In 1942, with World War II threatening the planet, President Franklin D. Roosevelt thought it would be in the best interests of the United States “to keep baseball going.” Something to do with the national spirit.
But here it is 1994, an allegedly enlightened time, and America’s game takes a lengthy pout. Within days, Richard Ravitch and Donald Fehr might accomplish what those twin terrorists, Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini, could not effect: cancellation of the World Series.
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Surely we are not talking life and death, only greed and arrogance. The issue is not global conflict, only an intramural skirmish. The battle is not about dividing countries, only who can squeeze what from a $1.8 billion industry.
That’s it for stretching to find parallels. War is tragic, baseball is merely stupid, and there shall be no heroes whenever this job action ends. On the contrary, owners and players will be humbled upon returning, and that is clearly the upside of this dispute.
If ever a group of spoiled adults deserved the anger and apathy of an exploited public, it is this gang that can’t think straight.
Baseball’s tenuous relationship with the real people suffered almost immediately. On the very first night of the work stoppage, Aug. 12, there were Pat Summerall and John Madden, all spiffied up to present an old alternative on a new network. On Monday, the first Labor Day ever without baseball, Monday Night Football celebrated its 25th anniversary with a terrific debut, the Raiders and 49ers.
And where was baseball? In cold storage, with management and the union gearing up to win the strike instead of settle it. At least one economist, Roger Noll of Stanford University, writes that just about everybody was winning, anyway. Two teams, Seattle and Pittsburgh, have troubles but three others-Milwaukee, Montreal and San Diego-in fact “are financially healthy.”
But what’s a study here and there mean when you can roll up your sleeves and become invisible just about the time football starts? The NFL and NCAA couldn’t have asked for more, and throw in the NBA and NHL, too.
And to think this was the year promised to keep our undivided attention. For better or worse, leagues were rearranged to create more interest in more places. And it was right there for the taking. Teams in the three major markets-New York, Los Angeles, Chicago-in first place. Plus, Montreal, Texas and Cincinnati for bonus coverage.
But, no, baseball closed up shop. And instead of hearing the magic word in any labor impasse-compromise, can you spell it, brats?-all we get is salary cap. Harvey Wineberg, a savvy Chicago representative for numerous athletes, has this to say about that. If a salary cap is so important to baseball owners, why do the owners in the sports with a salary cap try to circumvent it?
Ah, but logic has no place here and it won’t even if the owners get what they want. Jerry Reinsdorf, for example, operates a very nice franchise as chairman of the White Sox. Is it his duty to share revenue with incompetent lodge brothers? How does he know, if and when he writes out a $5 million check to the California Angels, that they won’t spend it on the same sleepy executives or lousy ballplayers who have doomed the team for 30 years?
Is this the cause for which he fights? Is this worth no World Series? And if this tarnished 1994 season doesn’t resume, how do you market 1995 to fans? How do you sell tickets, TV and radio advertising, or, more importantly, good faith? Or is it that, having dug itself so deeply into this black hole, baseball is afraid to face the embarrassment of having to ask our forgiveness?
Somebody, someday is going to have to apologize, but will we be listening?
Remember, this is not war. This is kindergarten. And when the children return to own and play, humility will look good on all of them.