Baseball Integrity for the 21st Century
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Copyright © 1999 Richard R. Kennedy All rights reserved. Revised: July 17, 2002 .
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Comparing Records—contortions, distortions and nostalgia
M uch of the fascination of baseball is attributed to its statistics and the historical perspective they give rise to but with little regard to the uniqueness of time, place, chance and character as if numbers across the board were dipped in bronze, though at the core is straw bundled by conspiring owners who change the perception of the game at will. What is being hailed as the greatest season ever, 1998—once the euphoria fades— will go down in history as the year conspirators blatantly tampered with the ball.
Until 1961 Ruth’s 60 homers seemed unapproachable as thrice the numbers extended to 56 or 58, but time always ran out in the 154 game schedule, particularly with Ruth having bashed seventeen in September. Maris was actually the first to hit 59, aside from Ruth himself, within the old schedule. When McGwire exceeded both within 144 games it seemed remarkable until Sosa himself did the same under the old schedule. For seventy years the big 60 in 154 games held fast, giving the illusion that it was indeed untouchable. Surely, in 1927 there must have been suspicion from the dead ball purists over the absurdity of the lively ball, as there were loud cries in the 30s when many must have thought Wilson, Foxx and Greenberg had no business being in such high company. Today the lively ball is seldom referred to—apparently it is so firmly implanted that it is perfectly acceptable, though juiced up even more incrementally since the strike to regain lost fans. Well, the baseball owners, thanks to Sosa and McGwire, have gotten them all back plus a ton more. Is it now time to return to sanity? Or will the madness continue until the next goals of 755 HRs, 57 consecutive games, and the magical .400 are reached?
In 1941 DiMaggio’s hitting streak in consecutive games became stimulating when approaching Sisler’s 41 games, and then statisticians flipped to a different era and dug up Keeler’s 44 in 1897—like comparing apples and oranges—but admittedly an interesting nostalgic note on a marvelous bingles hitter of the day. Records before the 20's were a universe unto itself and should be considered as such. Equipment, lack of organization and training, little differential between minors and majors, bus, or bumpy train travel, sometimes days of rest between games, and poor maintenance of ballparks belong to its own time frame. As Total Baseball and “sabermetrics” point to a less degree statistics racked up in the 20's and 30's should not be used as a standard for modern players without referencing discrepancies. It was no accident this year that in following the record paces of Griffey, Sosa and McGwire, there was no reference to Ruth, only to Maris, as though no one would be able to hit the big 60 within 154 games, after all, the 162 game schedule is now the tradition and the ghost of Ruth has receded further, thanks to Aaron’s Herculean accomplishment. Ruth did not fade completely, however, because McGwire still had to bypass the HRs per 100ABs, which of course, Big Mac shattered with the help of St. Louis home run garden. Thus, mission accomplished: two ghosts gone, but the three remaining are the toughest. Under normal circumstances, exceeding Aaron’s lifetime home runs would be unthinkable for the obvious reason that no home run specialist today could possibly sustain qualitatively Aaron’s extraordinary longevity; on the other hand, continuance of the livelier ball, a Griffey or a McGwire could easily reach 800 by consistently hitting 50 or more each season, which seems the prevailing track nowadays. What to do about the ghosts of DiMaggio and Williams is another story. Somehow the rubber band twisters have to come up with a ball with Ted’s eyes.
Granting that some of the .400 BAs should be discounted, does that hold true for Ted Williams’? With today’s superb lights it may be stretching the claim that there is a slight disadvantage in night ball as opposed to doubleheaders, sunlight’s glare, stadium shadows and old time games played into dusk. Possibly, first class flights might be more stressful than long train rides. Arguably the gloves—often though the ball is stuck in the webbing—are far better than those before WWII, thereby the fielding is better; yet in some cases Astro Turf could cancel that out, together with outfielders in the 20's to 40's having generally more room in the power alleys to make spectacular catches. Much also has been said about these early batters having to handle mainly fastballs and curves, but nothing is said about the fearlessness or possibly stressfulness of a helmetless batter having to face the likes of Bob Feller and Dizzy Dean. Arguably, then, day ball, less travel and gloves may have contributed to Ted Williams phenomenal ‘41 season in which he was .145 above the league average. Again, however, that he traversed four decades and sustained excellence throughout—elbow surgery, prime years in the Marines, notwithstanding— adds legitimacy to the feat, particularly when compared to Carew’s .388 in ‘77 when the league batting average was identical to 1941's, or Ted’s own .388 in ‘57 when the league average was but .255.
By 1941 the super ball through most of the 30s had been unwound so that it had no effect on DiMaggio’s streak or Williams’ .406, placing both vaguely but legitimately in the modern era. Of the active players, Gwynn, it seemed, should have been the likely candidate to accomplish both. However, his OBP, which is essential, never came close to Williams’ and if he had then that would preclude him from hitting in consecutive games. Gwynn’s low strikeout ratio is parallel to DiMaggio’s, but batting left-handed put him at a disadvantage in this category because a streak depends on many “too hot to handle” scorchers down the third base line, or deep grounders to the shortstop’s right. Now, of course in his twilight, the goal would be out of reach. It will take a young player in his prime with an old-timer mentality, great bat control and speed to achieve either of these goals.
Obviously, then, these other—perhaps nostalgic—eras were each filled with greatness of its own kind. The same holds true for the old Negro major league; there is no denying its talent, but it is a dead issue since it is futile to try to project an unknown universe to “what if”. All of us know that the white world was denied the brilliance of Satchell Paige, the finesse of Papa Bell, the sheer greatness of John Henry Lloyd and the power of Josh Gibson. This sad note in history is just another example of the stupidity and cruelty of the human race—and let it go at that—even so the injustice is lifted somewhat by those greats having had tremendous influence on the early black players entering the majors. Although all older fans have their fantasies and memories, records of distant eras and extraneous leagues, have little bearing on assessing today’s game in face of newer ballparks, air-travel stress, Astro Turf, expansion, a new tradition in the style of play, along with the sophisticated tension of contractual negotiations and bitter-sweet free agency.
History: fact and fancy
Nonetheless, baseball must have a sense of history or lose an important aspect of its drama and dreams. A generation from now baseball fans will still have tucked in the archives of their consciousness this dramatic record-shattering year, but they will forget the albatross of bottom-line owners and the juiced-up ball and rightly so for the simple reason that it had been done before and in a sense was the name of the game in the 20th Century, making records and statistics somewhat questionable, which could have mandated many more asterisks. Nor will they ever forget the humility of the two home run giants, McGwire and Sosa, in an era of greed and flamboyance. Just as those of other generations had not forgotten the astounding statistics and records of eras long gone, today’s fans of Clemens, Sosa, McGwire and the Yankees are entitled to their dreams of greatness. No other sport comes close to the richness of baseball’s history, which is due in the main by the sanctity and nuances of its statistics. That is why it is so important not to treat the game lightly with insertions of anomalous seasons, however enjoyable and perhaps all too frequent. Nor should the social history itself be omitted: This writer, for instance, is not willing to forgo the disruptive impact of World War II on players’ numbers when Bob Feller was the first after Pearl Harbor in the armed services to enlist; Greenberg before that was drafted in the early season of ‘41, and the missing pieces of the puzzle with Ted Williams having served in two wars. Nor will today’s total integration make up for the abbreviated career of Jackie Robinson, and before him so many eligible black players denied the MLB scenario. As a boy, the writer worshiped Bill Dickey; as a young man he was mesmerized by the skill of Campanella and felt shame that Josh Gibson was but a footnote to America’s game.
There are those who claim the players today are bigger, stronger, better and smarter. There are just as many who might concede the first two but would never agree to the latter two. Ted Williams hated his skinny arms and envied Foxx’s powerful ones; yet Williams could hit the ball consistently farther. DiMaggio probably hit more fly outs over 400 feet than anyone in the history of the game but never lifted weights. If Charlie Keller were alive, he would laugh at the donut, for he was known for swinging four bats while on deck, getting his hands in condition as well as the light feel in his muscular arms. Surely he would scoff at the batter’s glove. Peter Reiser would have loved the padded walls. “Little” Koufax would scratch his head over the pitch count and the five-day rest as would Tiny Bohnam while flipping a lead ball between innings. Willie Mays must shake his head vigorously—losing his cap again—over so many outfielders who play out of position. Hank Aaron must be perplexed over the lack of wrist action in many of today’s batters. Ewell Blackwell would wonder what happened to the sidearm and submarine pitch. Imagine Hugh Casey and Johnny Murphy having tantrums if called specialists in closing, for simply putting fires out. Would any old-time fan imagine Joe McCarthy not using the remarkable Rapid Rivera as a starter? How many batters today memorize pitchers’ habits as Musial had? Try telling Slaughter or Maury Wills that today’s players run faster or smarter. Tell the ghosts of John Henry Lloyd and Honus Wagner that infielders today have more range. Of course, there are no answers, except that in the past the player’s love of the game was greater: baseball was primary to him, always talking and thinking baseball on the path to improvement. Regrettably today’s baseball is played with one eye on the stock market and next year’s contract.
This is not to say that the hungry player was better but simply that he was better motivated from early childhood to pay attention to the finer details of the game he loved. Kids then if they couldn’t find a game would play catch till their arms ached, swing bats or broomsticks till their hands seemed to drop from the wrists—not unlike most black kids today who never let a day go by without some format of basketball play. Ted Williams from six years old never let an hour go by without reaching for something, anything, to swing. He used to say that the dumbest players were pitchers, since they could not get it through their heads that he was not about to swing at their junk. It was no accident that two of Frank Howard’s greatest home run seasons were during Ted’s reign as manager, increasing the team’s OBP dramatically, and Howard’s for the first time in the .400s. It is here suggested that William’s OBP against Maddux would have been over .600—again, notwithstanding, there are no certainties to subjective observations and analyses, much less statistics across the pages of baseball history.
Perhaps the greatest value for this century’s baseball, in lieu of statistics, would be the great moments and memories—a black octogenarian recalling a towering 550 foot drive by Josh Gibson or a white’s conjuring the Babe’s mythical “called shot” in the ‘32 Series, just as the writer relives Keller’s monstrous 460 foot shot dead center only to be caught at the monument. Mr. October’s thrilling epic will go down in the annals of great drama—and oh, “the shot heard round the world” and Russ Hodges repetitive ecstacy!—who cared that it was a cheap homer? And who could ever forget a crippled Kirk Gibson’s 9th inning smash in game one of the ‘88 Series? Sosa and McGwire hugging. McGwire paying tribute to the Maris family. So much for futile but healthful digression.
In the 1961 expansion year—Norm Cash mysteriously hit .361—Maris incredibly and titanically was pursuing Ruth’s record. One cannot deny the drama generated. Still, it was really irrelevant to Ruth, since it was a strange year in which a .270 hitter remarkably batted in 142 runs and happened to find the groove to hit 61 homers without referencing the total range of Ruth’s year in which his SLG was .152 higher with 22 more RBIs—and it wasn’t even Ruth’s greatest year. Moreover, Ruth hit his 60 while other batters of the league could amass only 333, whereas Maris and the rest of the AL batters [minus LA and Minn] belted 1121. In all fairness, the forty-year tradition of the big-bang swing, along with the whimsical strike zone and tighter winding of the ball over the years, increasingly had bingle-hitters swinging from the heels—when before, getting on base for the big guys was the mode. Nevertheless, drama is the main ingredient to the game, and Maris gave a memorable year—hitting four more away than at the friendly porch of the stadium—transitorily towering over giants like Killebrew, Aaron, Mays, and Matthews. The notorious asterisk aside, Maris was never given due credit in his lifetime, especially among Yankee fans, because Mantle who had 54 HRs that year played hurt.
Now in the year of the “Titleist,” McGwire’s record-breaking pace had not only put Maris away but Ruth as well by bashing 65 within the 154-game-barrier. Sosa, too, broke the old record under the 154 magic number. What was once touted as a record pursuit as best for baseball may now turn out as the worst, since a long-honored goal has been cheapened by the surrealistic rockets on rapid fire. As a result both players will forever be victims of the livelier ball and “band-box” symmetry of the modern ball parks. [In Wrigley Field, of course, this is the Hack Wilson year of favorable wind.] The twelve home run leaders in the majors far exceed the sixteen team totals of 1919 [407] by some 170! Adding to this is the nonsensical spectacle of a host of bingle hitters who are now 20 plus home run hitters and even those with less, managing to rocket 400 foot drives. Surely tampering with the ball has been suspect, such as 1947 when the N.Y. Giants formed the “221 Club”, and joined by Cincinnati in ‘56—pushed to 240 by M&M &Co. in ‘61, and 225 by the ‘63 Twins. and exceeded again this year by Seattle. The point is what was once thought a team accomplishment was put to rest in 1996 by Camden Park and the Orioles amassing 257 homers!
Aside from the increasing supply of baseballs per game, how else did the game miraculously move from the dead ball era to the Ruth era, in spite of the Babe’s reinvention of the game by his “big bang” style, and the ludicrous right field dimensions of the Polo Grounds and then Yankee Stadium? [ In this respect, the big three—Mac, Sammy and Jr.— are equal in each having a reasonably favorable home run park.] And what old timer could forget the suspect 1930 official ball with Hack Wilson’s aberration of 56 homers and 190 RBIs, and Terry’s .401 in a period when the league BA was .303 and HRs zoomed to 892? But who really cares?—except for those who value, perhaps unduly, comparative records and the integrity of the game.
Mystery
Of course, there are always the variables of mystery, fate and the human factor in baseball that adds to the fascination of the game. Aside from Lady Luck [and some generous scorers] who can explain 56 consecutive games and then 16 more, and in the same year a kid hits .406 when the AL hit only .266? Think of Bob Gibson’s incredible 1.12 ERA in ‘68 and holding opposing batters to .189!—that’s not just mystery but pure magic as well, the anemic league BA notwithstanding. Even with an oft- favorable wind to left, Shibe Park had always been unfairly assessed as one of the better hitters’ parks, for it had a respectable 338 foot left foul line and a 370-428 foot power alley in left, surely, then, there’s mystery to the grit of Jimmy Foxx’s 58 homers in ‘32 when the rest of the league including Ruth and Gehrig hit but 603. Contrast this—admittedly, perhaps a tougher park—to McGwire’s 52 in ‘96 in a league that hit over 2700! In the supposedly dead ball era, how do you explain Gavvy Cravath’s 24 homers—how many would that be in 1998?— when the rest of the league in 1915 posted 201? The fateful ‘92 strike took the hot bat away from Gwynn just six points short of .400! How can there be any rationale—other than enthusiasm for the game—for Mays’ legendary 660 homers [even with two years in the service] when playing primarily in an open Candlestick Park with the wind in his face? Remarkably, Carew’s .388 was 52 points above the runner up and an amazing 122 points beyond the league average—and not as a designated hitter but as an enduring, dedicated hitter. McGwire’s ‘98 stroke was so fine-tuned that he put more in the stands than he had pushed singles! Lastly, arguably the most phenomenal, is Sosa’s magnificent year, where he was determined not to allow the Cubs to blow the wild card even though he and his team mates were no match against the Braves’ pitching in the playoffs. Perhaps the only way to get a handle on matters like this is in the player’s game-oriented attitude, motivated to be the best, driven by love of the game. Somewhat of a rarity today what with multi-million dollar contracts.
The Millennium
All this aside, with the new millennium approaching, the baseball moguls should set up stiff regulations to endure throughout the next century for both leagues to cut down on the taunts of so many variables.
The Ball And Parks
Foremost is inter-league regulation of the ball, which must be toned down as it doubtless will be next year—in the National League, that is, because of the mockery, and yet beauty of the new home run records. From the strike zone, ball and bat, to natural turf, or artificial grass, not the billiard kind, and definitely insist on the clay skin of the infield. Of course, there has to be some variations in ball parks—cold, hot, thin air, indoors—but the days of 300-350 ft homers, depriving the purist of the extra base hit, should end in the 21st century. Though boring, symmetrical fields—oh, for the days when Musial and Snider bashed the scoreboard at Ebbets Field!— are here to stay, there should be descending 40 to 10ft screens or plexiglass from the foul poles to the nearest 390-400ft sign to give back the triple or the beauty of playing the rebound and relay; thereby to cut down on HRs of a cheap variety made commonplace by the lively ball. Despite his overwhelming power, out of McGwire’s 70 HRs more than 20 have been under 400 feet. Within this century’s environment, and to McGwire’s credit, this is an extraordinary ratio, but unacceptable in the new century. Long overdue is this kind of screen for old parks. Yankee Stadium, even granting the wall has been heightened somewhat, in which hundreds of homers that never should have been, have landed in the right field stands particularly in the 20s when a fly that bounced in was recorded as four bases. It is not implicit here that Ruth had any bouncing in, but what does mar Ruth’s record is the stadium’s short porch for such an incredible power hitter who didn’t need it as did many after him. Though the stadium was never considered a hitters’ ballpark because of the cavernous power alleys, one cannot ignore the advantage to a left handed pull hitter. The right field of old Sportsman Park, home of the Browns and Cardinals, also effected home runs before the 30s where Ruth, for instance, enjoyed a low wall, but Foxx , in his run toward 60, and swinging late, smashed at least five against a newly installed high screen, which also explains why Musial never reached the magic 500 circle of career HRs and why he ranked third in lifetime doubles.
Nor allowed should be the home park advantage with tricks—such as “Williamsburg”, “Greenberg Gardens”, wetting down the infield when a running team comes to town, ridiculously short foul lines, the absurdly whimsical yellow line signifying home run territory, and shortening of fences. The likes of fantasies, such as a DiMaggio-Williams trade, adding some 100 HRs each to their playing days, in a more constant environment would indeed be a thing of the past as the home park factor—McGwire primarily hit monster 500' shots in St. Louis— would be nearly equal. There should be a regulation governing foul area dimensions, as well, to keep the BA honest.
Nevertheless, too much is made of the home park advantage concerning statistics in hitters parks when in reality some 65% of the hits are singles, anyway, in spite of the golf ball being the new core of the official baseball. For instance, if—and he hammered almost as many away—Aaron’s home park were Yankee Stadium, he might not have hit as many lifetime homers as Ruth or even Mays, but he would have had more total bases—not only because of the more spacious ball park conducive to triples, but add another 50-70 doubles at Fenway. Nor would there be a dent in his total run production, which is after all, the name of the game. Henry is Henry. The same holds true for the Babe: there isn’t a right field in the majors —the old truism of the left handed advantage, à la Ott, Griffey and Mc Covey—that could intimidate him. Despite historical variations, Babe’s total production would be the same, even with fewer homers. Surely, it did not matter to Carew that he was in a homer derby park, he just went about his business of wearing out the opposition with singles and doubles. Although Joe Torre’s thinking is correct in that homers without wins don’t amount to a hill of beans and that the Yankees had some 150 more hits than the Cardinals, ironically New York had but nine fewer homers as a team than St. Louis.
Umpiring And Other Variables
Umpiring, too, has its variables. No longer should there be different strike zones for individual whim or that of the league. Just as the new standard baseball would be “Official Major League”, all major league umpires—no longer AL, NL umpires— would equally divide their load between leagues. If a hitter is unable to hit an armpit or knee high pitch, he does not belong in the majors. If a pitcher expects a strike two inches outside the black, he should be sent to the minors.
Speaking of the minors, it should not be insulted by college draft players entering without the experience of having swung a Louisville Slugger—the tin bat should be outlawed in collegiate play in order to prepare a young player for the real thing. To further eliminate delusions, the ball must be of major league authenticity in all levels of play—lest baseball go the shameless yellow brick road of golf where 300 yard drives are routine—even among some weekend amateurs.
In short, there are simply too many variables that are glaringly explicable in yesterdays’s and today’s statistics for true comparisons and validity—with one exception, there are no variables that would have much impact on the great ones—Hornsby and Cobb might not have experienced a single .400 season, but surely they would have been among the best; and though Sosa and McGwire may never again reach the big sixty, surely they will be leaders in the home run department.
Either increasing the roster to thirty or getting rid of some of the so-called savers would help in developing a much needed qualitative utility bench. Banning the counting of pitches would go along way in developing starters with heart and grit, together with doing away with the ludicrous five-day rest between starts. Of course, it is the manager’s prerogative to have two “starters” a game if his “aces” are so fragile they cannot pitch more than three or five innings. Still, it is the obligation of the commissioner’s office to expect the minors to develop and nurture strong arms to insure reasonable ERA and OAV for sustained periods, not just for an inning or two. It would not be a bad idea to fire batting coaches; an occasional tip from a veteran hitter is all that is necessary. Batting coaches to justify their existence tend to make a science out of art; thereby contaminating the naturalness of the swing and judgment. They make house plants out of the stance in lieu of mobility of the feet and positioning in the box. The nonsense of “going with the pitch” has created the sucker outside pitch, resulting in incessant lunging and the inside pitch immobilizing.
Nor should the DH as we know it—“Old timers day every day”— continue into the 21st century, but managers in both leagues should be allowed one pinch hitter without having to remove the pitcher, or a slumping batter. To add to the strategy, such a designated pinch hitter forgoes pinch hitting duty of any kind for the next two games. In this situation the manager might gamble away his best pinch hitter, but chances are the strategy would be not to waste his best bench hitter and save him for a more pressing situation. But what if the pitcher, still strong, or slumping batter is due up with the bases loaded in the fourth inning, might not the manager opt to put the game away—win ‘em while you can—and call on his best pinch hitter?
Fair Trade And Competition
Moreover, to further strengthen integrity — presuming it in fact once existed in the game — leveling the playing field should be the order of the next century, even if it means controlling dynasties and salaries, with the rebuilding of the minor leagues and preventing trade offs of top draft picks for aging established players. The free agent bidding war should be held to no more than 5% above the existing team’s offer; plus any trade that is a direct result of a franchise in need of capital, should be prohibited and a low interest loan be granted or shares in the team offered to fans, or investors who love the game. Further, foreign players should no longer be signed by any team; rather, arrangement of foreign players be under the auspices of the commissioner to be fairly distributed within the minor leagues wherein they must play at least one season. For individual records, it is imperative that all teams be competitive; for it is sad to think of McGwire setting new records that essentially have no bearing on a pennant race, which in the end is the true drama of baseball. How much more dramatic had Williams six hits on the last day of the season not only propelled him to .406 but meant the pennant! The ultimate irony here is that McGwire will not be the MVP as was Maris.
Unscrambling the Playoffs for Meaning
Something, too, has to be done about the overkill of playoffs crowded into October, especially with wild cards and weaker division leaders entitled to battle for the illustrious World Series. Perhaps a more sensible approach would be to return to the 154 game schedule, play the first 70-100 games under the standard league schedule so that every team has faced every other and at least some from the other league, after which the best three from each division would be realigned to engage in competition with each other, except for one more loop round the lower league’s traditional identities. The poorer teams for the rest of the season would compete among themselves but in inter-league play and would in reality lose their NL, AL identities, but give the fans greater access to other teams and more exciting, purposeful play. The team with the best winning percentage for the entire season would await a playoff determined by the outcome of a best two out of three series between the leaders of their respective lower inter-league division. The ensuing playoff would then result in the winner playing the winner of the higher league’s wild card playoff, which would be between the two best second place clubs. The winner would be declared Major League II Champions—but not entitled to compete any further—and awarded first choice among the best players in the new commissioner’s minor league pool of fair distribution.
The higher league competition would remain the same except there would be no wild card and the two best overall records of the respective leagues would wait out the result of the division playoff that would determine the opponent for the League championship series. Individual records would still remain under the aegis of the respective leagues, some players will be helped, others impeded by the constant of closer competition in the latter part of the season, but the statistics will have more meaning and purpose for the likes of Schilling, Griffey and McGwire. Some might argue that this is like creating a minor league within the majors. What would one label the twenty or so clubs out of the running by July?
Avoiding NBA Disaster
Though labor unions are a defense against exploiting the worker, a players’ association for millionaires is absurd. An association that stipulates human, civil rights and a good salary is a good thing, but when individual superstars negotiate on their own or through unsportsmanlike agents is quite another, showing no concern for the body politic of the association nor sustaining rapport with the fans. Even the free agency—despite the infamous reserve clause—is bothersome because of the unconscionable greed of the players overriding such loyalty as shown by some great players as Gwynn and Griffey who know what it is to be a kid and how important it was to have a sense of identity and security knowing the ballplayers would be back the next year. “Brett” or “Clemente” scrawled on the backs of their jerseys was as redundant as #’s 5 and 9 were on the backs of DiMaggio and Williams.
The owners too are unconscionable in their mid-season scrambling to get rid of players that they belatedly feel cost too much. Can you imagine how the kids in Oakland must feel about McGwire’s dramatic rockets for the St. Louis kids? All they can say is “we knew him when....” Emphasis on kids is essential because baseball is foremost the matrix for hero-worship.
Something as American and sacred as baseball should not be controlled by TV and sports tycoons—advertisers, owners and superstars interested only in the buck that comes out of the hides of the fans and respective municipalities. All major league teams should adopt a kind of Green Bay approach whereby decision-making is subject to municipal and fan approval; and in order to keep a reasonable level playing field, subsidies from healthier franchises must be substantially increased to help support the smaller ones, even if it means pooling resources to form a commissioner’s fair practice fund to terminate monopolies of larger cities and to keep McGwire in St. Louis and Griffey in Seattle in lieu of having them kidnaped. And that’s where a solid commissioner of baseball enters to see to it that every franchise aims to have an Aaron and Koufax at the helm to keep the game competitive and each team its sanctity. This can only be realized by assigning solid farm teams—Rickey style— to each franchise, governing the draft of college players, and abolishing signing bonuses. Once this true competition is established, then permissible would be moving teams out of cities that still lack fan attendance based on a percentage of population.
An American Game
Also—at the risk of flag-waving— there simply has to be a cap on ball players from the Carribean Basin [Puerto Rico, excepted, of course,] entering the majors—a kind of '46 Mexican raid in reverse! Too many American kids in the minors are being denied their inalienable right to the majors by this influx. A new commissioner must look into the feasibility of a new international league south of the border, and the leaders of which would be eligible for a wild card in the USA playoffs. Further expansion is another—what’s good for Canada should also apply to Latin America—as Castro urges. Critics who might cry prejudice and illogically equate this move with banning the tapping of the old Negro leagues would be an affront to the Afro-American, not to mention the Hispanic American. The injustice of color has been confronted; now it is time to give all American origins of the minor leagues their due.
Performance Warranty
Multi-year contracts may be legitimate but should be based on a performance clause
of each previous year, not, for instance, a five year contract based upon
a prior hot year
or even on proven consistency. A superstar, as any reputable product, should have the
pride and confidence to guarantee maximum performance for the duration of the contract
—as Shea Stadium gets shabbier, Piazza gets richer, totally ridiculous.[ others should take
note and be appreciative for what they have at the expense of so many old timers, such as
DiMaggio being offered a pay cut after his fabulous year in ‘41.] Baseball is not
Hollywood: LA moguls who give actors of questionable talent $20-30 million per film is not
the common sense standard of baseball; otherwise, McGwire or Griffey would be worth a
$91 million per season. And as the saying goes in the hot stove league of old-timers,
Williams and Musial would have been worth all the franchises of their respective leagues.
Oneness of Baseball
Speaking of common sense, and the idiocy of the likes of Marino and Elway facing off at fourteen year intervals, inter-league play is here to stay. There would be riots in Chicago if the loyal fans for over a century are again denied their right of intra-city play. As the writer and any New Yorker during the 40s and 50s would have loved to see —Mel Ott batting in Yankee Stadium or Pete Reiser having the space he so sorely needed in centerfield; or King Kong Keller demolishing the scoreboard in Ebbets Field while Dolph Camilli owned the rightfield stands at the stadium; and embodying the triadic arguments of Snider, Mays and Mantle with intra-city play—today’s fan needs close rivalries. Though perhaps a short pass to Cleveland, imagine the countless Cincinnati fans who never saw Bob Feller pitch, and Cleveland fans who never saw the whip-arm of Ewell Blackwell! And with the exception perhaps of Yogi Berra think of all the American League catchers spared the turmoil of Jackie Robinson’s daring base-stealing; American League batters who never had to face Gibson; the American League pitchers who never had to face Stan the Man, and the National League infielders robbed of the excitement of the Boudreau [Williams] shift.
Thus, with all things being near equal, perhaps then the game will generate statistics of a more constant nature in lieu of the chaos and chicanery of the 20th Century—however extraordinarily dramatic, powerfully talented, and downright beautiful—including the “Titleist-Rawling” titanic staging of the McGwire-Sosa breathtaking pace.
