Although I’ve lived in Baltimore for a long time—from 1973-1987 and then 2003-present—I’m not an Orioles fans. As noted many times, I grew up a Red Sox fan, and it baffles me when people switch their allegiances to teams on the basis of location. Not a major criticism—though a very minor character flaw—but it’s on the order of adults who get decked out in jerseys or jackets that have the name of a player on the back. Isn’t that for kids?
But I do follow the O’s during the season—they’re an A.L. East rival—and also think Camden Yards is one of the best MLB venues, superior to “cathedrals” like Fenway Park and Wrigley Field, which, despite renovations, aren’t that comfortable unless you’re in box seats. When the World Series ends, with either the Brewers or Rays, “small-market” teams, winning, the rhetoric about the coming Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA) between MLB’s owners and the players union will escalate, and it’d be wise to ignore the blather—some sportswriters take the billionaires (owners) side, others the millionaires (players), depending who they’re carrying crates of Gatorade for—until the opposing factions eliminate the hyperbolic proposals and get down to business.
I’m privy to none of it, but practicality suggests there won’t be a lockout (or a very short one) because there’s too much money to lose if the 2027 season isn’t played. Owners can withstand some lost revenue, but not the ill will of fans—that’ll take some time to restore. On the players’ side, this isn’t 1994: do the well-compensated athletes want to forego a lost year of salary, which is more significant for those over 32? Some, like Paul Goldschmidt, Sonny Gray, George Springer and Nick Castellanos, don’t have much time left and want one more contract. The sports-crazed public (a subset of Americans; some, maybe most, couldn’t care less) might be sympathetic to unions in general, but not for one where the minimum salary in 2026 was $780,000.
Back to the Orioles. There was a good story in The Baltimore Sun by Jacob Calvin Meyer about the team’s majority owner, 77-year-old billionaire David Rubenstein, who co-founded the Carlyle Group in 1987, bought the O’s in 2024 for $1.7 billion (which has reportedly appreciated to $2.1 billion today) and appeared at an event—his book Inside the Owner’s Box was published last month—in Washington, D.C. recently. This was refreshing, although probably purposely self-deprecating: “I obviously have a long way to go because I took a team that was in first place and managed to put them in last place. Very hard to do that, so that’s why this event is here and not in Baltimore.”
He mused about fans: “Why are people so obsessed with the success of the local team? And I guess it’s because people take pride in being successful, and if something that’s connected to their local community is successful, they feel better about themselves.” That sounds condescending, coming from a man who’s worth $4 billion (and is in favor of a salary cap), but there’s some truth in it. For example, when the Red Sox win a close game—or any game at all—I’m happy and it elevates my mood. It’s like a cocaine high—the thrill wears off shortly, especially if the next day brings a loss—but still not bad, and no coke-nose.
But this statement struck me as daffy: “Every owner really cares more about helping the local community that they represent through the team, and that’s really more than the financial profit. The financial profit… is not going to make a difference in their lifestyle, honestly.” The last part is true, but I don’t think “every” owner is devoted to “helping the local community.” Some are just skinflints, and want to suck MLB’s revenue sharing dry. If so, and as Rubenstein says, they already have plenty of money, why are they trying to cram owner-concessions into the CBA?
I doubt the Brewers (thank you for your service!) sweeping the Dodgers in the NLCS will have much impact on the CBA negotiations, but it is a plus for baseball, if not TV ratings. There was a very stupid story on Oct. 16th in The New York Times-owned Athletic by Andy McCullough that’s just one more example of how sportswriting has suffered in the post-print era.
He writes: “The scoreboard in right field read 8:07 p.m. in the City of Angels when the empire fell. By then, fans were already streaming toward the exits, ready to drive out of Chavez Ravine and away from the ballpark now branded as Uniqlo Field at Dodger Stadium. Dynasties do not disappear, but they do end.”
That’s the first time I’ve read anyone refer to the crime-ravaged L.A. as the “City of Angels” in about 30 years. The Dodgers did win two World Series in a row (with MLB’s highest payroll) but they weren’t an “empire” or “dynasty.”
—Follow Russ Smith on Twitter: @MUGGER2023