanatic; maybe it is how he reacted with Gibby hit his dinger in ’88. Or maybe it is just that time heals all wounds, and now we view Tommy as an institution; carefully positioned in his dugout level seat behind the Dodgers’ on-deck circle, waiting for the camera to catch him so the crowd can whoop and holler, and then he can make his way under the stadium and back home again. Regardless, everyone loves Tommy.

On a recent Effectively Wild podcast, I was reminded of such hagiography. Sam Miller was recounting some amazingly bad managerial decisions from World Series past. And there were some doozies. Sam walked through Game 3 of the 1981 World Series in some detail, which I will expand upon here. After reading, ask yourself how you would feel about Tommy if you knew then what you know now about pitch counts, platoon advantages, times through the order penalties, and just plain ol’ common sense. Here goes:

The Yankees pulled into Dodger Stadium with a two games to none lead in the 1981 World Series. They won the opener 5-3, and had a 3-0 shutout the next night. The Dodgers were thus left in a must-win situation.

Jerry Reuss was 10-4 with a 2.30 ERA in 1981, so he was the logical choice to start Game 1. He gave up four earned runs in less than three innings. Burt Hooten, with a 11-6 record and 2.71 ERA was a perfect starter for Game 2. And he did not disappoint – going six innings, allowing three hits, and no earned runs. But Steve Howe brought his gas can to the mound in the 8th, facing three batters and giving up two runs to contribute to the loss.

Which brings us to the make-or-break Game 3. On the hill for the Bums was rookie sensation Fernando Valenzuela. It made perfect sense for Lasorda to wait for a home game to pitch Valenzuela. Fernando was 7-2 with a 1.57 ERA in 12 home starts during the regular season when Fernando Mania swept through the Southland. The Mexican sensation tossed eight shutouts, completed eleven games, and struck out 180 batters in 192 innings. Freddie won the Rookie of the Year and the Cy Young Award.

So the Dodgers must have felt [insert Larry David voice] pretty, pretty, pretty good going into Game 3 against Dave Righetti.

1st INNING

Fernando started the game by walking Willie Randolph; and with one out, walked Dave Winfield. But a pitcher’s best friend courtesy of Lou Piniella got him out of trouble. And when the Dodgers scored three times with two outs in the bottom half, Valenzuela was staked to a nice lead.

2nd INNING

So much for that lead. A homerun, a double, and a single made the score 3-2 after one and a half.

3rd INNING

Two singles, an intentional walk, and a homerun gave the Yankees a one-run lead. So, after three innings, Valenzuela had given up 4 runs on 6 hits, with 4 walks and 2 strikeouts, on 72 pitches. Not what Tommy or the hometown faithful were hoping for.

4th INNING

Fernando settled down in the fourth, and got out of there throwing only 12 pitches (which included another walk).

5th INNING

The fifth inning included yet another walk, but also a strikeout. By the end of the frame, Freddie was up to 101 pitches.

The Dodgers took the lead in the bottom of the 5th on a Pedro Guerrero double and a Mike Scioscia double play. Valenzuela, allowed to hit with two outs and Guerrero on third, grounded out to short. First moment of indecision: If Scioscia merely flies out so there are runners on first and second with one out, does Valenzuela still hit for himself? My guess is yes, as Tommy most likely would have had him bunt the runners into scoring position for Davey Lopes. But, with 101 pitches under his ample belt, and an important insurance run 90 feet away, would it have made sense to hit for Fernando in that moment? That wouldn’t have been a crazy idea. Alas, the fun was just beginning.

6th INNING

Fernando started the top of the 6th by walking Randolph again. 107 pitches, the tying run on via the walk, the 2-3-4 hitters coming up. Time for the hook? Nah. Randolph got caught stealing, and Valenzuela got out of the inning throwing only 14 pitches.

7th INNING

The 7th was a cakewalk, with Fernando getting Piniella, Bob Watson, and Rick Cerone on 10 pitches. At the stretch, #34 was up to 125 pitches.

This is a good time to point out that while the Dodgers bullpen had been a little shaky, they did have arms available. Tom Niedenfuer threw 24 pitches over three innings in Game 1, but did not pitch in Game 2. Dave Goltz threw two whole pitches in Game 1. Terry Forster threw six pitches in one inning of work in Game 2. But with Howe’s meltdown in Game 2, maybe Tommy was hoping to get at least eight out of his workhorse.

8th INNING

Tommy’s best laid plans seemed to go awry when the Yankees led off the top half with two straight singles, with a pinch hitter for the pitcher due up. Should Fernando have been pulled after the lead-off single and 126 pitches? Should he have been pulled after 132 pitches and the potential tying and lead runners on base? Apparently not. The Yankees, doing their level best not to win, had Bobby Murcer pinch hit, and he promptly bunted into a double play. Five pitches later Willie Randolph grounded to third and Fernando wiggled out of yet another jam.

Mike Scoscia led off the bottom of the 8th with a single. Pinch hit Fernando here, hoping to get the insurance run? How about just having him sacrifice Scioscia into scoring position? Both were too logical. Tommy let Fernando swing away; and he grounded into a force out. Now the abdominous pitcher had to run the bases. Sure, the Dodgers had a few players who were better suited to score from first on a gapper (Derrel Thomas, Jay Johnstone), but Tommy chose to stick with his guy – through thick and not so thin. Davey Lopes struck out and Bill Russell popped out, and Fernando had a short walk from first base back to the mound.

9th INNING

Fernando had walked seven, struck out five, given up nine hits and four runs as he toed the rubber for the final frame. He had thrown 134 pitches. He was about to face the 2-3-4 hitters – all right handed. I guess there was no need to call to the pen.

And such is the brilliance of Tommy Lasorda. A groundball to second, a flyout to right, and strikeout for the exclamation point brought the crowd to its feet. It took 15 more pitches to finish the job, but finish it he did.

If the Internet was functioning in 1981, if Twitter was alive in 1981, both may have broken as the innings and the pitches and the pressure kept ratcheting up. But Fernando Mania was a real thing, and Tommy knew best. But getting the right result with bad process doesn’t make you a genius – it just makes you lucky. That said, with one of only two World Series titles over the last forty years, I imagine Dodger fans would rather be lucky than good.

But it still begs the question: Was Tommy Lasorda a better manager than Dave Roberts?

PLAY BALL!!

Baseball is Hard

Baseball is hard. There remains nothing more difficult to do in sports than hit a round ball with a round bat.

Case in point, one Mr. Shaq Thompson. That name may sound familiar to you, as he has played five seasons as a linebacker for the Carolina Panthers. But before Thompson was collecting 356 combined tackles in the NFL, he was a three-sport star in high school – football, track, and baseball.

Shaq was good enough in spikes that the Red Sox drafted him in the 18th round of the 2012 draft. So before heading to Seattle to play football for the University of Washington, Mr. Thompson headed to the Sox’ rookie-level team in the Gulf Coast League. He played in 13 games and had 39 official at bats. He struck out 37 times. You read that correctly. An athlete who was a first-team All-American according to Rivals.com, Parade, and the USA Today, and who was a second-team All-American according to MaxPreps.com and Sports Illustrated; an athlete who was able to run 100 meters in less than 11 seconds and 200 meters in less than 22; an athlete so highly thought of that a storied professional baseball organization drafted him before Alex Bregman (out of high school), Josh Hader, Dansby Swanson (out of high school), Mike Yastrzemski, and Andrew Triggs. And yet, this athlete didn’t put a ball in play until his ninth game; and this against the lowest level of professional competition.

All was not lost: Shaq Thompson did draw eight walks in those 39 games. So when, in his final game, he made solid contact, but was retired on a line drive to right, Thompson ended his professional baseball career. He walked off the diamond and onto the gridiron where he would find a lot of success…and a lot of money (he recently signed a 4/$54M contract extension).

I love the Shaq Thompson story because it says so much about how difficult this game is to play. A 6 foot, 225 pound specimen of an athlete jogs on to the baseball field on top of the world, and walks off humbled, if not defeated. Who can’t relate?

There are many of these stories – athletes who went on to become stars in other sports but could not do so in baseball. Danny Ainge, Tracy McGrady, Tim Tebow, Russell Wilson, and, of course, Michael Jordan. So the next time you catch an old game on the MLB Network and see a player you hadn’t thought about in a long time (like this lineup: Jim Clancy (P), Alan Ashby (C), Jim Presley (1B), Mark Lemke (2B), Ernie Riles (3B), Iván DeJesús (SS), Kal Daniels (LF), Stan Javier (CF), Iván Calderón (RF), Steve Balboni (DH)), know that regardless of your individual recollection, he was an incredible baseball player. For a time, he was one of the best of the best. So even if our memory needs to be jogged from time to time, these guys deserve our reverence. Because, man, baseball is hard.

PLAY BALL!!

Opening Nay

As we all know, today was supposed to be Opening Day. Yes, I capitalized it because for those of us who love baseball more than any other pastime, Opening Day is every bit as sacred – and considerably less profane – than the Super Bowl. No one ever bitches about the “S”uper “B”owl.

All over the airwaves today we were peppered with baseball from years past. MLB did a heck of a job trying to lift our spirits with unforgettable games on the MLB Network, FS1, two of MLB’s YouTube channels, two Facebook feeds, and three different Twitter accounts. You had your choice of Giants v. Dodgers, four different Home Run Derby competitions, classic World Series games, no-hitters, perfectos, and even the A’s 20th straight win. It was all there, and it was nothing more than a cupcake for the kid whose birthday party was otherwise ruined.

In 1998, Bart Giamatti first read “The Green Fields of the Mind.” It, like the man himself, is a national treasure. The poem starts with the line: “It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart.” And with everything going on in the world today – like right now, today, tonight – baseball in many ways should be the furthest thing from our collective minds. But it is not. It is not because today is supposed to be Opening Day – a day of renewal, a day of hope. So, it not being here today – today of all days, when the U.S. death toll from this nasty pandemic nears 1,200 – like Bart said, breaks your heart. Under the current circumstances, what could be better to take our minds off the news, allow us to literally and figuratively change the channel to something less grim, than baseball.

The next line of the poem reads: “The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again…”

But, this year, we cannot be certain there is any truth to that statement. Many writers, from Ken Rosenthal to Jayson Stark to Jeff Passan have written extensively on when this season may begin, but Stark owned it with a simple “we have no idea.” So Giamatti may end up being wrong this year, it may not begin in spring – hell, it may not begin at all.

Next up is “You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time…”

Man do we need something to buffer the passage of time right now. We live in a moment where days roll into each other, with kids and partners home – locked in our homes – with no legal form of escape. No mental or theoretical escape from the body count and lack of testing and the lies – so many lies – and the worry when you wake at 3am with a dry throat wondering “is it my turn?”. The old adage is you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. But we all knew. We love baseball, we revere it. We treat it with respect; we have bought the hats and the jerseys and the tickets. More than that, we have bought in. We have bought in to the myth; we have bought in to the idea that the game could change our day, our week, and sometimes even our year (looking at you, 2004 and 2016).

And now it is gone. And who the hell knows for how long.

For those of us living in Los Angeles, we were looking forward to the redeveloped Dodger Stadium and the All-Star Game. Now only one of those is assured.

For those of you in New York, you had a chance (not a great one, especially after Thor went down) for a Subway Series. The Yankees – if healthy – look unbeatable this year. And now you just have sickness, and death, and fear. But there is another saying that I have been repeating to my kids a lot these past few weeks: “This too shall pass.”

So maybe, if the baseball (and other) gods are willing to smile down upon all of us, we will soon have pinstripes on the field and not just on face masks.

I woke up today and wanted to find joy. I truly did. But as I sat in my home office and Zoomed with my colleagues, I couldn’t do it. I avoided all manner of old baseball except this.

There was no joy in Mudville today. Damn Casey never got to bat.

I hope you all are safe, a safe distance from others, and trying to find some pleasure in being with your families for dinner every night. And, who knows, maybe we will build enough family-time equity to enjoy a few extra ballgames this summer without feeling an ounce of guilt. Read as one man’s search for any potential silver lining.

Here’s to hoping that someday soon we will hear the words:

PLAY BALL!!

Anatomy of an Apology

About ten days ago I was on the phone with a friend when I got an alert on my computer that Carlos Beltrán and the Mets had agreed to part ways. One can parse that statement any way they want, but there is simply no denying that Beltrán was fired…before he managed a single game for the club. How very “Mets”.

My friend was devastated. It turns out that his son is a massive Carlos Beltrán fan; he even has a Beltrán bat framed in his bedroom. He didn’t know what to tell his son, how to break the news.

We were on the phone for a bit – long enough for Beltrán’s statement to be issued. I quickly read it and reported back that this was an easy one. Based on Beltrán’s own words, you can easily explain to your child that actions have consequences, that one must own their mistakes, apologize for their behavior, and vow to be better. In short, Beltrán’s statement covered all the bases. As poor as his decision to cheat, was how great his expression of regret.

“Over my 20 years in the game, I’ve always taken pride in being a leader and doing things the right way, and in this situation, I failed. As a veteran player on the team I should’ve recognized the severity of the issue and truly regret the actions that were taken. I am a man of faith and integrity and what took place did not demonstrate those characteristics that are so very important to me and my family.

“I’m very sorry. It’s not who I am as a father, a husband, a teammate and as an educator. The Mets organization and I mutually agreed to part ways, moving forward for the greater good with no further distractions. I hope that at some point in time, I’ll have the opportunity to return to this game that I love so much.”

Beltrán’s apology was all the more shocking (and heartening) because we have not seen that level of self-awareness in the recent past. Time and again athletes and executives do wrong, and time and again they fail to show the proper contrition. But not Beltrán. He may have lost his right to manage (for now), but he hasn’t lost his moral authority. This is an “A+” example of a proper apology; it is a confession we can share with our kids as a learning tool; and a model that others caught in the crosshairs would be wise to follow.

Now, contrast Beltrán’s words with the various and sundry apologies and non-apologies we have heard in the past few months:

Here is Jeff Luhnow, the suspended and now-fired GM of the Astros (condensed for brevity, the emphases are mine):

“I accept responsibility for rules violations that occurred on my watch…I apologize to the Astros organization, Astros fans and the Houston community for the shame and embarrassment this has caused…

“I am not a cheater. Anybody who has worked closely with me during my 32-year career inside and outside baseball can attest to my integrity…I did not know rules were being broken…I did not personally direct, oversee or engage in any misconduct: The sign-stealing initiative was not planned or directed by baseball management; the trash-can banging was driven and executed by players, and the video decoding of signs originated and was executed by lower-level employees working with the bench coach. I am deeply upset that I wasn’t informed of any misconduct because I would have stopped it…”

The statement started well, with Luhnow owning the issue. But it quickly devolved into a “not my fault” recitation. This reeks of a “I am only apologizing because it is the *right* thing to do, but not because I am truly sorry” proclamation. He had the memo from the Commissioner; he spent time in the clubhouse and in the dugout. He knew or should have known what was happening over the course of two seasons. In this case, less would have been more. He could and should have ended the statement at “integrity,” and he would have received an “A”. As it stands, this is a “C+” at best.

AJ Hinch, the suspended and now-fired manager said the following (again, condensed with my emphasis):

“As a leader and Major League Manager, it is my responsibility to lead players and staff with integrity that represents the game in the best possible way. While the evidence consistently showed I didn’t participate in the sign stealing practices, I failed to stop them and I am deeply sorry.

“I apologize to Mr. Crane for all negative reflections this may have had on him and the Astros organization. To the fans, thank you for your continued support through this challenging time – and for this team. I apologize to all of you for our mistakes but I’m confident we will learn from it – and I personally commit to work tireless to ensure I do.”

This one is a little tricky in that Hinch was punished for essentially turning a blind eye to his coach’s and his team’s behavior. He certainly seemed to own his mistake, but he cannot help but add a little “but it wasn’t me” in there, which does take away a smidge of the repentance. Throughout the various Astros scandals, Hinch has been a voice of reason and remorse, so it was just a bummer that in trying to take the fall, he also had to try to clear his name. That said, this is still an “A-”.

Speaking of other Astros scandals, we all remember the case of Brandon Taubman. When he finally had to admit his wrongdoing, this is what he offered:

“This past Saturday, during our clubhouse celebration, I used inappropriate language for which I am deeply sorry and embarrassed. In retrospect, I realized that my comments were unprofessional and inappropriate. My overexuberance in support of a player has been misinterpreted as a demonstration of a regressive attitude about an important social issue. Those that know me know that I am a progressive and charitable member of the community, and a loving and committed husband and father. I hope that those who do not know me understand that the Sports Illustrated article does not reflect who I am or my values. I am sorry if anyone was offended by my actions.”

Did he really end this with the “I am sorry if anyone was offended by my actions” bromide? He knows people were offended. He said it to offend. Criminal law has the concept of mens rea (the intention or knowledge of wrongdoing). By all accounts, Taubman had the sufficient mens rea to be guilty, so his many-days-too-late non-apology simply doesn’t cut it. Only if you get points for trying will he earn a “D-”.

In the days after the Taubman clubhouse incident, not only did the Astros not apologize to the women affected, they attempted to obfuscate and impugn the reputation of a well-respected journalist. When the story became too large and too well known to slip under the champagne-soaked rug, after a five-day delay, Astros owner Jim Crane said the following:

“On behalf of the entire Astros organization, I want to personally apologize for the statement we issued on Monday October 21st. We were wrong and I am sorry that we initially questioned your professionalism. We retract that statement, and I assure you that the Houston Astros will learn from this experience.”

Rare is the captain of industry who can utter the word “wrong,” so Crane gets kudos for doing so. But even what appears to be a full-throated and well-meaning apology falls short. Crane, while acknowledging his organization questioned writer Stephanie Apstein’s professionalism, never acknowledges that what she wrote, and what the team denied for nearly a week, was absolutely correct. That would have gone a long way toward healing the wounds inflicted by the Astros’ callous indifference to the facts. Crane is a billionaire; he is a leader in at least three major business fields (energy, shipping, professional sports); the bar for him is considerably higher. So his statement gets a “B-”.

Last week, the Astros held their annual FanFest, and reporters, as they are wont to do, asked Jose Altuve and Alex Bregman about the sign-stealing scandal.

Altuve didn’t try to apologize. His simply said: “I think the time to comment about that will come. It’s a little too early for me.” Maybe that is genuine. Maybe the impact of the entire saga has been too much for him to process in such a short space of time. Maybe he just isn’t ready to discuss the topic, and will do so when the team gets to Spring Training next month. Personally, I find it weak and a bit cowardly, but it is too soon to tell. I give this an incomplete, with his ultimate apology grade TBD.

But Bregman is a whole other story. He didn’t even bother. He showed disdain for the entire process. On at least six different occasions, in response to various forms of questions, Bregman said the following: “The commissioner made his report, made his decision, the Astros made their decision, and no further comment on it.”

Like an automaton, Bregman could not even conjure an original thought. He would not address the press, the fans, or the 725 non-Astro MLB players (many of) whom feel like he and his teammates cheated their way to two pennants and one World Series title. This is an “F”.

A fish rots from the head down. Jim Crane set the tone for this club with his lies and then delayed response to the Taubman incident. Jeff Luhnow learned from his boss, as did AJ Hinch, and each tried to give the appearance of contrition while attempting to salvage his own reputation by throwing trusted colleagues under the team bus. So it is not shocking that players raised in the organization chose not to confront the issue with at least some level of regret; without at least giving lip service to the damage they have wrought.

I have often wondered who is providing advice to these athletes before they get in front of a microphone so woefully unprepared. And then I got an answer. In an interview withThe Athletic’s Ken Rosenthal, uber-agent Scott Boras offered us the following pablum (among many other nonsensical thoughts):

“But to suggest players make a team apology … the reality of it is that the apology from the people who had notice, not from the people who didn’t have notice. And the people who are responsible for providing notice. That’s who the apology should come from.”

Boras had the temerity to state that if the players knew what they were doing was wrong, they would have stopped. Despite the fact that the players hid the monitors, and despite the fact that the Commissioner’s Report states that there was “panic” in the Astros’ dugout when White Sox pitcher Danny Farquhar seemed to be on to the scheme, Boras wants us to believe that all participating players thought this entire arrangement was on the up-and-up, just because a bench coach was in on the caper. He doesn’t really believe we are that gullible, does he?

Boras loves an analogy, and he tried this one out: A man driving 55 in a 35 MPH zone only knows he is speeding if the law is clearly posted. Fair enough…on Route 66. The argument holds considerably less water if that man is driving through your local neighborhood. These guys have been playing baseball their whole lives; they are grown-ass men; they know right from wrong. And they chose wrong to achieve a competitive advantage. Trying to blame this on a lack of signage in the clubhouse is at best, hogwash, and at worst, utter and complete bullshit.

But, keeping with Boras’ theme, the Astros players didn’t even need to formally apologize (though Dallas Keuchel chose to do so). I am no crisis counselor, but it seems they really would have helped their cause if, when confronted by intrepid reporters, they said something like this:

“We regret that the Commissioner’s Report has cast a pall over our team and our organization. 

“Our number one goal is to restore the faith and earn back the trust that our fans and the MLB community preciously had in us. We are going to work hard every day to bring a championship back to Houston and prove to the world we are not who was portrayed in that report. 

“Whoever our next manager is, we will make him, our fans, and especially the kids who look up to us, proud of the Houston Astros.”

This doesn’t seem that hard. Bill Plaschke wrote another article claiming that the Astros lack of apology is an affront to the Dodgers. I respectfully disagree. It is an affront to the entire game, from within and without. This will not just go away – as Astros players will learn in each park they visit this season – just by burying their collective heads in the sand. This mark – this asterisk – will linger until fans and players alike feel justice has been done and/or proper remorse has been shown.

“I’m sorry” are two of the hardest and two of the most productive words in the English language. Maybe they can learn them deep in the heart of Texas.

PLAY BALL!!

Punishment Almost Fits the Crime

The dominoes have fallen – well most of them, anyway.

Around Thanksgiving I wrote my initial opus regarding the Astros’ cheating scandal. Little did I know that the cancer would spread eastward to New England, and right into the dugout of my beloved Red Sox. But here we are. MLB is still investigating the BoSox, and is withholding judgment until that is complete. In the meantime, let’s revisit what I wrote, and the questions I asked, back when this was all theoretical:

“[S]hould MLB suspend Jeff Luhnow for half the season? … To make it really hurt, they could extend this until August 1st so the Astros would be without Luhnow for the trade deadline?”

I was off by three months, as MLB suspended Luhnow through the 2020 World Series. But not an hour later, he got fired. I’ve got to say, I didn’t see that coming.

“And what about A.J. Hinch? The manager either knew or should have known what was happening just outside his dugout? In the NCAA they call that a lack of institutional control. Should he be suspended for half the season? More?”

Hinch also got a full season suspension. And then he got fired. Again, I didn’t see that coming. But it makes sense – how can owner Jim Crane and the new front office trust a guy who heard the banging, who disliked the cheating so much that he allegedly broke not one but two video monitors, but still did nothing to stop the practice. They call the manager the “field general,” but Hinch acted like a patsy.

“What about Alex Cora? He knew – or should have known. Regardless of the fact that he is now the Red Sox manager, he too should face discipline.”

When I wrote those words, I had no idea that the investigation was going to expand to include the 2018 Red Sox. Once I learned that, and once I read the report where Cora was mentioned 11 times and stated that the whole system was “originated” and “executed” in conjunction with him, the die was cast. There is no question that Cora is deeply implicated, and it makes perfect sense that the Red Sox fired him. As stated above, Rob Manfred has withheld Cora’s official punishment pending the outcome of that investigation, but my guess is that Cora goes on the permanently ineligible list, with the right to request reinstatement after the 2021 World Series. In essence, he will be banned for two years (plus however long it takes for some organization to look the other way and hire him).

“[H]ow about Carlos Beltrán? He was the veteran presence on that 2017 Astros club, who showed the younger players how to take certain advantages. My guess is that the investigation will cast a negative light on him as well. How Mets would that be to have their new manager suspended before he ever takes the field?”

This one remains fascinating. Manfred’s report only list seven individuals: Mike Fiers (the original whistleblower), Crane, Luhnow, Brandon Taubman, Hinch, Cora, and Beltrán. Beltrán escaped punishment as the league essentially gave all players (and Beltrán was a player in 2017) immunity to speak candidly during the investigation. However, the report stated that he “discussed that the team could improve on decoding opposing teams’ signs and communicating the signs to the batter.” Manfred declared that this was a “player-driven” scheme, but the only player he referenced was Beltrán. How can the Mets turn the page with a new manager under this level of scrutiny? How can Beltrán survive the onslaught of the New York media as a first-time manager (and someone who doesn’t have a great track record with the press) with this scandal hanging over his head? And it would seem that the Mets could fire him for cause. Either during the interview process or right after, Beltrán said the following to the NY Post about the scanadal:

“I’m not aware of that camera…”

“We took a lot of pride studying pitchers [on] the computer. That is the only technology that I use and understand…”

“The game of baseball for years, guys have given location and if the catchers get lazy and the pitcher doesn’t cover the signs from second base [then] of course players are going to take advantage. I don’t call that cheating. I call that using small details to take advantage. I think baseball is doing a great job adding new technology to make sure the game is even for both teams. It’s easy to blame someone when they win.”

At best, Beltrán shaded the truth. At worst – and most likely – Beltrán flat out lied. Now, I am no labor lawyer, but it seems to me that intentional misrepresentation gives rise to termination for cause. And if the Mets did fire him, what is his recourse? Would he sue the Mets? What is his cause of action? (Wrongful dismissal, I know.) Would he want the Mets to subpoena the entire Astros 2017 roster and make them assert – under oath – that Beltrán knew nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing? Historically the Mets have been on the wrong side of many lawsuits, but I like their odds in this potential litigation.

With respect to team punishment, I wrote: “How about a loss of the Astros’ 2020 first round pick (#30). And loss of $5M in bonus pool money (essentially their first round allocation). And, as a kicker, the loss of their international bonus pool as well.”

Here Manfred made me look weak. He took their first round and second round picks in 2020 and 2021. He didn’t take any international bonus pool money (a missed opportunity, in my opinion), but he did fine them the same $5M (more about that below).

I also averred that the Astros should get hit with a $2M fine for each offense. I hypothesized a total fine of $55M. I have not wavered from that. Manfred stated that the $5M is “the highest allowable fine under the Major League Constitution.” I have been trying to locate this provision, and the nearest I can find is the MLB Constitution that expired in 2012. That document states (as I have previously written) that the fines may be imposed “for each offense.” And Manfred makes quite clear in his report that the Astros’ actions went from 2017 well into the 2018 season. Simply put, he found more than a single offense. I believe he should have arbitrarily identified ten violations and fined the team $50M. The $5M is easily paid for by Hinch’s and Luhnow’s now-forfeited salaries. But $50M is much harder to cover.

In November I stated, “[t]he Astros need the professional sports equivalent of a five-week suspension; they need a reprimand that requires them to ‘fail’ next season; they need a rebuke that tells the world that this behavior will not be tolerated.”

The suspensions (and ultimate firings) conveyed that message to the individuals, but not necessarily to the teams. Many around baseball think that firing two individuals, losing four draft picks, and paying $5M, is a small price for a World Series championship. Reasonable minds may differ, but change that price tag to $50M, and I don’t think they would.

Lastly, Bill Plaschke is getting a lot of run for his article in the Los Angeles Times that the Astros should be stripped of their World Series title. I am not a big fan of this concept, as I don’t think you can un-ring a bell. It is the same reason I disagree with “vacating” wins for college sports programs. Those games were played, those trophies were hoisted, and those parades were held. You cannot change that. Jayson Stark wrote eloquently about this idea in The Athletic.

Rather, I would like to see the league require the Astros to either take down the World Series flag in Minute Maid Park, or add an asterisk to it. The same goes for any MLB-licensed World Series gear. You want to sell it, profit from it, you need to own it. Houston must add the caveat. The asterisk should be included in/on all official MLB sites and references to the 2017 World Series champion. They got their rings, they had their glory, and now they get to live with their infamy. That (plus $50M) is a punishment that fits the crime.

PLAY BALL!!

“What If”: The Butterfly Effect

One on my favorite things to think about when watching baseball is the “what if…” “What if” that last pitch had been called a strike…?  “What if” that ball had been an inch to the right? “What if” the third baseman caught that foul ball?

But now that the baseball season has been in the books for two months, and the hot stove has been burning up, I got to thinking about an interesting (to me, anyway) “what if”, and the butterfly effect that it had on the off-season.

Let’s go back to the bottom of the ninth of Game 5 of the NLDS. While the Dodgers had led 3-0 after five, the score was 3-3 going into the bottom of the ninth. With one on and one out, and rookie catcher Will Smith lined the first pitch he saw from Daniel Hudson to deep right field. According to Rob Arthur (@No_Little_Plans) (who, if you don’t follow, you should), during the regular season balls hit with the same characteristics (exit velocity between 99-101 MPH and a launch angle between 25-27 degrees) flew an average of 385 feet. If Smith’s ball had traveled that far, it easily lands in the right field pavilion, and Smith finds his name mentioned amongst Gibby and Turner and Culberson (look that one up). A few more feet and the Nationals’ curse remains in place, and we would have had yet another Dodgers-Cardinals NLCS, and we possibly get a 2017 World Series rematch.

That is the team analysis. But what about certain players? “What if” Smith became a hero and the Nats went home? What happens with Stephen Strasburg? He had an opt-out in his agreement with the Nationals, meaning he could have become a free agent and walked away from the remaining 4/$100M on his existing deal. It is likley that he would have opted out no matter what, trying to get the CC Sabathia / Clayton Kershaw leverage extension, adding maybe two years and $50M to the deal; or maybe even an additional $80M, pushing the AAV to $30M. But…

Smith’s ball landed in Adam Eaton’s glove, the Nationals won the game in the tenth, and then Strasburg threw seven innings of Game 3 of the NLCS, giving up one earned run while striking out eleven. The Nationals went on to win the pennant.

Then, Strasburg won Game 2 of the World Series, pitching six innings, giving up two earned runs, while striking out seven.

And to put a bow on his post-season, Strasburg went 8-1/3 innings in Game 6 of the World Series, yet again allowing only two earned runs while striking out another seven Astros. This led to him being named the World Series MVP. Which made opting out of his contract a no-brainer – he would never again have more value or more leverage.

So, rather than getting a deal like the ones described above, Strasburg got himself a record contract of 7/$245M. There is simply no way he gets that deal if his season ended at Chavez Ravine in the NLDS.

With Strasburg’s deal in the books, his agent Scott Boras had a baseline to negotiate Gerrit Cole’s new contract. If the Astros has been playing the Dodgers (or the Cardinals) in the World Series, there is a better than zero chance that Cole wouldn’t have been sitting in the bullpen begging to pitch in Game 7, only to be spurned while his team walked off the field in defeat. In fact, against those other opponents, there is a better than zero chance that Cole would have found himself bathed in champagne and on a parade float through the streets of H-Town. And, in that alternate universe, there is no bitter Cole donning a Boras Corp. hat in the clubhouse after said Game 7, seemingly making the decision right then and there that he would be taking his talents elsewhere.

With Cole truly on the market, and with Strasburg’s deal inked, Boras preyed on the Yankees to get a ridiculous 9/$324M out of the Steinbrenners. Without Strasburg’s deal as a precedent, there is simply no way that Cole gets that deal. In fact, odds are that Cole would have gotten – and been happy with – Strasburg’s 7/$245M.

And with those two record-breaking deals done, Boras went to work for Anthony Rendon. Had his season ended at Dodger Stadium, he doesn’t hit .317 with 10 RBI over the NLCS and the World Series, including two huge homeruns in the seventh inning of both Games 6 and 7 in Houston. Going into free agency, the benchmarks for Rendon were Manny Machado at 10/$300M and Nolan Arenado at 8/$260M. But Rendon was able to command $35M/year from the Angels – for 7 years. Without those extra eleven games, there is simply no way Rendon gets a higher AAV than both Machado and Arenado for that many years.

Seven feet. Less than an eyelash of seam height differential on the ball. A fraction of an inch on the barrel of the bat. The flap of a butterfly’s wings. That’s all it would have taken to change history…and destiny. Millions – maybe hundreds of millions – of dollars changed hands when Smith “flew” out to right rather than walking the Dodgers off. Families, teams, and cities were transformed over 84 inches. Will Smith has a long career ahead of himself, so maybe he has easily moved on. But for Clayton Kershaw (he of the back-to-back dingers in the eighth), Dave Roberts, and Andrew Friedman, they have probably gone to bed every night for the past three months thinking, “What if…?”

PLAY BALL!!

 

Crime and Punishment

A few weeks ago the child of a good friend got in trouble at school. When the dust settled and the punishment was doled out, he/she was suspended for five weeks. You read that right, he/she was essentially given a grade-level death sentence. I am not sure what the school hoped to accomplish with this draconian measure, but I doubt the intent was to essentially cause a student to have to repeat a grade. After some much-deserved push-back, the school reduced the sentence to five days. Considerably more appropriate – at least in terms of time. It seems to me that an institution filled with academics could come up with a more productive punishment – one that would benefit the student, the school, and the community at-large, all while acting as a deterrent for potential future offenders. Alas, it was not meant to be.

So, if a private school that prides itself on its progressive policies, a place of higher learning that hopes to usher out into the world fully-formed, quality human beings, cannot figure out a proper penalty for aberrant behavior, I am not sure how we can expect a major sports league to do so. We have seen, time and again, the NCAA, the NFL, the NBA, and of course, MLB, bollox this up twenty-six ways from Sunday school.

Last week I was playing in my weekly softball game and, as one might expect, we started talking about the Houston Astros. To a man (there were no women in the dugout), the belief was that the Astros should have the book thrown at them. Unfortunately, there isn’t really an appropriate book. One suggestion was that the team should be disbanded. Another was that they should have to vacate their 2017 World Series title. And my favorite: they should be forced to play without a shortstop next season.

During our game, while I was playing first base, a call came from the dugout asking my opinion (these are pretty informal affairs). I quickly said, “Well, the max fine is $2 million, so…” and then I had to field my position. But like the echo in Casey’s at bat, there was an immediate response from the mound: “There is no way that $2 million is the most they can fine them,” and then he threw a pitch. This led to another conversation, wherein I promised to do the research.

Insofar as the U.S. Constitution is getting a lot of run these days, it seems fitting to look at the MLB Constitution. I will quote the entirety of Article II, Section 3, with specific highlights:

In the case of conduct by Major League Clubs, owners, officers, employees or players that is deemed by the Commissioner not to be in the best interests of Baseball, punitive action by the Commissioner for each offense may include any one or more of the following: (a) a reprimand; (b) deprivation of a Major League Club of representation in Major League Meetings; (c) suspension or removal of any owner, officer or employee of a Major League Club; (d) temporary or permanent ineligibility of a player; (e) a fine, not to exceed $2,000,000 in the case of a Major League Club, not to exceed $500,000 in the case of an owner, officer or employee, and in an amount consistent with the then-current Basic Agreement with the Major League Baseball Players Association, in the case of a player; (f) loss of the benefit of any or all of the Major League Rules, including but not limited to the denial or transfer of player selection rights provided by Major League Rules 4 and 5; and (g) such other actions as the Commissioner may deem appropriate.

So, the pitcher and I were both correct. $2 million is the maximum fine, for each offense. However, I am not sure how “for each offense” is actually applied. Let’s take a look at some precedent.

In 2017, after a lengthy investigation and a federal trial wherein a former Cardinals executive was sentenced to 46 months in prison for hacking into the Astros database (why are the Astros always in the middle of these things?), MLB handed the St. Louis club a $2M fine and the loss of two later round draft picks (together worth about $1.8M). According to the plea agreement, the executive hacked into the Astros’ system at least five times. Could that have been five “offenses” resulting in a $10M fine? Who knows. What we do know is that that didn’t happen. Further, Commissioner Rob Manfred determined that the executive was a “rogue operator” and that the club did not know or suspect the behavior. Thus, he declined to level the above-referenced $500,000 fine. But it sure seems like he could (should?) have.

With the Astros, we already have at least two “offenses,” and I have no doubt that upon further inquiry, many more will be determined. Was this behavior so egregious that more than $2M could be assessed? We know, from the email discovered by Ken Rosenthal and Evan Drellich that Astros executives were in on the potential cheating, asking scouts to get video of other teams’ dugouts. So, an additional $500,000 is definitely in order.

Let’s play this out. Let’s say Manfred discovers 25 can’t miss violations, and he determines that ten executives were in on it. And let’s say he interprets the “for each offense” to include each offense (for you attorneys, how about that for strict construction; and for you Brady Bunch fans, how about that for exact words). And he throws the whole library at the Astros to the tune of $55M ($2M x 25 plus $500K x 10). Does that do the job? According to Statista, as of 2019, the Astros are worth $1.8 billion. A $55M fine is just 3% of the team’s value. A drop in the bucket – or in Houston terms, a dribble in the spittoon. But, if you base the fine solely on revenue, it is considerably heftier. The Astros had $368M in revenue this year, so a fine this large would represent a 15% hit. Now we are talking behavior modification-type money.

But despite protestations otherwise, money is not everything. The team will get a ton more of that next year, and could simply cut payroll or raise ticket prices to offset the loss. More needs to be done. Let’s take another look at the precedent.

Last year a video appeared showing the Giants CEO, Larry Baer, forcibly struggling with his wife with her eventually ending up on the ground. Manfred reviewed the tape and concluded Mr. Baer’s conduct was “unacceptable under MLB policies and warrants discipline…In determining the appropriate level of discipline, I find that Mr. Baer should be held to a higher standard because as a leader he is expected to be a role model for others in his organization and community.” Baer was suspended for half the season.

If the facts lead where we believe they will, should MLB suspend Jeff Luhnow for half the season? If you will recall, Brandon Taubman, the assistant general manager, was already fired for being a horrible human being, so that would/could leave the Astros without its top two baseball operations executives until July. To make it really hurt, they could extend this until August 1st so the Astros would be without Luhnow for the trade deadline?

And what about A.J. Hinch? The manager either knew or should have known what was happening just outside his dugout? In the NCAA they call that a lack of institutional control. Should he be suspended for half the season? More?

Now let’s get creative and more dicey. What about Alex Cora, the Astros’ 2017 bench coach? He knew – or should have known. Regardless of the fact that he is now the Red Sox manager, he too should face discipline. And my favorite, how about Carlos Beltran? He was the veteran presence on that 2017 Astros club, who showed the younger players how to take certain advantages. My guess is that the investigation will cast a negative light on him as well. How Mets would that be to have their new manager suspended before he ever takes the field?

But since a federal crime only netted two later round draft picks for the Cardinals, I cannot imagine what some sign stealing would garner. How about a loss of the Astros’ 2020 first round pick (#30). And loss of $5M in bonus pool money (essentially their first round allocation). And, as a kicker, the loss of their international bonus pool as well. There is precedent for this, as MLB wiped away the Braves’ international bonus pool for their international signing violations in 2017.

Back to the softball field, it is unrealistic to take the Commissioner’s trophy away from the 2017 club. And, to be fair, there were no trash cans being banged in Dodger Stadium when Yu Darvish got shelled in Game 7. That was on him; and it was on the Dodgers for failing to capitalize on seven baserunners in the first three innings. Plus, if the Astros didn’t win that night, then does Carlos Correa propose to his wife on the field? Do we nullify their marriage, too?

Speaking of Correa, I am not sure Houston should have to play without him next year. I know Alex Bregman feels confident enough to cover the entire left side of the infield, but that seems like a non-starter.

And we can’t disband the team. What would happen to “Deep in the Heart of Texas” if it was not sung 81 times a year in Minute Maid Park?

Our friend’s school meted out a punishment that didn’t fit the crime. Luckily, they corrected their error. I fear that MLB will under-correct in the other direction. The Astros need the professional sports equivalent of a five-week suspension; they need a reprimand that requires them to “fail” next season; they need a rebuke that tells the world that this behavior will not be tolerated. Manfred is in an uneasy spot – he is required to penalize one of his bosses. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. But if we are going to be forced to live in a country that more and more looks like an autocracy, it is time for at least one person to lawfully execute his plenary powers.

PLAY BALL!!