Rules – Page 3

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!!

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 21^st. 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 1^st 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!!

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 1^st 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!!

Lying Only Makes it Worse

When I got home from work the other night, my 10-year old daughter had ink all over her arm. I asked her – maybe in a somewhat pointed way – what happened? She looked at her arm, and with feigned shock she said: “Hmm, that must have rubbed off from my paper.” I asked her if someone had written on her and she responded: “I don’t know.” Incredulous, I asked: “You don’t know if someone wrote on your arm?” And that is when the story fell apart and she acknowledged that she and her friend wrote on each other at school.

It was innocuous, frivolous, and thoughtless, but her first instinct – to avoid trouble – was to lie. She is not special. All (most?) kids do this all the time. (Well, I hope so. I would hate to be raising a sociopath.) We are all human, and we often take the path that we hope will offer the least resistance. Unfortunately, that path is often strewn with danger.

Which brings us to the non-baseball baseball topic of the week: Brandon Taubman and the Houston Asstros [sic]. I was speaking with a friend last night and asked him about L’Affair Taubman and he didn’t know anything about it. That reminded me that not everyone follows baseball as closely as I do; and not everyone lives in the baseball bubble – they have lives to live and non-sociopathic children to raise.

Here it is in a nutshell, but it does take some explaining. Here goes:

In 2018, Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Roberto Osuna was arrested on charges that he assaulted the mother of his child. The woman elected not to cooperate with the investigation, gathered her things, and fled back home to Mexico. But Osuna did not escape punishment. MLB suspended him for 75 games for violating the league’s domestic violence policy.

While under suspension, the Blue Jays essentially washed their hands of Osuna, trading him to the Houston Astros. The Astros are an organization steeped in analytics, run by many MBAs who started their respective careers in the banking, finance, and insurance industries. In short, they know a distressed asset when they see one; and they pounced on the opportunity to buy low on Osuna – a 23-year closer with an electric arm and allegedly a closed fist.

Much ink has been spilt about the poor optics of this decision, and the Astros were appropriately scorned for this trade. But, for all intents and purposes, over the past fifteen months the rancor dissipated. Until this past Saturday night.

Osuna came into the ninth inning of Game 6 of the ALCS with a chance to send the Astros back to the World Series. He failed. He gave up a game-tying two-run home run to DJ LeMahieu. He was, of course, bailed out by José Altuve in the bottom of said ninth inning, and Houston got to the World Series in spite of Osuna’s metldown.

In the midst of the clubhouse celebration, Astros Assistant General Manager, Brandon Taubman, got a little carried away. With a cigar in his mouth and a champagne bottle in his hand, he repeatedly (read: at least six times) yelled: “Thank God we got Osuna! I’m so fucking glad we got Osuna!” This was an odd time to be that exuberant, insofar as Osuna had just nearly blown the game. This was a horrific thing to shout for a bunch of other reasons as well.

Taubman apparently screamed this to, or in front of, or near, three female reporters, one of whom was wearing a purple domestic violence awareness bracelet. At first blush, there was no apparent reason for this outburst. But then we learned that Taubman had previously complained about the bracelet-wearing woman – he was unhappy with her tweets addressing domestic violence. The incident was so outlandish that an Astros staffer reportedly apologized for Taubman’s behavior in the immediate aftermath.

On Monday, Stephanie Apstein, a reporter for Sports Illustrated, and one of the recipients of Taubman’s tirade, reached out to Gene Dias, the Astros media relations director, to explain what she intended to write, and to ask if he, the Astros, or Taubman had a comment. Dias, apparently, rejected all three offers. So Monday night Apstein published her story.

That is when this whole thing became like the incident with my 10-year old daughter. My guess (and, truth be told, this is only a guess) the following is what transpired next:

Dias reported the incident to his boss, who reported it to his/her boss, who brought it to Jeff Luhnow, the Astros General Manager and President of Baseball Operations.
Luhnow confronted Taubman, and he could either admit someone wrote on his arm, or he could dissemble. He chose to dissemble.
Taubman made up a story about protecting a player and lied about what actually happened.
Luhnow huddled with the rest of the front office and thought, “that works.” And then they ran with it.

So, about one hour after Apstein’s story hit the internet, the Astros put out the following statement:

“The story posted by Sports Illustrated is misleading and completely irresponsible. An Astros player was being asked questions about a difficult outing. Our executive was supporting that player during a difficult time. His comments had everything to do about the game situation that just occurred and nothing else – they were also not directed toward any specific reporters. We are extremely disappointed in Sports Illustrated’s attempt to fabricate a story where one does not exist.”

Jeff Passan, Joe Posnanski, Buster Olney, Yahoo Sports, the Baseball Writers Association, and countless others have opined about this hogwash and how dangerous it was to the integrity of a sportswriter, so there is no need for me to pile on. Suffice it to say that at least four other members of the press immediately corroborated Apstein’s account and disputed the drivel offered by Houston’s front office.

Despite their best (worst?) efforts, when the issue wouldn’t just “go away,” when the “the ink just rubbed off on my arm” was being met by a cynical press corps, the Astros had to try again. Taubman tried his hand with the following:

“This past Saturday, during our clubhouse celebration, I used inappropriate language for which I am deeply sorry and embarrassed. In retrospect, I realize 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.”

Failed…again.

Lied…again.

When an equally feckless statement from Astros owner Jim Crane failed to move the societal needle, MLB stepped in and sent their own investigators. It took 72 hours, but on the fourth try, after being asked “do you really expect me to believe you don’t know if someone wrote on your arm?” the Astros issued the following statement:

“During the past two days, the Astros pro-actively assisted Major League Baseball in interviewing Astros employees as part of MLB’s investigation of the events published in the recent Sports Illustrated article. Major League Baseball also separately interviewed members of the media over the past 24 hours.

Our initial investigation led us to believe that Brandon Taubman’s inappropriate comments were not directed toward any reporter. We were wrong. We sincerely apologize to Stephanie Apstein, Sports Illustrated and to all individuals who witnessed this incident or were offended by the inappropriate conducts. The Astros in no way intended to minimize the issues related to domestic violence.

Our initial belief was based on witness statements about the incident. Subsequent interviews have revealed that Taubman’s inappropriate comments, were, in fact, directed toward one or more reporters. Accordingly, we have terminated Brandon Taubman’s employment with the Houston Astros. His conduct does not reflect the values of our organization and we believe this is the most appropriate course of action…”

What became clear, from MLB’s investigation and the above press release, is that Taubman, when faced with a bad situation, chose to lie. And the Astros, when faced with a bad situation, chose to lie. Taubman got fired, and the Astros faced a firing line. And then their two best pitchers lost back-to-back games at home for the first time ever; they now trail the World Series two games to none; and everyone in the country who knows this story is rooting against them. Karma is indeed a bitch!

The irony of all of this – what I tell my kids each and every time they try this bullshit – is that there was no need to lie, and the issue could go away with a simple “I’m sorry.”

In an alternate universe, when confronted with his aberrant behavior, Taubman could have said: “Man, I was so excited, and maybe a little tipsy on champagne, and I said something really stupid. I regret what I said and sincerely apologize to those writers.”

And in that same alternate universe, the team could have issued a statement saying: “One of our executives used poor judgment and used wholly inappropriate language in the clubhouse. We take these matters seriously. We have suspended Brandon Taubman for four weeks without pay, we have made a $500,000 donation to the Texas Council on Family Violence, and we – as an organization – sincerely apologize to the objects of this outburst as well as anyone else who witnessed or was affected by it in any manner.”^^

They could have done this on Monday, and by Tuesday there would not have been a story. Taubman would have been back at work before the winter meetings, and the Astros would not have engendered a level of ill-will not seen since…they acquired Osuna in the first place.

It is just so easy: Tell the damn truth. I sound like a broken record to my kids, but for the benefit of the entire Astros organization, here goes: Whatever it is, lying only makes it worse!

PLAY BALL!!

^^One last note: Moments before this posted, prior to Game 3 of the World Series, Stephanie Apstein met with Jeff Luhnow and asked that the original press release – the one that impugned her integrity and claimed she made the whole thing up – be retracted. Luhnow would not commit to doing so. Go Nats!

Head First Strikes Out…Again

As a writer (am I a writer?), I love an evergreen topic. It makes it so much easier to create content.

As a baseball fan (I am a baseball fan), however, certain evergreen topics are infuriating.

Last week I was listening to the Executive Access podcast (a must-subscribe if you love the inner working of baseball), and Mark Feinsand was speaking with Scott Sharp, Assistant GM of the Royals. They got to talking about the 2015 World Series, and Sharp was remarking about Eric Hosmer’s sprint home to tie Game 5 in the ninth inning. But, Sharp was lamenting about Hosmer got home, “after I told him countless times in the minor leagues: do not slide head first.” Sharp, as a former player, and a former director of player development, knows of the dangers that are inherent to leading with your hands, and instructed his players, repeatedly, not to do that. Obviously, they didn’t listen.

I wrote about this subject in 2015, and 2016, and 2017. I skipped last season, but as with other evergreen topics, we are back here again.

Two weekends ago, the Cubs MVP hopeful Javier Báez dove trying to steal second base. He ended up fracturing his thumb, and is out for the rest of the season. It’s not like the Cubs could use him for their last four weeks. It’s not like his .848 OPS, 4.7 WAR, and his glove work at shortstop would have been helpful down the stretch. The Cubbies are 6-5 since he got injured and fell out of a playoff spot for the first time since early in the season (as of this writing, they have a Wild Card spot). Do you think the Cardinals, leading the division and with seven games left against the Cubs, are licking their chops knowing that Nico Hoerner (he of the 20 career ABs) will be manning short in lieu of “El Mago”? I feel confident that the folks on the North Side don’t feel so good about that.

But I guess people (and teams) simply don’t learn their lessons. The other night I got home from work, plopped down on the couch, and turned on the television. The MLB Network was airing the Cubs vs. the Padres, and at the exact moment I turned on the game, Jason Heyward was diving into home plate, trying to score on a short fly ball to left. Upon review he was safe, and it may have been because of the impressive body control he displayed with the dive that he was so. The Cubs were trailing 6-2 at the time, and ended up losing the game. Did the reward of scoring a run down four in the fourth inning outweigh the risk of Heyward possibly breaking a finger, a hand, or a shoulder? In a pennant race? In a must-win game? When your best player had just been lost for the season doing the same thing? I can only imagine Theo, Jed, and Maddon all held their individual and collective breaths waiting for Heyward to pop up unharmed.

Why do players continue to do this? Why do teams still allow it? In 2017, Mike Trout potentially lost another MVP when he tore the UCL in his thumb sliding head first into second base. He was off to his best season ever. So what did Trout do upon his return? Did he forswear ever leading with his hands again? Nope. He got one of those new-fangled kitchen mitts that players wear to “protect” themselves when the slide…you guessed it, head-first. This is insanity.

What needs to happen to make this stop? Does a player need to break his neck and die on the field? Does a promising player have to have his career ended in one fateful moment? Does it need to start in Pony League (Little League already bans the practice)? High school? College?

All we read these days is how players who have swung the bat a certain way for 20+ years go to a hitting guru in the off-season and change their swing path. Think about that – a player has the ability to change something he has done probably a million times – swing a bat – in a matter of a few months. But, for some reason, he cannot “relearn” how to slide? Even though he slides feet first at least some of the time? Even though sliding is not as natural to him as swinging the bat. Any player who says he can’t change the way he has always done it is, pardon my French, full of shit. He doesn’t want to change – and no one is making him change. That has to change.

In 2016, I did a very rough break down of the costs associated with injuries resulting from head first slides (in salary terms only). That list and those costs could easily be recalculated upwards over the past three years. No matter; it is too depressing.

Every time I watch a player dive into a base, my heart stops – just for a moment. As a parent, it makes me angry; as a fan, it makes me nervous; and as a business person, it makes me crazy.

PLAY BALL!!

Head Shots and Humanity

In honor of Dustin May’s 22^nd birthday, there is an issue that has been on my mind for a while.

When my son was seven years old, he took a comebacker to his left eye. On impact, he dropped to the ground, the batter advanced to first base, and, as you might expect, everything stopped while the coaches tended to his wound. Although this was just a scrimmage, I have no doubt that had this been an official Little League game, nothing would have been different about the chain of events. However, as you move up levels, and the games have higher stakes, that is not necessarily the case.

Last week, in the fourth inning of a game in Arizona, with the bases loaded and one out, the aforementioned Dustin May took a line drive off his head. And, true to form, he hit the ground (a point that I have not yet heard: the impact of his head on the mound from the fall may have been worse than the one on his head from the ball – watch the video). The ball deflected into left field, and two runs scored. But here is the existential question: Should both of those runs been allowed to score?

As many of you know, they are trying out a slew of new rules to improve (?) the game in the Atlantic League this year. Among the “robo ump” and “stealing first base,” there is no rule with respect to potentially catastrophic on-field injuries. Maybe there should be.

When a batter gets beaned in the head, it is – by rule (5.05(b)) – a dead ball. And thus everyone has time to stop and make sure we don’t also have a dead player. The same is not true for a beaned pitcher. When a batter crushes a ball off the pitcher’s skull, the play remains live until its logical end, at which point time is called and the player is attended to. Should we be so callous? Would it be better to let the ball fall wherever it may, and then rule the play dead immediately?

There have been instances in which a ball goes off the pitcher and the defense catches it on the fly, resulting in an out. There have been instances in which the ball strikes the pitcher and then goes out of play, resulting in a dead ball. But what about when, like with May, the ball ricochets into the outfield and runners circle the bases while a man lies helpless in the middle of the diamond?

My simple suggestion is that except when the ball lands in a fielder’s glove, the batter is awarded first base and every runner advances ninety feet. It is neat, easy, and clean. With this rule in effect, no one needs to hustle to anything other than the care of their fallen comrade. We shouldn’t see left fielders making throws to the plate, or runners trying to score from second amongst the confusion and agony. That is, quite simply, untoward.

When you dig down beneath the “play the game the right way” bromides, what exactly is meant? The concept, in essence, is to be human and be a good sport. How does taking extra bases while a player is lying in who knows what state of injury or consciousness make you human or a good sport? And yet, I have never once heard an “old school” player or manager or announcer do this analysis. In their view, on the one hand, don’t show emotion as it is disrespectful to the opponent; but on the other hand, don’t show humanity because it is, what exactly? A competitive disadvantage?

When you watch videos of pitchers taking liners off their heads (and I watched too many in preparation for this), your breath catches. Every batter finds himself stunned, trying to process what just happened, what he just did. It goes without saying that taking a ball hit 100 MPH off the cranium is scary for everyone involved. I am just saying everyone involved (baserunners included) should treat the moment with the solemnity it deserves.

PLAY BALL!!

Money for Nothing – Why Give Pre-Arbitration Raises?

As I may have previously mentioned, I am a very lucky guy. Among the many reasons, I married a woman who doesn’t know a ton about baseball, but is always interested in learning. And, for that reason, she has no compunction about listening to me drone on about the game’s minutiae for long soliloquies.

Over a glass of wine a few weeks ago, the conversation turned to baseball free agency. My wife wanted to better understand how it works, so I started by explaining how players are locked into their “rookie” contract for their first three years, and then become arbitration eligible for their next three, all prior to becoming a free agent. For the sake of ease and our marriage, I did not delve into “Super-2 Status”, but I did briefly touch on service time because, who wouldn’t?

The starting point was the Major League minimum salary, and how teams have the right to give a player whatever raise they want for years two and three (at or above the minimum, of course). And then my wife asked me the most simple question: Why? Why, if the team has total control, and the player has no other options (within the confines of MLB), would the team pay the player a nickel above the minimum? It was such an obvious question, and yet I had no real response. I fumferred something about a small raise for a job well done; I tried to make a case for building loyalty that may/might be rewarded down the road; I said something about how it has always been done.

And yet she trumped me with another “why?” She tolerated the idea that a player could be entitled to a raise if he earned it. But, she asked, if he didn’t play well enough, couldn’t the team cut him, which I had to acknowledge. So, she said, signing him for another year was its own reward – and it got him another year closer to arbitration and ultimately free agency. All good points.

She then questioned the concept of loyalty. She asked me if there is any research on players choosing to stay with their team in free agency based on how they were paid in years two and three. I told her I was certain that someone at Baseball Prospectus or FanGraphs had written an article about this – what haven’t they written an article about? – but I did not know off the top of my head. But, I said, using my overall knowledge of baseball, representatives, and free agents, I doubted that teams curried too much favor by giving players big raises in those years. Thwarted again.

And her reaction to the “that’s how it’s always been done” justification was “that’s stupid”. She then added, “haven’t you been telling me how smart and analytical front offices are…?” I had no response for that.

The MLB minimum salary this season is $555,000, and is subject to a cost of living increase in each of 2020 and 2021. The COLA for last year was 2.8%. Assuming next year is roughly the same, a player would get a $15,000 increase just for being on the roster – whether he deserves a raise or not. While not the $30M that the superstars are getting paid, $570,000 and then $586,000 is nothing to sneeze at. So why pay more?

Now, to be clear, I think the MLB salary structure is totally out of whack. With more and more free agents being skipped over for younger, salary-controlled players (see above), veterans who spent their careers waiting for a big payday are finding themselves unemployed. Two weeks before the 2019 Opening Day, Jayson Stark was able to put together a pretty heady lineup of unemployed players. And the reason for this, as I alluded to above, is that front offices have become smarter and ever more efficient with player acquisitions and long-term contracts. Teams no longer pay for past performance – only for tomorrow’s.

So why do they pay additional during team-controlled seasons (i.e., when the don’t have to)?

Below is a list of the Top 11 rookies from 2018 (based on Rookie of the Year voting) and their team-determined 2019 salaries. The first two names (Otani and Acuña) won the ROY.

	2019 Salary	Increase Above Req’d
Shohei Otani	$650,000	$95,000
Ronald Acuña	$560,000	$5,000**
Miguel Andújar	$617,600	$62,600
Juan Soto	$578,300	$23,300
Gleyber Torres	$605,200	$50,200
Walker Buehler	$570,000	$15,000
Joey Wendle	$570,400	$15,400
Daniel Palka	$567,000	$12,000
Brian Anderson	$585,000	$30,000
Ryan Yarbrough	$563,400	$8,400
Jack Flaherty	$562,100	$7,100

**Acuna signed an 8/$100M extension after his 2019 salary was determined.

And how about these: The Yankees only had to pay Aaron Judge $545,000 last season, but they paid him $622,300; and they only had to pay him $555,000 this season, but they are paying him $684,300. They were required to pay Gary Sanchez $545,000 last season, but they paid him $620,400; and instead of $555,000 this year, he is getting $669,800.

Cody Bellinger won the ROY in 2017, and got a $50,000 raise (in lieu of the requisite $10,000). He had a subpar sophomore year (14 less HRs, OPS down 119 points), and was rewarded with another $20,000 raise (the Dodgers could have given him a $30,000 pay cut). We could go on and on.

Which brings me back to wife’s thoughtful question: Why? Why did teams pay the 14 players listed above a total of $618,100 more than they were required? Do we believe that anyone of them (Acuña excepted) is more likely to sign a long-term contract come free agency because they got a $7,100 or $8,400 or even a $62,600 raise in one of their team-controlled seasons? Maybe. But that seems like a very risky proposition. There are countless more just like these.

There are exceptions, of course. The Angels gave Mike Trout a $1M salary in his third year, and he then signed a 6-year extension. Was giving him double the minimum in his third year the reason? Maybe. Most people tend to look favorably upon an employer who gives you a $500,000 raise.

But Bryce Harper got more than four times the minimum (a $1.5M raise) between years two and three, and that didn’t compel him to sign a long-term deal with the Nationals. Mookie Betts got a $384,000 raise between years two and three, and yet Red Sox fans throughout New England are sweating out a potential Betts free agency. Sully and Murph sitting on stools at the Cask ‘n Flagon aren’t too sure that that third year salary is going to make any difference in Mookie’s ultimate free agent decision.

So, if teams have all the leverage, and general managers have all the analytical tools, and every dollar saved is either a dollar in the owner’s pocket or a dollar that can be spent gaining a competitive advantage elsewhere in the organization, it begs the question: Why give raises at all?

The answer, unfortunately, may be the same as why Coke changed its flavor in 1985: No one knows.

PLAY BALL!!

Belt Tightening

Disclaimer: I may be biased.

I have spent the entirety of my career (save for four months at the very beginning) on the management side of the table. Agents and lawyers representing talent have been my professional foe for as long as I have drawn a paycheck. And while I am often exasperated by their efforts on behalf of their clients, I try to take solace in the fact that they are doing nothing more (or less) than providing zealous representation. I hope they feel the same about me.

When negotiating with talent to work on a collective endeavor, whether it is sports or entertainment, the game is non-zero-sum. In fact, the goal should be to have a winner on both sides. If management wins, they ostensibly have more resources to dedicate to the effort, which makes the likelihood of overall success that much higher. It doesn’t matter if you are talking about a movie deal or a baseball team. If the talent wins, they will be more inspired to excel and produce the best possible product. It doesn’t matter if you are talking about a Broadway stage or the friendly confines of Wrigley Field.

All of which makes baseball’s arbitration system so bizarre. For those of you unawares, baseball arbitration – which is available to players in years four through six of their career – works as follows: the player and his team exchange their desired salary. If they cannot agree, they submit the same to a three-judge panel. Each side is given one hour to argue their case, followed by a thirty minute rebuttal. After hearing both arguments, the panel decides which salary to award. There is no “meeting in the middle” or “splitting the baby.” There is a winner and a loser. In a non-zero-sum arena, this is a zero-sum game.

And here is the kicker, where things get really wonky: MLB rules require that the player be present for the hearing. So, when his team makes their 90-minute presentation to the panel justifying why the lower salary is appropriate and why the player’s higher ask is not, the player is forced to listen to all of the ways in which he is not as good as he thinks he is. Imagine asking your boss for a raise, and then having a seasoned trial attorney spend an hour and half telling you, to your face, why you don’t deserve it. I think I would prefer a simple “no” than suffer that humiliation. The player thinks he is the next Joey Votto, only to be told that he is really the next Joey Cora.

And when this process ends, win or lose, the player must suit up for an organization that told him how they truly feel. Talk about your labor relations.

This system, for the reasons stated above, is totally flawed. But it is the system that was collectively bargained for. Teams and players are incentivized to do their homework, prepare their case, and make their best presentation. By design, one side wins, one side loses. I am certain there are countless other ways in which a just result could be reached. But within the confines of what MLB and the MLBPA negotiated, players go into arbitration seeking to maximize their pay, while teams go in trying to minimize it. The goals are patent; there is no secret.

So when The Athletic reported last week that, at the end of year, when MLB teams have their annual arbitration seminar, they give out a belt to the team “that did the most to achieve the goals set by the industry,” there was a predictable outcry. Tony Clark, the MLBPA executive director responded by saying, “That clubs make sport of trying to suppress salaries in a process designed to produce fair settlements shows a blatant lack of respect for our Players, the game, and the arbitration process itself.”

Really? Is that what they are doing?

Isn’t this much ado about nothing? Why is Tony Clark suddenly clutching his pearls and claiming that teams are making “sport” of the process? Why is Clark totally fine with players being forced to sit idly by while they are run through the ringer in front their bosses, and then told to be happily on their way? With all of the talk about a minor league offers for major league players, and languishing free agents, and service time manipulation, does the fact that teams celebrate the one who was the most efficient really rise to the level of outrage? Don’t we have bigger issues to deal with?

And the idea that celebrating winning (however gauche a belt may be) shows a lack of respect is the same argument that flipping a bat is disrespectful to a pitcher. How can Clark take issue with trying to suppress salaries? Isn’t that the MacGuffin? Wasn’t the system put in place specifically to either suppress or expand salaries?

Belts aside, salaries have expanded…bigly. My questions for Clark would be: Should teams be offended and crying a lack of respect if Nolan Arenado’s representatives had a victory dinner when he received a record-breaking $26M arbitration award? Or if Mookie Betts and his team did a little victory dance when he won his arbitration and was awarded $20M. How about when Josh Donaldson got $23M coming off an injury-shortened season? What about Jacob deGrom’s $17M (up from $7.4M) or David Price’s $19.75M (a 41% raise)? Those salaries didn’t seem too suppressed.

As The Athletic article points out, according to MLB, players have won 18 of 32 hearings in the past two years, a 56% clip (up from around 40% historically). Teams gave out more than three-quarters of a billion dollars this past off-season to arbitration-eligible players. Marc Craig’s article intimates that the fight is unfair insofar as the teams have more information at their disposal, and they share that information amongst themselves. But the statistics above belie that. Players who have the goods, and who make the better presentation, get paid what they believe they are worth.

And let’s not lose sight of what is happening here. Teams are awarded the belt for a job well done. That is, they have taken their ninety minutes and convinced a group of neutral arbitrators that their position is correct. Players have that same opportunity. If you don’t want the batter to flip his bat…make a better pitch. If you don’t want teams to celebrate salary suppression…make a better case.

Again, teams could be a little more circumspect about the manner in which they celebrate their victories, but a $20 plastic belt certainly shouldn’t be the object of our derision. Now, if they gave a belt to the team that best suppressed service time, well, them be fighting words.

As a fan I worry that Tony Clark and the MLBPA are losing the forest for the trees and focusing on the wrong battles. And that makes me very nervous for the next CBA negotiation after 2021.

We are about a week into what looks to be an incredible season. Maybe the belt talk can go away. Maybe we can talk about Fernando Tatís Jr., Pete Alonso, and Chris Paddack breaking camp despite their rookie status; maybe we can talk about Bryce Harper making a home in Philadelphia; or Christian Yelich picking up where he left off. Maybe we can spend less time worrying about the inane actions of front offices and more time just enjoying this wondrous game.

PLAY BALL!!

California Tie-Breaker: Not the End of the World

If you have ever coached a youth tournament game, you are familiar with the California Tie-Breaker. The genesis of the name is unknown, but one must assume it got its moniker on the fields of the Golden State because more youth baseball is played there than anywhere else.

For the uninitiated, the California Tie-Breaker works as follows: If, at the end of regulation (6, 7, or 9 innings), the game is tied, each team begins their half of the extra inning(s) with a runner on second base. Customarily, the last out from the previous inning is the runner placed on second. Of course, there are many ways to manipulate this system, but at the youth level, there are rarely enough players, or enough variance in players, to make this truly feasible.

But what happens when you implement the California Tie-Breaker on a larger stage? We are about to find out. In an effort to improve the pace of play (one of Rob Manfred’s biggest issues), Minor League baseball has elected to utilize the California Tie-Breaker for the coming season. (This rule is in addition to (a) a 15-second pitch clock with no runners on base, and a 20-second pitch clock when runners are aboard; and (b) the six mound visits per game limit that will be used at in the Majors as well.)

Now, there are many Cassandras out there (Michael Wilbon, anyone?) who will tell you that the use of the California Tie-Breaker is the end of baseball as we know it. These are the purists who believe that any change to “the way the game is played” means the downfall of Western Civilization. Putting aside that the President is doing that on his own, this is merely an experiment. There is no need to lose your mind, or too much sleep, about this – at least for the time-being.

For starters, how many of you dear readers have ever stayed for extra innings of a Minor League baseball game? My guess is the number is somewhere less than Pi. We don’t stay because we don’t care. The outcomes of these games don’t matter; the health and welfare of the players do.

Sure, we have all read “Bottom of the 33^rd” by Dan Barry. It is a great story. But that was also nearly 40 years ago. A lot has changed in sports; a lot has changed in fandom; and a lot has changed in baseball in that time. Sam Miller of ESPN recently wrote an article about a 50-inning game – truly a great piece of writing and story-telling. And, for the foreseeable future, this thought experiment could still happen in a Major League game.

But in the Minors, where the players get a shower, a PB&J sandwich, and a ten-hour bus ride between games, playing for more than three hours on a given night doesn’t make sense for anyone involved.

Let’s start with the players, who, on average make somewhere between $1100-$2150 per month (yes, that breaks down to about $4/hour, and doesn’t look like that will be changing any time soon). Staying on the field until all hours of the night is neither fair nor prudent. The longer a player plays, the later the night gets, the more the temperature drops, the more likely a player gets injured. And that is good for neither the player nor the organization.

The more innings played, the more pitches thrown. Again, neither good for the players nor the organization. This one actually has a tremendous domino effect, as each level of the Minors feeds the level above. So, to the extent a team expends their available pitching (say, to finish an 18-inning game), the more stress it puts on the level below, as that team will be required to send pitchers “up” to fill holes for a day or two. Throw in the cost of additional travel, the wear and tear on the players, the clubhouse chemistry disruption, and this does nothing to help achieve the ultimate goal of a World Series championship.

How about the owners? Although many corporate groups own a slew of Minor League teams (as of 2014, nearly 40% of the 160 affiliated clubs were controlled by groups that own two or more teams), the vast majority are individuals and family-owned. They pay most of the ballpark crew on an hourly basis. And, most city ordinances proscribe how late they can sell beer. So, when a game rolls into its fourth or fifth hour, and the players are still on the field, but there are only thirty fans left in the stands, this would be the opposite of “free baseball”, and more like “expensive baseball.” There is no benefit to team owners to have the lights glow late into the night; to have the soda vendors working double shifts; to have the buses driving in the wee hours of the morning. The cynic might claim that if the game goes late enough, a team could save money on hotel rooms by arriving at the next city after daybreak, but I doubt anyone is looking for that type of efficiency. In short, the later a Minor League game goes, the worse it is for everyone.

Now, if this rule were to worm its way into the Big Leagues, then we would have a different conversation. At that level, the games mean something; the statistics mean something; the sanctity of the sport means something. Some will tell you that this is a slippery slope, and if they are experimenting with it at the Triple-A level, it is only a matter of time until we see Dee Gordon hugging second base as Matt Bush takes the hill in the top of the tenth. Yes, it could happen. But before we bring out the pitchforks, let’s take a minute and enjoy the subtle craziness of Minor League baseball. Books have been written about the weird stuff that happens at those games that doesn’t happen in The Show.

So live a little. You already know that when you go to a Hartford Yard Goats game, you are going to see something you won’t see 100 miles down the road at Yankee Stadium. Revel in the oddity – including a runner on second to start the top of the tenth.

Just for kicks, I am going to a few Minor League games this summer with the hope that one is tied after nine innings. After coaching the California Tie-Breaker, I want to see how it works when you can actually employ a little strategy. And yes, I know, it will almost always be sacrifice bunt, intentional walk, and then…something. But that won’t always happen or always work. And then what? That is what I will pay to see.

PLAY BALL!!