RedPinStripes
05-19-2002, 09:50 AM
Alex Rodriguez, whose $252 million contract in Texas symbolizes the financial disparity, had the gall the other night at Comiskey Park to suggest that a work stoppage is the only solution. ''Unfortunately, a work stoppage or some sort of strike is the thing that's going to make us come together and unite and come up with remedies,'' he said. With that kind of rationale, A-Rod sounds like a nimrod.
*****! So true!
Baseball becomes the game of strife
May 19, 2002
BY JAY MARIOTTI SUN-TIMES COLUMNIST
We used to call him The Big Blurt because of his propensity for goofy statements. But this year, Frank Thomas is a sage. He has weighed in with the defining quote of what promises, sadly enough, to be another nasty summer of baseball labor strife.
''Sometimes, there's got to be action, but to be honest, I don't think it's time,'' he said. ''Baseball has suffered, [but] the whole world has suffered over the last year.''
Bravo.
America would rather sleep on a bed of hot coals than deal with another round of posturing, threats and strike deadlines. Yet just as the emotional paralysis of Sept. 11 begins to subside, here are the oblivious owners and stubborn players preparing to backstab us once more and cripple the sport permanently. Any catchy stories on the field have been doused lately by a volley of scare headlines: the union considering an August strike date and a boycott of the Bud (Light) Selig Memorial All-Star Game in Milwaukee, the owners firing back with claims that six to eight franchises could fold over the next 12 to 18 months--are the White Sox one of them?--if the economic system doesn't drastically change.
''There's a lot of clubs that simply can't survive the status quo,'' said commissioner Selig, once again doing a fine job of selling the game in problem areas.
Obviously, neither side is heeding the national hue and cry or seeing the scads of empty seats in lonely ballparks everywhere. So let me repeat: If baseball is sabotaged again by another work stoppage, the ninth since 1972, the game as we've known it is doomed to shrivel up and take its lowly place alongside pro rodeo and bass fishing. The owners and players believe the scab always heals after a labor war, but this time, they'd better not push their luck. Judging by a 5.4 percent drop in attendance, fans already have called their own pre-emptive strike. If these eternally feuding parties are stupid enough to halt the game in mid-stride for the second time in eight years, they'll be remembered in history as the people who murdered the grand old game.
A fine thing to have on one's tombstone, I always say.
Considering Selig and union chief Donald Fehr haven't been able to make progress since the last labor agreement was signed in 1996, it's laughable to think a new deal could be cut in a matter of months. Selig says he wants little more than ''moderate'' changes in the current system: a 50 percent tax on all payroll above $98 million and an increase in the sharing of local revenue from 20 percent to 50 percent. It sounds fair enough but for one lingering problem: The union trusts the owners like Charlie Brown trusted Lucy with a football, thanks to contraction threats and a Forbes story that suggested major-league teams actually had an operating profit last year of $75 million (a colossal difference from the $232 million in losses that Selig claimed). The union believes nothing is wrong with the disparity of revenue among the haves and have-nots, and if Fehr clearly is wrong about that, you can't blame him for doubting the owners' integrity.
''Somehow, someway, we have to build trust between the two sides,'' Selig said.
Oh, Bud? Just what have you been doing all these years? You are the commissioner, aren't you? The best breadbreaker was thought to be Paul Beeston, the jolly Canadian hired by Selig to melt the cold war. But when Beeston mysteriously fled the position a few months ago, you knew the bleeding was unstoppable and another crisis was forthcoming. Alex Rodriguez, whose $252 million contract in Texas symbolizes the financial disparity, had the gall the other night at Comiskey Park to suggest that a work stoppage is the only solution. ''Unfortunately, a work stoppage or some sort of strike is the thing that's going to make us come together and unite and come up with remedies,'' he said. With that kind of rationale, A-Rod sounds like a nimrod.
As time ticks away, the sides have been reduced to a public-relations duel that is interrupting our games and turning the season into a farce. A car salesman by trade, Selig foolishly believes he can persuade the masses by getting as much air and face time as possible. The Mets were playing the Dodgers on "Wednesday Night Baseball'' when, much to my horror, Selig walked into the ESPN booth and started yammering about labor issues. It was fine when Chip Caray asked him to enter the TV booth Friday night in Milwaukee, because any diversion from the Cubs certainly is welcome. But when rhetoric and crossfire start messing with the pure joy of watching a ballgame, Selig only turns off the fans.
When he isn't talking over 3-2 pitches and doubles to left-center, Selig is showing up in newspaper offices and schmoozing editors and reporters. Some writers would be so overwhelmed by his presence that they'd turn on the computer and let Bud write the story, but if and when he shows up in Chicago, I will ask him this: Why are you talking to us when you could be huddling with Fehr? Why are you trying to win a public-relations game when it's the bottom of the ninth in the real game?
''Before everybody reacts--or overreacts--we've got to remember there's been no strike date set,'' Selig said. ''The industry has had three or four decades of all this stuff, and nobody knows better than I do how tired people are of it. So I'm confident that we can use the coming months to solve our problems.''
The crime is that these matters weren't discussed in the last several offseasons. Instead, Selig has spent his prime time playing hardball and angering the people. He wants us to understand his business arguments, but he'll never win. This is not the back lot at an auto dealership. This is baseball, a passion straight from the heart, a traditional form of American escapism that doesn't suffer filthy-rich fools who still can't decide how to divvy up a multibillion-dollar pie.
''I'm very hopeful,'' Selig said.
He's all alone on that front.
*****! So true!
Baseball becomes the game of strife
May 19, 2002
BY JAY MARIOTTI SUN-TIMES COLUMNIST
We used to call him The Big Blurt because of his propensity for goofy statements. But this year, Frank Thomas is a sage. He has weighed in with the defining quote of what promises, sadly enough, to be another nasty summer of baseball labor strife.
''Sometimes, there's got to be action, but to be honest, I don't think it's time,'' he said. ''Baseball has suffered, [but] the whole world has suffered over the last year.''
Bravo.
America would rather sleep on a bed of hot coals than deal with another round of posturing, threats and strike deadlines. Yet just as the emotional paralysis of Sept. 11 begins to subside, here are the oblivious owners and stubborn players preparing to backstab us once more and cripple the sport permanently. Any catchy stories on the field have been doused lately by a volley of scare headlines: the union considering an August strike date and a boycott of the Bud (Light) Selig Memorial All-Star Game in Milwaukee, the owners firing back with claims that six to eight franchises could fold over the next 12 to 18 months--are the White Sox one of them?--if the economic system doesn't drastically change.
''There's a lot of clubs that simply can't survive the status quo,'' said commissioner Selig, once again doing a fine job of selling the game in problem areas.
Obviously, neither side is heeding the national hue and cry or seeing the scads of empty seats in lonely ballparks everywhere. So let me repeat: If baseball is sabotaged again by another work stoppage, the ninth since 1972, the game as we've known it is doomed to shrivel up and take its lowly place alongside pro rodeo and bass fishing. The owners and players believe the scab always heals after a labor war, but this time, they'd better not push their luck. Judging by a 5.4 percent drop in attendance, fans already have called their own pre-emptive strike. If these eternally feuding parties are stupid enough to halt the game in mid-stride for the second time in eight years, they'll be remembered in history as the people who murdered the grand old game.
A fine thing to have on one's tombstone, I always say.
Considering Selig and union chief Donald Fehr haven't been able to make progress since the last labor agreement was signed in 1996, it's laughable to think a new deal could be cut in a matter of months. Selig says he wants little more than ''moderate'' changes in the current system: a 50 percent tax on all payroll above $98 million and an increase in the sharing of local revenue from 20 percent to 50 percent. It sounds fair enough but for one lingering problem: The union trusts the owners like Charlie Brown trusted Lucy with a football, thanks to contraction threats and a Forbes story that suggested major-league teams actually had an operating profit last year of $75 million (a colossal difference from the $232 million in losses that Selig claimed). The union believes nothing is wrong with the disparity of revenue among the haves and have-nots, and if Fehr clearly is wrong about that, you can't blame him for doubting the owners' integrity.
''Somehow, someway, we have to build trust between the two sides,'' Selig said.
Oh, Bud? Just what have you been doing all these years? You are the commissioner, aren't you? The best breadbreaker was thought to be Paul Beeston, the jolly Canadian hired by Selig to melt the cold war. But when Beeston mysteriously fled the position a few months ago, you knew the bleeding was unstoppable and another crisis was forthcoming. Alex Rodriguez, whose $252 million contract in Texas symbolizes the financial disparity, had the gall the other night at Comiskey Park to suggest that a work stoppage is the only solution. ''Unfortunately, a work stoppage or some sort of strike is the thing that's going to make us come together and unite and come up with remedies,'' he said. With that kind of rationale, A-Rod sounds like a nimrod.
As time ticks away, the sides have been reduced to a public-relations duel that is interrupting our games and turning the season into a farce. A car salesman by trade, Selig foolishly believes he can persuade the masses by getting as much air and face time as possible. The Mets were playing the Dodgers on "Wednesday Night Baseball'' when, much to my horror, Selig walked into the ESPN booth and started yammering about labor issues. It was fine when Chip Caray asked him to enter the TV booth Friday night in Milwaukee, because any diversion from the Cubs certainly is welcome. But when rhetoric and crossfire start messing with the pure joy of watching a ballgame, Selig only turns off the fans.
When he isn't talking over 3-2 pitches and doubles to left-center, Selig is showing up in newspaper offices and schmoozing editors and reporters. Some writers would be so overwhelmed by his presence that they'd turn on the computer and let Bud write the story, but if and when he shows up in Chicago, I will ask him this: Why are you talking to us when you could be huddling with Fehr? Why are you trying to win a public-relations game when it's the bottom of the ninth in the real game?
''Before everybody reacts--or overreacts--we've got to remember there's been no strike date set,'' Selig said. ''The industry has had three or four decades of all this stuff, and nobody knows better than I do how tired people are of it. So I'm confident that we can use the coming months to solve our problems.''
The crime is that these matters weren't discussed in the last several offseasons. Instead, Selig has spent his prime time playing hardball and angering the people. He wants us to understand his business arguments, but he'll never win. This is not the back lot at an auto dealership. This is baseball, a passion straight from the heart, a traditional form of American escapism that doesn't suffer filthy-rich fools who still can't decide how to divvy up a multibillion-dollar pie.
''I'm very hopeful,'' Selig said.
He's all alone on that front.