Your Best Entertainment Value
(Part One)

Michael Cox

Every time I'm sure people finally get it, I see something like this, which appeared recently in the supposedly-esteemed U.S. News and World Report. Synopsis: some hack "reporter," looking for an easy story during a lull in the Special Prosecutor's leakfest, scribbled up some article regarding the high cost of sports events. Never the high cost of the ballet or the high cost of parasailing; always spectator sports, and usually Major League Baseball.

Usually this coincides with the release of something called the "Fan Cost Index," which is printed in the Team Marketing Report. The Team Marketing Report's goal? Why, to have you buy a copy of the Team Marketing Report, of course! It ain't cheap to call every team in MLB and ask how much a hot dog costs, you know.

And just what is the FCI? It's what the TMR says it costs a family of four at a game. This "typical" family outing includes: Four average tickets, ballpark-lot parking (or nearby parking gougers, for you fans in Boston or Wrigleyville who are insane enough to drive), four hot dogs, four bags of popcorn, two sodas, two beers, two caps and a program. This averages to $114.82 for all of MLB, which the TMR folk hold up as what you'd better have in your wallet, buster.

If I ever have a family and buy two caps and a program each and every time I take the fry to the ballyard, kill me quickly. Deduct about $40 right off the top for these unwarranted assumptions. Figure in the option to bring outside food into most ballparks (and where this is allowed, you'll usually find much cheap grub nearby) and the average "family" price decreases further. Also, in many cities, driving is not just a lesser option, but in some it's downright stupid, so lower that transit cost (just a touch though, unless the gang already have bus passes).

This gives us a more likely (albeit "guesstimated") price of $65-$70 for a family who knows what they're doing. Most of that cost is $54.40 for tickets, based on the average price MLB-wide.

But wait! You not only don't have to pay that much for tickets, many times you'd be crazy to. First off, most parks have sections with discounts for the kids. For Mariner games (ranked higher than the league average in ticket prices), this includes the very front row of the upper deck, right behind the plate for $11. If you sit a few rows back (five, to be exact) the kids' price goes down to $9, and the adults' seats cost $12 each. Sit in lower left field (remember, that's a prime area at Wrigley) and the total cost for the whole pod's ducats is $30.

And the Mariners aren't alone - every single team in MLB offers some sort of family deal, many of them even cheaper than Seattle. These are listed at the UsFans website (which would lead you to believe that they're some kind of independent fan organization, but the fact that they're "Powered by CBS SportsLine" should tell you that they're not gonna be battling the media anytime soon).

Dollar hot dogs, half-price seats (they do that in Seattle on occasion, too), discounts on merch - so why do so many folks still choose to think an MLB game's so expensive?

Because they want the royal treatment, that's why. Folks want to think they have a right to sit in baseline box seats, purchase whatever suits their fancy from the snack bar, and do their drinking at the park. Another Griffey homer? Another round of premium beer and Nachos Big as Your Head for the whole crew! Guess what? Not everyone can sit in the primo seats. Not everyone can (and most people shouldn't) graze like prize heifers at the Fan Fare stand. I can't, and I let the grudge go years ago.

I watched both the Mariners' playoff runs from those left-field benches, and loved it (was only a couple of feet from catching an Edgar Martinez homer in Game 4 of the '95 Division Series). I spent years sitting in the cheapest seats in the park while I worked retail, but went to more games than I do now (of course, I had more spare time then).

So you have to sit with the hoi polloi and eat a home-cooked dinner before the game. Get over yourself. You get to watch the greatest sport on earth, with some of the best players who have ever lived. And you know you'd kill to spend just one afternoon in the bleachers at Wrigley.

Michael Cox now has season tickets, but still has to put up with loud, drunk businessmen who vociferously declare Lou Piniella the finest manager on earth. Offer to play the world's smallest violin at mc@strikethree.com.