How about these guys?
Major League Baseball owners, I mean. Always crying poor. Often acting in bad faith. Never to be trusted.
We built most of their stadiums. They reaped the profits. And now, with the baseball world needing an emergency bailout _ a game-winning hit in the bottom of the ninth _ they're not even in the on-deck circle.
They're back in the clubhouse counting nickels.
I'm not here to defend big-league ballplayers, mind you. Their union hasn't exactly bathed itself in glory in these "negotiations," either. But they're saints compared to their bosses.
Did you see the quote from St. Louis Cardinals owner Bill DeWitt Jr.?
"The industry isn't very profitable, to be quite honest," he actually said, in an interview with 590 The Fan in St. Louis.
What kind of nit-Dewitt remark is that? Before the pandemic hit, baseball had seen record revenue growth for 17 consecutive years, topped at $10.7 billion in gross revenue in 2019.
Did the players benefit from that?
Not lately. The average player salary has stayed stagnant for four straight years, even dipping slightly in 2019. Big-market teams began to spend less. Several clubs went into full tank mode.
FanGraphs Baseball blogger Craig Edwards quantified the situation.
"Teams are riding a wave of profitability that will help offset any downturn from the delayed season," he wrote. "MLB profits are at record highs, with the average team operating profit rising 25% to $50 million last year, thanks to flat player costs and increased revenue of $16 million per team on average."
Of course, a man of DeWitt's means _ he bought Eva Longoria's Hollywood mansion for $8.25 million just last month _ surely knows the big, BIG money lies in skyrocketing team values.
The Florida Marlins and Kansas City Royals recently sold for more than $1 billion each. DeWitt bought the Cardinals for $150 million in 1995. Forbes now has their worth pegged at $2.2 billion. The Nuttings were part of a group that bought the Pirates for $92 million in 1996. The franchise is now worth more than $1 billion, according to Forbes _ or at least it was before the pandemic hit. Who knows what long-term effect it will have on values?
But back to the Royals for a moment. David Glass purchased them in 2000, lost tons of games for most of his tenure, made the playoffs exactly twice (and won a World Series) but still made $900 million on last year's sale.
What a shame the industry isn't more profitable.
It was the owners who had a chance to set a constructive tone in these pandemic negotiations. They instead began by floating a poisonous trial balloon _ "Hey guys, how about a 50/50 revenue split?" _ seemingly designed to win public approval and put the players in an unwinnable position.
The average person might have heard "50/50" and said, "What's wrong with that? That seems fair. What do these players want, anyway?"
First, know the owners weren't going to share all their revenue streams. Just some. Second, if the owners don't share the gains in good times, why should the players share the losses in bad times?
I'm not a big fan of super agent Scott Boras. I've spoken to him once, and within 45 seconds we were shouting at each other. But he was dead on when he told The Fan in New York, "You don't privatize the gains and socialize the losses."
The owners finally read the room and never officially made the 50/50 proposal. They instead sought to divide the union. Sure looked that way, anyhow, when their first real offer was for 82 games with a sliding salary scale that would have crushed players at the high end.
You'd think these guys would have learned by now that nothing divides this union. It's the strongest union in sports.
Predictably, the "offer" was rejected and became a 76-game proposal that included less guaranteed money, if you can believe that. Forget whether it insulted the players. Nobody cares. But it should have insulted every baseball fan out there, because it wasn't credible. It was just a waste of time.
As Craig Calcaterra of NBC Sports put it, "The owners' proposals have not increased the amount of money they'd pay out. Not once. In fact, it's even moving backwards. The players' moves have reduced payout in each offer. Who isn't moving?"
Well, we're in the bottom of the ninth now. The owners can still save the day. The players' most recent offer was 89 games at full prorated pay. How about a real counter _ something like 68 games at full prorated pay before commissioner Rob Manfred opts to shove a 48-game season down the players' throats? Manfred on ESPN promised Wednesday there will be a "significant move in the players' direction."
Good. The players are the ones taking the risk, after all. The fans built the stadiums, bought the tickets and enabled those big-money TV deals.
At least take a swing, gentlemen.
Show you care.
