THE LAST time truly major-league baseball was played in this country 10 big cities played host to 16 teams that were split into two leagues concentrated in seven states and the District of Columbia. Then the advent of television and the flight to the suburbs changed the economics of team ownership and the patterns of fan attendance. Now the talent pool has been watered down among 28 teams with the owners promising four more to come. Public acceptance of Triple-A level baseball as a substitute for the real thing has emboldened the owners to think that they can take the game down yet another notch without any consequences. If that happens, then it is most likely that the next legitimate World Series will be played in Japan.
Sports page photos of beer-bellied softballers at open tryouts for a chance to get a foot upon a field of dreams come April are uniquely American. I was 50 years old before I gave up the fantasy of taking my knuckleball to a New York Mets spring training camp where I would toss frustrating junk pitches and be anointed as the new Hoyt Wilhelm. The owners count on these hundreds of dreamers, former prime timers, perennial minor-leaguers and marginal NCAA Division I college players -- all of whom know they would otherwise never play in a major-league park -- to come to the tryout camps for some ego stroking. But even those of us whose Sunday drives frequently end at minor-league baseball parks will not support a premature change of venue for these aspirants.
Why are the baseball owners taking this hard stance now? They would have us believe that the revenue pot is as full as it's going to get and that giving any more to players would result in diminishing franchise profitability and value. In reality, the owners are playing for bigger stakes: New ticket sales that will appear on your phone bill courtesy of AT&T;'s digital delivery of pay-per-view television over fiber-optic cables. Already the new intimate, old-style baseball parks, with their gourmet food courts and mall atmosphere, limit attendance to an elite fandom, fewer in numbers but deeper in the wallet. Those of us who cannot afford the ballpark experience on a regular basis will pay a fee to watch the important games that will be offered outside the network package. The owners don't want a players' union strong enough to demand a share of this coming media bonanza.
The salary cap is a meaningless subterfuge because the players' agents, as they have done in other major-league sports, will figure out ways to maximize income for star players regardless. The real issue is the share of the revenue pool that can be devoted to salaries, and the owners want to reduce the formula before they move to increase the pot significantly. The owners' deft public relations maneuver has shifted the onus for baseball's plight from their "gouging" to the "greed" of the players. A baseball-starved public may have bought that line for a while, but the on-field product come spring will make those of us lucky enough to have CFL football teams cheer for the arrival of July.
The owners just don't get it. The economic landscape of professional sports is changing, as are the monopolistic practices of leagues. Already the NCAA (professional, except the money doesn't go to the players) has lost its hold on college football TV rights and bowl games and has had to expand its basketball playoffs to include many small -- the media like to dub them "Cinderella" -- teams from inferior leagues. The globalization of professional basketball and hockey will soon lead to major-league caliber play overseas and keen competition for star players, leaving those leagues with salary caps in the lurch. Professional American-style football is gaining popularity in Europe and soon players will have more choices than ever. The Canadian Football League's expansion into the United States, with its faster more exciting game (reminiscent of the pre-merger AFL), will soon make the NFL owners forget about marketing plans that ignore historical rivalries and fan interest.
Much of what is going on in major-league baseball, as in professional football and basketball, is caused by the small market teams whose numbers enable them to dominate. The only reason the "have nots" can dictate to the "haves" is that the big market teams are allowed to protect their profits from the encroachment of new franchises only if they agree to a salary cap that would reduce their competitive advantage on the field. Threatened with the loss of their antitrust exemption, the major market teams would have no reason not to band together in a new major league, leaving Bud Selig and his ilk to choke in the dust of minor-league baseball. Those of us who are sports fans in the hot northeast corridor would be excited to support teams, from Washington northward, where natural and traditional rivalries liberate attendance from the vagaries of winning and losing. Baseball's original 10 cities form a unique cohort of fans, with a deep understanding of the game and an abiding loyalty, ready to support a reconfigured baseball league. Team owners won't have to be visionaries to get the message this spring if attendance at Buddy-ball games is far below that of alternative games played by barnstorming major-leaguers from just those 10 cities. And if the Major League Baseball Players Association could get a TV contract for this temporary league, then watch the owners scurry to settle -- before the players get the idea that they could form a permanent player-owned league.
Anyway, it's hard to conceive that network and local television contracts would be binding for Buddy-ball. The contracts are for major-league caliber baseball, and not for any product that Major League Baseball decides to offer.
And should state and local governments let go unchallenged the owners' unilateral disavowal of the compact to deliver major-league level baseball to the citizens who voted to tax themselves in order to build the stadiums? Major League Baseball may be exempt from antitrust laws (for now), but there is contract law, and local laws regarding public financing and labor practices at public facilities that could be used to thwart the public-be-damned attitudes of the owners.
I, for one, am willing to donate $2 to the Orioles for every game of Buddy-ball they refuse to play, and hope there are 125,000 like-minded Baltimoreans to help Peter Angelos defray the threatened $250,000 fine for every forfeited game.
Meanwhile, will the real George Steinbrenner please stand up.
Andrew Ciofalo in a member of the Writing and Media faculty at Loyola College.