Baseballhead:
Behind Bud's Eyes

Michael Cox

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

—"Behind Blue Eyes," by Pete Townshend

I believe that as he has said on numerous occasions, Bud Selig wept when his beloved Braves left for Atlanta. I believe that he sincerely thought the Pilots had not yet taken root in Seattle, and that if he hadn't claimed them for Milwaukee they would have packed up for another destination.

I believe that deep within his heart of hearts Selig holds the conviction that a salary cap would be the zenith of owner-player partnership, and that once a cap is imposed, the game's moguls and miracle men will live in unprecedented harmony.

I believe that Bud Selig is at his core a man whose aims are just and noble. I also happen to believe that Bud Selig lacks any ability to carry out those aims, and is bereft of the vision to understand the havoc he wreaks with every move he makes.

Many have declared Bud Selig to be a hard-boiled businessman who is driven by nothing but greed. A look at what he has done, at the mistakes he has consistently made, paint another, bleaker picture: Bud Selig is a man who sincerely wants to leave Major League Baseball in better shape than that in which he found it, but doesn't have a clue how to do it.

He's a caretaker who breaks everything he touches, and it must be killing him inside.

As an owner, Selig contributed to some of the biggest mistakes baseball owners have ever made, but as a commissioner he's been set up to fail from the start. An impartial commissioner acting for the good of the game can be honest and forthright, knowing that he's not only acting in the best interest of the game itself, but that the owners will keep him shielded from most of the evil they do. By appointing himself commissioner, Selig walks through his life having to uphold the illusions his brethren maintain, yet fooling no one.

All of MLB's GAAP-approved shell games for hiding revenues became a millstone around Selig's neck when he approached Congress to make a case for the game. Forced to defend the numbers teams had been using for decades, Selig had little choice but to tell lies so blatant that even Congresspeople on both sides of the aisle could tell he was fibbing.

Even the Pete Rose situation is complicated by Selig's nonobjective status. A true commissioner could say "no" to Rose point blank and have the anchor of his convictions. Selig has no such anchor. On the basis of little more than his own declining public image and Rose's growing fan support, Our Commish now feels compelled to reconsider adding the plaque of the cardinal-rule-breaking "hit king" to the Hall of Fame.

This is not to say Selig doesn't have a sense of what must be done. He knows, for example, that modern Americans are easily bored, and that not only will they not support a losing team, they will disavow any connection to it. He sees the NFL and NBA trumpet "parity," but he not only fails to see the concept for the lie that it is, he spent untold time and energy on selling a luxury tax intended to rein in Yankee-type spending, only to have it have flat-out ignored by the Yankees themselves.

He believed that interleague play would open up new rivalries. It did not. Now he's trapped, doomed to write the MLB schedule around the Mets' and Yankees' meaningless but lucrative annual home-and-home series while other teams with no connection play to dwindling crowds.

He knew that more playoff berths would create more excitement in more cities. He then saddled the game with an abbreviated first playoff round, undermining a sport whose teams play every day for six months to prove their worthiness for the postseason, and leading to rock-bottom ratings for every World Series that has included a wild-card team. So much for the Cinderella theory.

Collusion and its repercussions, decades of picking and losing labor fights, lawyer "friends" who talk him into fighting unwinnable court battles, have all surely pressed down on Selig's spine like the weight of the world.

Look at photos of Bud Selig from ten years ago, and compare them with recent photos. Once a robust (though not terribly attractive) man, he now resembles someone who has spent 15 rounds being punched in the face by life. The years have not been kind.

Even Selig's local dreams have been turning to wet coffee grounds -- what was to be a celebration of his rescuing baseball for Milwaukee instead turned ugly, with his new ballpark leaking on the bleacher fans and boos raining from the stands during the Home Run Derby trophy presentation.

His unfathomably ill-timed handling of the Midsummer Classic's eventual tie only added fuel rods to the meltdown of the fans in attendance. Regressing to a taunted high-school geek, Selig reacted by literally running away from the public at the very moment a leader was required.

Then, ensconced in his safe office retreat, he decreed that future All-Star Games will now help decide the winner of the World Series via home-field advantage, taking what was historically a lighthearted exhibition and making it a serious competition -- all for television ratings -- yet not understanding his own game well enough to know that baseball games can and do end in ties, for good reason.

How will he handle an extended downpour in the eighth inning of a tied All-Star Game without hard feelings? Knowing Selig's extraordinarily bad sense of timing, it could just happen this year.

Saddest of all, hatred for Bud Selig is not undeserved. That he doesn't step aside for brighter minds is rightly infuriating. The fans who love baseball have a responsibility to let its leaders know when it's being harmed. However, considering his motives and the futility which has left his legacy an ugly crater, Bud Selig is most deserving of our pity.

about the author

Michael Cox promises a chuckle or two next week. Promise him you'll at least grimace at mc@strikethree.com.