Think again, White Sox fans, if you are annoyed about the team’s recent maneuver to alter game times in conjunction with a sponsorship deal. Everything is for sale now in professional sports, including the first pitch.
By delaying the start of weeknight dates to 7:11 p.m. instead of the customary 7:05, the Sox are merely operating like the progressive organization they have become. While struggling businesses such as General Motors opt to enhance their bottom line by cutting costs, the born-again Sox do it the preferred way. They grow revenue.
Back in the day, and not too distant a day, the Sox could have fit their average crowd into a 7-Eleven convenience store. But with the advent of a new attitude on the South Side and a World Series championship, demand for tickets at U.S. Cellular Field is in a photo finish with supply.
The published figure for the alignment, $500,000, seems a bit low, but no matter. There is no evidence whatsoever that Sox Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf and his partners will pocket this change. Unlike certain franchises that cheat their fans by pleading small-market status and spiraling payrolls, the Sox have a track record of reinvesting in the product.
A 7:11 start would be a problem only if that’s when afternoon games began, or ended. Otherwise, six extra minutes provide broadcast entities that come on the air at 7 sharp more room for preambles, such as lineups, presented by somebody, perhaps the 7-Eleven outlets themselves.
Promotional possibilities are endless. If Bobby Jenks comes in for the ninth inning and records three straight strikeouts, maybe everybody in the stands holding a stub gets a free doughnut the next morning. The only surprise is that the Cubs didn’t think of this because, like your neighborhood 7-Eleven, they check out quickly and never seem to close.
Blanket commercialism is everywhere. We never imagined the old-fashioned Blackhawks of the NHL’s Original Six would plaster ads on boards inside their United Center rink so advertisers could woo television viewers. But these subliminal messages are there, and you would have to say the Hawks are ahead of the curve, inasmuch as they haven’t discovered home television.
The Sox also announced another stadium alteration. They are moving the press box, a bit of redecorating that won’t bother anyone except members of the press. Instead of us wretches and our tools of the trade, the area behind home plate on the 200 level will be occupied by 220 choice seats at $250 a pop–again, more money, presumably for your uniformed heroes. Media mopes will be transferred up yonder to the 300 level, which is not as desirable, but it could be worse. At least they’re not putting us in the 600 level. There is none. Yet.
This is not a revolutionary development. Press boxes used to be so close to the action, we could hear players spit. Press row at Bulls games once was the front row, even with the benches. Now those chairs are for the rich and famous, who also pay for their food. We still sit ringside for boxing, but if boxing ever gets off life support, that will change. Even the PGA Tour experimented by selling inside-the-ropes badges to privileged characters. Thankfully, this gimmick was abandoned, probably because these important folks couldn’t part with their cell phones.
There will be a day when players wear company logos on their jerseys, and that will be the day when we yearn for quaint phrases such as “this call to the bullpen is brought to you by . . . ” And we can’t claim the Cubs are out of touch. After all, where have they been gumming up their 98-year rebuilding plan? A field named Wrigley.