Category: Contracts

It Can’t End Like This

As you may know, I have a great deal of affection for Clayton Kershaw. In recent years, I, like many Dodger fans, hold my breath when he takes the mound in the playoffs. We feel, at almost a cellular level, the pain of his many post-season losses. We know, with absolute certainty, that his managers and his teams have done him dirty too many times to count – keeping him in one inning (or one batter) too long, not providing sufficient run support, allowing inherited runners to score, etc. And yet, the big Texan never complains, never makes excuses, always owns the defeats.

Last year, Kershaw flipped the monkey off his back, finally winning the World Series. According to Andy McCullough of The Athletic, Kershaw was still playing “We Are the Champions” on his home stereo well into the off-season. And good for him. But, even with that title, even with all the victories, even with the first-ballot Hall of Fame induction waiting for him five years after he hangs ’em up, it just can’t end like this.

Clayton Kershaw deserves a better send-off. His career cannot end with a ruined elbow – whether it requires Tommy John surgery or is just never the same. Clayton Kershaw deserves to walk off the mound in the seventh inning of a meaningful game in September or October, tipping his cap to the crowd while they chant his name. It can end with a “Public Enemy #1” at 72MPH making a batter look foolish. It can end with a loss after Kershaw, gassed, gives up yet another late-inning hit. It can end in any number of ways. It just can’t end like this.

This was always going to be an interesting off-season as far as Kershaw was concerned, insofar as he becomes a free agent after the last out is recorded. He made – in effect, due to a signing bonus – $31M in salary this year. He has averaged 25 starts-per-year over the past five full seasons, down from nearly 32-per in the previous five. Since 2018, he has made six trips to the IL; most of these have been related to his balky back, but now he is having trouble with his elbow and his forearm. You don’t need to be a FanGraphs member or have a subscription to MLB.tv to have a vague sense what that means…and that it isn’t good. Kershaw already ruled himself out for the remainder of the season. So what happens next?

Even if healthy(ish), the Dodgers had a decision to make with their franchise pitcher. He certainly isn’t/wasn’t going to get (ahem) Trevor Bauer money, nor Gerrit Cole money. He was probably set up for 2/$50M on a “thank you” contract. Would he have accepted that? Will the Rangers, with money to spend, try to lure Kershaw home to North Texas by offering 3/$75M or 2/$60M? Will Kersh take more to be closer to his wife and kids? We know that Kershaw doesn’t play the game for money; and we know his family is the most important thing in his life, followed a close second by charity. Will loyalty or the desire to keep wearing Dodger Blue for the entirety of his career win the day? No one knows.

With this current injury potentially ending his 2022 season, the situation becomes even more complicated. The Dodgers have the prospect of paying the aforementioned Bauer $40M this year for half a season’s work, and will probably have to pay him something before they cut him next year (here’s to hoping that (a) he gets suspended and (b) the Dodgers finally do the right thing, admit their mistake, and bid Bauer adieu). Can they/will they pay $20M+ to another pitcher who cannot/will not take the hill next year? We know they can. So the question becomes: do they have the will? There is a reasonably good chance that Clayton Kershaw will not throw another pitch until after his 35th birthday. The history of pitchers faring well in their mid-30’s is quite ominous. Kershaw has already changed his game from power to crafty. What will he look like two years from now? What is that worth?

All of that conjecture aside, Kershaw is the final arbiter, and he may make it very easy for the club. He may elect to retire. He has nothing left to prove on a baseball field. He has his youth, his family, his foundation, and his millions. There is no reason – other than sheer desire to be great and to keep competing at the highest level – to play another game. But we know Kershaw has an unending desire to be great, that he loves nothing more than competing at the highest level. We know he bleeds for the game, and plays through pain for his teammates, and works harder than most, just for the honor of taking the bump every fifth day (or out of the bullpen).

So, from my selfish perspective, here is a logical solution for both the club and the player: 3/$66M, with the understanding that the team is paying $22M for a rehab year in 2022; $22M as a show of goodwill (to cleanse their souls for that other pitcher they signed last off-season); $22M as a “thank you” for all of the memories, all of the great moments, all of the mentoring and long-toss sessions, all of the charity ping pong tournaments, all of the jerseys sold, and all of the times he refused to throw anyone under a bus; $22M for #22. They pay $22M next year on the hope that they can pay $44M over the next two for a middle-of-the-road number three or four starter who will take the ball, take the heat, and never – not once – ever take it for granted. That is what I want. But I will take any variation on the theme…

It just can’t end like this.

PLAY BALL!!

Mixed Emotions

I first visited Fenway Park in 1978, and so began my love for the Boston Red Sox. In those heady years, I was too young to read the box scores, and even with an outfield of Rice, Lynn, and Evans, I didn’t have a favorite player. Yaz may have come close.

I really became interested in baseball in the mid-‘80s, at which point I was following Wade Boggs and Roger Clemens, and for some reason, Marty Barrett. Mike Greenwell, begat Mo Vaughn, who begat Nomah, who begat Varitek, who begat, pound-for-pound, the best pitcher of all time: Pedro. But it was in 2004, oh that magical year of 2004, that I finally landed on my favorite player. How could you not love David “Big Papi” Ortiz? He was everything you wanted in a star – the charisma, the smile, the clutch hits, and, of course, the hugs. He carried the team on his back, and he had a blast doing it. Even as Dustin Pedroia, Jon Lester, and Mike Lowell got headlines, Papi remained my guy. Ortiz brought the “fucking city” together in 2013, and led the Red Sox to another improbable World Series title.

This is all a long way of saying that my personal die was already cast when Mookie Betts arrived in 2014. He is an electric player; he carries all five tools on his slight shoulders, has had five straight top-10 MVP seasons (including winning it in 2018), five straight Gold Gloves, has won four Silver Sluggers, and owns two rings in two cities in the last three years. He is a 300-bowler, and feeds the homeless when no one is looking. He checks every “favorite player” box, and yet he wasn’t my A-Number One; that spot is reserved for Papi. So when the Red Sox traded Mookie to the Los Angeles Dodgers before the 2020 season, I was quite sad, but not crushed. As I have previously written, I actually agreed with the team’s decision. But I cannot imagine a world in which Ortiz ever wore another uniform.

My family moved to the West Coast in 1979, and I started going to Dodger Stadium in 1980. It was an embarrassment of riches in those years. We had “Fernandomania” and an infield of 30-HR hitters. We had the antics and clutch pinch-hitting of the recently passed Jay Johnstone. We had the pride of San Pedro De Macoris: Pedro Guerrero (and if you grew up in L.A., you can hear Vin Scully saying those words as you read them here).

As the decade wore on, we had Sax and Hershiser and Gibby. Mickey Hatcher took over where Johnstone left off. And then Mike Piazza, a 62nd round draft pick, who took the league by storm. And, of course, there was Tommy. But none of these men were ever “my guy.” It took nearly another two decades of living here and going to games to find that one player. And, ironically, it started in a ballpark 70 miles north of Dodger Stadium, while this guy was playing in Single-A for the Astros. I wrote all about that here.

But when Enrique (“Kiké”) Hernández joined the Dodgers in 2015 from the Marlins, I had “my guy.” And how could you not a love an undersized overachiever who played every position (save for catcher, but not for lack of trying), hit in the clutch, and made having fun Job #1?

While that 2015 season was Kiké’s high-water mark for batting average (.307), he later hit 24 dingers in 2018 and knocked in 64 runs in 2019. But it was in the postseason when he shined the brightest. Check out these stats of a guy who never had an appointed place in the lineup, was rarely used against righties, and never knew – day to day – when or where he would play:

2015 NLDS: .308/.400/.308

2017 NLDS: .333/.500/.667

2017 NLCS: .444/.545/1.444

2019 NLDS: .429/.500/1.000

2020 NLCS: .308/.357/.769

But you can throw all of those stats away and just look at Game 5 of the 2017 NLCS and Game 7 of the 2020 NLCS. In the former, Kiké went yard three times at Wrigley Field to help propel the Boys in Blue to the World Series and raise $2,000,000 for the people of his native Puerto Rico. In the latter, he tied the game in the bottom of the 6th inning, giving the Dodgers new life, and setting the stage for Cody Bellinger’s 7th inning home run that provided the pennant-winning margin of victory.

But you can throw all of those clutch hits away and just remember Kiké sitting in the dugout in a banana costume – on the orders of Andrew Friedman – to help the Dodgers win an extra-inning affair against the rival San Francisco Giants.

In 2019, MLB came out with the “Let the Kids Play” motto. They shot a commercial with eleven players on the dais, including Mike Trout, Christian Yelich, Francisco Lindor, Aaron Judge, Giancarlo Stanton, and Ronald Acuña Jr. From my perspective, Kiké Hernández was an obvious oversight. He personifies the “let the kids play” mantra, and it is hard to find anyone having more fun and getting more from his G-d-given talent than Mr. Hernández.

So, when Kiké entered the free agent market after the World Series, I held out hope that the Dodgers would re-sign him, and that my season tickets would allow me to watch another few years of my favorite player (fans in the park permitting). But as the offseason wore on, it became ever more clear that the Dodgers had no designs on retaining Hernández. If one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, it was to my great delight that my beloved Red Sox reeled in Kiké. He got the two-year deal I had hoped for him; he took Nomar’s number, and it would seem he has finally found an everyday position, filling the rather large (metaphorically only) shoes left by Dustin Pedroia’s retirement.

Gordon Gekko once said: “Mixed emotions…like Larry Wildman going off a cliff in my new Maserati.” That is how I feel. Forty years of going to Chavez Ravine, and for the last half-decade I had my favorite player. And now he is gone. Gone 3,000 miles away, but gone to my favorite team. Having Mookie here on a career-ending deal softens the blow, but I would be lying if I said that Dodger Stadium will be a little less colorful, a little less joyful, a little less fun, without the Banana Man sliding and diving and jumping for joy. Consider me dubious, but I don’t think Trevor Bauer can fill that role or that hole – either on the field or in the clubhouse.

The people of Los Angeles will miss Kiké more than he can possibly appreciate. The analytics may say that players like him are easy to find and replace, that a guy with no specific position and who averages 1.5 bWAR/year isn’t that valuable. This is where the newfangled baseball analysis falls short.

Kiké is more than any numbers on the back of his baseball card or on any quant’s spreadsheet. He is the personification of what we want to watch and root for, and what we want our kids to aspire to be. He is a grown man playing a kids game with the exuberance of youth. You can tell he takes nothing for granted and appreciates the sport, his teammates, and most especially, the fans. So I will take solace in the fact that while I can no longer watch Kiké Hernández in person every day, I can still root for him and know that his special skill set is bringing joy to the people of Boston.

Mixed emotions indeed.

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!!

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!!

Shame

These past few weeks I have been thinking a great deal about people. About what they do; what they think; how they act; what they say. I have been thinking about the how and why people post on social media; why they believe anyone cares about their point of view. I have been thinking about people’s inner beliefs and their inner monologues. And I have been wondering why people aren’t more judicious before they speak, before they post, before they tweet.

I get that we live in a “post it or it didn’t happen” world. I understand that people want to be heard and need that dopamine rush attendant to “likes.” But I also know that a whole lot of people do and say things that they wish they could take back – oftentimes moments, sometimes days, after they hit send or speak into a microphone.

We all know that the titular Commander in Chief has no such compunction. He has never uttered, thought, or tweeted a single thing that he regrets – there is nothing that hasn’t been “perfect.” But that is because he is completely incapable of introspection. That is because he is a narcissist, and narcissists simply don’t feel shame.

Merriam-Webster defines shame as “a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety.” We, as a society, use the word more often as a verb, and do so in a cynical fashion. And it is ugly. We, as a society, never fail to wag a finger, tsk-tsk, or hold people in contempt. We shame them. And often for no reason other than to make ourselves feel better. We don’t use shame as constructive criticism to achieve a better outcome, we do it to embarrass the wrongdoer, and make he or she feel less than.

But shame – the noun – if properly effectuated, if it forces people to look in the mirror and not like what they see, can lead to growth and change and progress.

While in quarantine I have considered the implications of shame. Specifically, I have wondered what it would look and sound like if Oliver Stone made a slight alteration in the words he wrote for Gordon Gekko. Herewith:

“Shame – for lack of a better word – is good. Shame is right. Shame works. Shame clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Shame, in all its forms – shame for how you live, shame for money, for lack of love, for lack of knowledge – has marked the upward surge of mankind. And shame – you mark my words – will save that malfunctioning experiment called the United States of America.”

Some people march, and others riot. People scream and yell and quietly protest. But it does not seem that anything or anyone really changes until they feel shame. I take no pleasure in writing these words, but more and more it seems readily apparent that they are a truism. Time and again we have seen how shame has changed people’s behaviors and their thoughts and their reactions.

Drew Brees went on television and spoke from his heart. And then the backlash began. It is my sincere hope that he heard the words of the people in his community, in his sport, in his locker room, and gave himself that hard look in the mirror. And maybe, just maybe, he felt some level of shame for what he said and how he said it. And, as such, he woke the next day woke. He changed his view and his tone so much so that he was willing to take on that titular Commander in Chief.

Here, shame “worked.”

Why do we think Bill Barr, all high and mighty with his ordering the code red on peaceful protesters in Lafayette Square suddenly claimed “it wasn’t me”? Or Mark Esper going from standing next to the president in front of St. John’s Church for a photo-op to claiming he didn’t know where he was going, to giving a press conference wherein he denounced the president’s plan to use the military to police our city streets. They both saw the reactions to their actions and felt shame. And then they attempted to Ginger Rogers their way back into good social standing.

Per Gekko, “shame was right.”

A few weeks ago I (and many others) wrote about the owner of the Oakland Athletics, a billionaire named John Fisher, and his parsimonious decision to refuse to pay his minor league players $400/week throughout the summer. As of early last week, 29 of 30 teams had agreed to fund their minor league players through at least June. Fisher was the lone miser. When 29 other billionaires think you are being Scrooge McDuck, it is time to revise your thinking. So Fisher changed his tune and agreed to pay his players through August. And he agreed to set up a fund for furloughed employees.

This “shame for money” led Fisher to change course.

Shame is the cornerstone of everything happening in this country today. The City of Minneapolis feels great shame – not that their police committed an atrocious murder in broad daylight – but that the world saw them commit an atrocious murder in broad daylight. In all of the officer-involved killings from 2013-2019, only 1% have led to arrests, let alone convictions. Why, because they weren’t caught on tape; because the municipalities were not forced to feel shame.

Why were Ahmaud Arbery’s hunters finally arrested – two months after-the-fact? Because a videotape of the horrible incident went viral and the city officials felt shame. The world saw their inaction – their lack of investigation – and they felt compelled to do the right thing. In fact, the highly-regarded mayor of Atlanta, Keisha Lance Bottoms, acknowledged that but for the uprising, she wouldn’t have even reviewed the tape. She didn’t need to say it, but to not review the tape in the present environment would have been shameful.

She felt shame for her “lack of knowledge.”

Let’s take a look at the NFL. On May 30th the league issued an anodyne statement expressing condolences for George Floyd’s death and that they were “committed to continuing the important work to address these systemic issues.” It was roughly the same bromide as nearly every other organization. Unfortunately for “the shield,” they hold a unique position in this battle. Seventy percent of the league is black, the teams paid a massive collusion claim to Colin Kaepernick for effectively blackballing him for kneeling during the national anthem, and they are viewed as being behind the curve on issues of racial justice. The NFL players would not allow the league off that easy. So last Friday night, Commissioner Roger Goodell sat in his basement and offered a mea culpa. He apologized for the league’s past behavior. He said the magic words: “we were wrong” for not listening earlier and encouraging players to speak out. Did Roger find his inner DeRay McKesson in less than a week? Or was something else at play? From New York Magazine:

“[The league] was forced by a powerful video, shared Thursday night on social media, in which New Orleans Saints star Michael Thomas and numerous other black players called out the league, called attention to the killing of Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and other African-Americans killed by police — and demanded the league stand behind them. ‘What if I was George Floyd?’ many of the players asked, insisting that they will ‘not be silenced’ anymore.

“Twenty-four hours later, with apparently little input from team owners, Goodell did what the players told him to do, in some cases saying verbatim what they had demanded he say. They published a ‘message on behalf of the NFL’ and forced the NFL to literally repeat what they said.”

Goddell saw he was on the wrong side of history (again), and as such, shame “cut through and captured the essence of the evolutionary spirit.”

The Buffalo Police Department claimed a 75-year old man tripped and fell and was injured in a confrontation with approaching officers. Then two different videos of the incident went viral. The BPD then suspended two officers. While the powers-that-be felt shame for their inaction, 57 fellow police felt no such embarrassment, as they resigned as a result of the suspensions. One can only hope that when those 57 officers go home or to church or to the grocery store, their neighbors can provide a level of opprobrium that their senior officials could not; maybe they will at some point feel shame for encouraging their comrades to walk past an old man bleeding from the head. Maybe that shame will cause them to un-resign and acknowledge that orders or not, their actions were not acceptable behavior on our streets or anywhere else on this planet. We need a some men in blue in western New York to feel a level of shame.

How about the NBA owners who looked the other way and turned a deaf ear to the racism spewing from Donald Sterling’s mouth for so many years? Or the Hollywood executives and actors who laughed off the “rumors” of Harvey Weinstein’s alleged indiscretions? This list could go on and on.

As we move into mid-June, as the NBA plans to resume its season at the end of July and the NHL some time shortly thereafter, we must ask ourselves if the MLB owners can be forced to feel some form of shame. What will it take for them to look in the mirror and realize that they are self-fulfilling their prophesy? They want to claim “baseball isn’t very profitable” (the Cardinals Bill DeWitt, Jr.) or “the league itself does not make a lot of cash” (the Cubs Tom Ricketts). Well one way to ensure both of those statements are true is to squander this opportunity to own the month of July – to be the first and only of the big four sports to be playing real games. You want to have your clubs lose money and lose value, either (a) not have baseball in 2020 over financial considerations and/or (b) have this dispute end so acrimoniously (e.g., Rob Manfred imposes a 48-game season) that we have a strike or a lockout after the 2021 season. If that were to happen, then these owners’ words will look prescient. But can someone, somewhere, say something that will force these billionaire penny-pinchers to feel the shame of their inaction, of their intransigence, of their…wait for it…greed?

Because that type of shame is what is needed to “save that malfunctioning experiment called Major League Baseball.”

PLAY BALL!!

 

 

Major League Problems – Minor League Owners

When Memorial Day broke, there was a great echo in the world of sports that this was THE week. This was the week that the NBA was going to figure out its plan to finish their season and hold playoffs – ostensibly in the bubble (er, campus) of Disney World. This was the week that the NHL was going to make a decision about (not) restarting its season, and moving right into their playoff tournament. And this was going to the week that MLB decided whether or not it wanted to have a 2020 season.

The NBA has been communicating in lockstep with their player union reps and their broadcast partners. It has not been perfect, to be sure, but there is little rancor. The NHL plan was essentially met with universal applause. The MLB, well the MLB did what it always does – it bickered, it squabbled, and it leaked. And as we move closer to the artificial June 1 deadline, there is very little hope in site.

Since I previously wrote on the topic, things have only gotten worse. For years baseball has been accused of not doing enough to “sell the game.” The theme being that MLB has not worked to make its players stars. There have been fleeting attempts – like when Rob Manfred called out Mike Trout for being too private. But, by and large, that has been a weak spot. So what did the owners propose this week – after their revenue sharing model was dead prior to arrival – they tried to cut the salaries of their biggest stars by nearly 80%. Now, to be fair, there is an interesting idea in there somewhere. If you are rookie making the minimum, you take a 10% haircut – that seems fair. If you are a superstar making north of $20M, you lose more hair as, theoretically, you can afford that. Here is the problem, it is not up to the owners to tell the players who should take what discount.

In a perfect world, in a world where the players trusted the owners and the owners trusted the players, in a world where it wasn’t the Hatfields and the McCoys every time any issue arises, in a world where back-channeling was possible, someone from the league office could have floated this to the union in a casual, off-handed way, and allowed the players to come up with their own plan. Let Nolan Arenado and Clayton Kershaw and Zack Greinke and Miguel Cabrera be magnanimous and offer to cut their salaries for the benefit of the younger, poorer players. I doubt that would have happened, but in the words of Jim Carrey, at least there would be “a chance.” As it stands, there is no chance.

And no sooner than we were faced with the prospect of no deal being on the horizon, we got even more bad news. I have previously written about the deal that the owners and players closed in March with respect to compensation and other matters. Included in that deal was that all minor leaguers would get paid $400/week through May. Well, May is about to come to an end, and the Oakland Athletics, for one, are done paying.

So, as of June 1st, if you are a minor leaguer in the A’s system, you are still employed but you are not getting paid. And, because all baseball transactions are frozen, a player in the A’s system cannot get released and find another team. And, because they have not been let go, depending on where they play, the player may or may not be entitled to unemployment benefits (believe it or not, each state has different eligibility requirements under the “Save America’s Pastime Act” (which was oxymoronic from its inception) and through the CARES Act). Good times!

[Ed. Note: The A’s are owned by John J. Fisher, a businessman who has a net worth of $2.2 billion. Some back of the napkin math: if JJ Fisher were to earn 2.5% on his net worth, he would earn about $4.5 million per month. But he cannot find $400/week for players sleeping on air mattresses and eating PB&Js? And, lest we forget, these players who he refuses to pay are not panhandlers, they are his assets.]

To channel John Krasinski, here is some good news: As of this writing, the following teams have agreed to pay their players through June: Braves, Brewers, Cardinals, Cubs, Diamondbacks, Dodgers, Mets, Orioles, Phillies, Rangers, Rays, and the White Sox.

More good news: These teams have agreed to pay their players through August: Astros, Mariners, Marlins, Padres, Reds, Royals, and the Twins. What makes this list so interesting is that none of these are large-market teams, at least three of them have had severe financial issues in the recent past, and four of them haven’t been to the post-season for years. And yet, each team was able to find the extra $1M* to make peoples’ lives just a little bit better throughout the summer.

*Each team has between 200-220 players in their minor league system. At $400/week/player, that is about $84K/week. Paying the players through August would cost a little over $1M. MLB had revenues of $10.7 billion last year.

We are still waiting to hear what the other 10 teams will be doing.

But wait, there’s more. Yesterday, teams started a bloodletting of their minor league players – just cutting them outright. Now, in some cases, this may actually be better, as those players for sure will be eligible for unemployment benefits plus the additional $600/week from the CARES Act. So, we have a situation where billion dollar corporations just gave a bunch of their “employees” (technically, “seasonal apprentices”) a raise by firing them. I think that says more about their original wages than anything else, but I digress.

Teams typically release a bunch of minor leaguers at the end of spring training, but not to this degree. With no minor league season on the horizon, this week teams cut hundreds of players, with hundreds more to go (according to Jeff Passan, the number may reach one thousand). This is devastating for the individual players, many of whom have played their last professional game. But it is – in the long run – potentially devastating to the teams. They have thinned their most prized asset – their farm system, the crop of underpaid (see above) labor that they “control” and have the ability to exploit for years at below market rates. Losing just one or two diamonds in the rough in these mass firings, players who could have helped the big league club could turn out to be extremely costly.

To put this into context, understand that 1 bWAR is worth about $8M on the open market. Now, let’s take a look at the type of player who may have been cut this week (again, to save either $0 (looking at you, Oakland) or to save $400/week (everyone else)):

  • R.A. Dickey (First +bWAR season at age 29), 23 career WAR; potential lost value: $184M (I don’t want to do a regression analysis of what bWAR was worth each year of his career; we can fudge the numbers to make a point.)
  • Jose Bautista (First +bWAR season at age 28), 36.7 career WAR; potential lost value: $293.6M
  • Max Muncy (First +bWAR season at age 27), 9.4 career WAR (to date); potential lost value: $75.2M (to date)
  • Evan Gattis (First +bWAR season at age 26), 8.5 career WAR; potential lost value: $68M

Sure, it is quite possible that none of the players cut this week would have ever become Muncy or Gattis, or Dante Bichette or Joe Nathan, but there is a chance. And for a few hundred thousand bucks, teams were willing to light their lottery tickets on fire, they were willing to flush their assets down the toilet, they were willing to be misers and look like gonifs. In a battle of millionaires vs. billionaires, they certainly took the low road, and are rightly taking the public relations hit along with it.

With everything going on in the world; with Minneapolis on fire and people shot in Louisville; with at least 1,000 people still dying every day from this invisible virus; with 40 million people unemployed and the economy on the brink of a depression; with a president who seems to have his (little) hands on the rudder and is aiming straight for the iceberg; one would hope that cooler heads could prevail and the people in charge would make it their responsibility to bring a little joy to the hearts and minds of fans across this great land. It seems as if only Adam Silver and Gary Bettman got that memo. It seems as if Rob Manfred and his cadre of owners have lost their senses and their moral compass. It seems – more and more – like we will not have baseball in 2020.

And, to put the cherry on this shit sundae, if we don’t have baseball in 2020 over pay/revenues, and thus the 2021 free agent market is depressed and more players are cut or asked to take smaller salaries, look for a strike or a lockout before the 2022 season. As I said, good times!

Get your shit together so you can all…

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!!