Baseballhead:
Any Sport in a Storm?

Michael Cox

This week, Baseballhead salutes Elvis for rising from the dead long enough to make a hip-hop song. Next up, Fats Domino gives Linkin Park a call.

We stand at T minus seven days until the threatened MLB player strike, which threatens to alternately wipe out yet another World Series and to be the most-fretted-about pile of nothing this side of Michael Jackson's last CD. Before I go on, be secure in the knowledge that we'll be here whether there's a walkout or not, and in the worst-case scenario, you can be certain we'll be sniping in our best Statler-and-Waldorf manner (that's Statler and Waldorf before they went commercial).

The saddest thing about the possible strike is that it's turned so many otherwise lively and affable folk into that guy who sits at the counter at Denny's telling no one in particular that those homeless people are just plain lazy. Everyone's angry, and lack of knowledge isn't stopping anyone.

It's gotten so bad that the ESPN.com "Sports Guy" has stopped trying to be funny. Mind you, it was odd from the beginning that ESPN felt it important to have a "Sports Guy" (does that make their thousand other staffers "Waiting For The Networks To Pick Up My Sitcom Script Guys"?). Now he's decided all those failed "fan strikes" were simply due to a lack of "Page 2" support, and is finally, really making good on his long-standing promise to turn his back on baseball, for real this time. (Wouldn't that make him the "Certain Particular Sports I Like Right Now Guy"?)

Peter Gammons, when he isn't threatening a cranial hemorrhage, has jumped on the bandwagon of pundits who firmly believe a strike will drive all of us baseball fans directly into the arms of the National Football League. There are several problems with this theory, not the least of which is that a large number of baseball fans would rather be probed you-know-where by aliens.

Baseball is a daily pastime. Football is weekly, and between games, you get to hear how your team's backup safety will be stepping up his game to help beat the always-dangerous (fill in team name here). In baseball, there's almost always an actual game. No contest.

Attending a football game live is difficult and not exactly desirable. For starters, there's only one home game about every other week, and if you think $30 for a baseball ticket is expensive, wait 'till you've paid $150 to sit halfway up the grandstand. Pro football's ebb and flow is frequently interrupted by "TV time outs," everyone goes to the concession stands at exactly the same time, and you can't even see the cheerleaders very well unless you're sitting in the front rows.

Then there's the much-vaunted "competitive balance" in the NFL, supposedly resulting in every city's belief that this year they could go to the Super Bowl. (Unfortunately, they've been having a really hard time convincing Seattle Seahawk fans of this.) Only four more teams made Super Bowl appearances in the last ten seasons than made World Series appearances in the same period -- and all it took for that drastic increase in competitive balance was 100 percent revenue sharing and a salary cap. See how easy it is?

And even if your team reaches the Super Bowl, will it be there next year? No, not in the Super Bowl -- in town at all. While MLB considers contracting its poorly attended franchises, the NFL has moved some of its most popular teams, including the Cleveland Browns, Houston Oilers, and the Raiders -- twice. Los Angeles currently has zero pro football teams.

Also, football fans were confused and frightened when Dennis Miller signed on to Monday Night Football and began dropping references to pop culture, politics and movies not starring Vin Diesel. 'Nuff said.

Finally, the painfully obvious, except apparently to the likes of Peter Gammons: fans are not some generic entity who wander like a nomadic tribe from one sport to another. TV viewers didn't suddenly crowd around Veronica's Closet when Seinfeld left the air. Music fans didn't suddenly boost MC Hammer's sales after Kurt Cobain died. No, local reruns of M*A*S*H are as likely to get a boost from disgruntled baseball fans as MNF.

In fact, were I a programmer at the major 24-hour sports network, I'd be stockpiling tapes of the best baseball games of the television era, because deprived of new material, baseball fans tend to enjoy a classic or two.

Sometimes a Pizza Is Just a Pizza: As MLBPA head Don Fehr and MLB lawyer/negotiator Rob Manfred take turns being publicly disappointed in each other's counteroffers, they frequently work up an appetite. In fact, we've found a transcript of a recent break in negotiations:

(Rob Manfred and Don Fehr sit at a long table. A clock ticks in the background. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door.)

Fehr: Who is it?

(Muffled voice) Pizza! Pizza!

Manfred: Ah, that would be lunch. (Opens door) How much, my man?

Pizza guy: Including your coupon, $12.94.

Manfred: I've got exact change. (Takes the pizza, sits down) Don, your half is $7.50.

Fehr: Hey, wait a minute. The pizza was $12.94.

Manfred: Well, before the coupon it was $15, and it was my coupon.

Fehr: Where'd you get the coupon?

Manfred: Mike Illitch gives Bud a whole pile of 'em every season on the condition that Bud mentions the Tigers in the same breath as "contraction" a few times a year, just to keep the locals on their toes.

Fehr: I think I read about that in Baseball and Billions. No dice. You're getting $6.47...Wait a minute, what're you going to do with that receipt?

Manfred: Give it to the accountant, of course.

Fehr: You're expensing the whole pizza?

Manfred: That's within generally accepted accounting practices.

Fehr: You're expensing the pizza, and you're still making me pay you for half?

Manfred: That $12.94 I paid was a very real loss. You have all the numbers.

Fehr: But you...I...the...

Manfred: $6.47, please.

Fehr: Tell you what, the IRS only allows a 50% deduction for food. I'll give you $3.23 for half of the other half.

Manfred: I have to say I can't be more disappointed in your last offer.

Fehr: Geez. Okay, I'll give you $4.50 just to get this over with. I'm hungry.

Manfred: I'm prepared to meet your offer with a counterproposal. $6.40.

Fehr: What? You call that a counterproposal? I mean, come on...okay. (Throws hands up) $5.50.

Manfred: I don't know, Don. That's so out of the realm of expectation that it's going to take me a little time.

Fehr: Just take the frickin' money and let's eat, okay?

Manfred: $6.35. And I get all the crazy bread.

Fehr: (Picks up metal folding chair and waves it in Manfred's direction) $6 and I don't brain you with this chair.

Manfred: Uh, okay. ...Don?

Fehr: Huh?

Manfred: The pizza's cold. I blame you.

about the author

Michael Cox later snuck into the negotiating room and planted whoopie cushions. Explain that "loosening up" the participants may not be such a good idea at mc@strikethree.com.