Monday, February 28, 2005

Bonds Should Be Ashamed

Once the steroid issue fully reared its head, complete with leaked grand jury testimony and name-dropping from has-been players, it was only a matter of time before someone dropped the other shoe. The shoe that always gets dropped when a controversial issue arises in sports.

I’m talking about the race card, of course. And we now have it woven into the steroid issue courtesy of the one guy involved who has no business playing it – Barry Bonds.

To be fair in letting you judge my comments on this issue, let me state my position up front as clearly as possible. I believe steroids are the worst thing to come along in baseball since gambling. It robs the game of its integrity and obliterates the one thing about the sport that made it unique; its long history of comparing players across eras. How can anyone now measure Rafael Palmeiro against Harmon Killebrew, or Gary Sheffield against Orlando Cepeda? We can’t, because we don’t know how much steroids may have inflated their performance.

And let’s clear up one other aspect of this that some try to hang their hats on. No, using steroids wasn’t against the rules in baseball until relatively recently, but they certainly were illegal to obtain and use without a doctor’s prescription. Any player who did so committed a crime, whether baseball wants to recognize it as such or not. Criminal activity is addressed in standard player contracts, and purchasing illegal steroids would have qualified.

While we’re at it, let’s also dismiss the ridiculous assertion that steroids don’t help with baseball activity. That’s patently false, as anyone who took 11th-grade science can attest. Even if no one can prove the assertions that human growth hormone improves eyesight, and therefore hand-eye coordination, leading to improved contact and pitch identification, it’s indisputable that steroids enhance the development of muscle mass and muscle performance. This has been the case for years. Just refer to Ben Johnson in the 1988 Olympics. Well, as Ms. Berry would have told me back in high school:

Force = Mass x Acceleration.

If you have artificially enhanced muscle mass, you can swing a larger bat with more speed than non-juiced players. Both mass and acceleration have been enhanced by the steroids, equating to more force applied to each batted ball. Before Barry Bonds or anyone else decides to argue to the contrary, they should crack open an old textbook first.

So that’s my view – steroids are a blight on the game, their use was illegal in society if not specifically in baseball, and they have an absolute affect upon players’ performance on the field. Players who used them have disgraced both themselves and the game.

And I don’t give a fiddler’s fart what color they are.

I am certain that black players still generally face more difficult circumstances in baseball than their white counterparts, even today. I know that the majority of black players in the game’s history faced even worse circumstances, ranging from open racial slurs to death threats. As Bonds suggests, the legacies of many black players really have been unfairly tarnished, in some cases, by media members who judged them by their skin color rather than by their accomplishments or talents. I have written about that very subject in regard to Jim Rice’s treatment by the media and fans in Boston. It was, in a word, shameful. It is entirely proper that people make this point when discussing the perceptions of black ballplayers throughout history.

But not when it comes to steroids. This isn’t an issue of the players involved being unfairly targeted by bigoted fans or reporters. Those facing the primary criticisms are those who have admitted using steroids, have been directly implicated in using steroids, or have provided us with ample anecdotal evidence in terms of altered appearance and sudden jumps in performance to speculate about their use. The three players in the absolute spotlight of this attention – Barry Bonds, Jose Canseco, and Jason Giambi – fit all three criteria. These are not innocent bystanders, unfairly questioned without evidence. These are men who have either openly admitted to using steroids, or reportedly admitted doing so to a grand jury. In short, they cheated, all of them.

Each of the three is of a different ethnicity – one black, one latino, one white. Others who have been mentioned also span the races that make up the vast majority of ballplayers. Gary Sheffield is black. Juan Gonzalez, Rafael Palmeiro, and Ivan Rodriquez are latino. Roger Clemens and Mark McGwire are white. All we are missing is Asian players.

It seems pretty clear that there is no racial component to steroid use at all. And I don’t see any extra focus being placed upon Bonds that isn’t warranted. After all, he has widely been labeled the greatest player ever, or at least is up for consideration for that honor. He’s on the brink of breaking baseball’s most prestigious record. Sorry, Barry, but that’s going to garner a lot of attention. Throw in the possibility that he’s going to break that record because he used banned substances for several years, and of course the attention is going to be overwhelming.

None of that should have been unexpected to Bonds, and he had a reasonable example of how to handle the media crush if he had watched Giambi’s forthright (if somewhat aborted) apology and ongoing concentration on getting ready for the season. Would a simple, “Sorry, I can’t discuss anything to do with the trial”, have been so demanding? It’s not the answer the media or public wants, and many certainly would have used such a response to crucify Bonds for failing to be forthcoming. No one ever said this situation wasn’t going to be difficult to handle. But it’s a situation of Bonds’ own making, and he could have chosen to handle it in the least controversial manner possible.

Instead, he went down the opposite path, choosing to inflame the situation even further by implying he’s being treated unfairly because of his color. And that the media are all liars, and that he’s had it harder than Babe Ruth, and that steroids don’t help you hit a baseball anyway, and that he doesn’t even know what cheating is, and on and on. It was a rant, one that was obviously contrived to deflect the conversation toward anything but the real topic – that Bonds knowingly cheated the game.

To hear Bonds tell it, the media is supposed to just let the matter drop because Bonds is black. Or perhaps they are supposed to ask him only as many questions as Giambi has had to face, despite his more renowned status in the game’s history. That’s ludicrous, of course. To do so would be to flaunt all journalistic ethics.

And yet, that’s exactly what some are doing. Jason Whitlock used his most recent column in the Kansas City Star to call the media’s treatment of Bonds a “witch hunt”, as if the man has done nothing wrong. Howard Bryany, a columnist for the Boston Herald, appeared on ESPN’s “Outside the Lines” on Sunday and also agreed with Bonds that his race is a factor in how this story is being reported.

They, and others like them, have allowed Bonds to succeed. The issue is no longer whether he cheated the game, it’s whether or not the media is racist. Bonds’ apologists have allowed him to manipulate them for his own purposes. They have allowed this discussion to become O.J. all over again. Black people are lining up to support the insupportable, Bonds, while any whites who hold the opposite view have to live with being labeled racists for doing their jobs. Dusty Baker went so far as to draw a direct comparison between Bonds’ situation and O.J. Simpson’s. He was quoted in the Chicago Tribune as saying:

"I mean, O.J. was found [not guilty] but in the minds of a lot of people he was still guilty. Why do we have this system in place here if you're going to be exonerated for something and still be guilty?"

Baker has allowed himself to conveniently forget that O.J. Simpson was found responsible for the death of his wife and her friend by a court of law. Simpson lives under the ongoing financial cloud of a multi-million dollar judgment against him, yet Baker acts as if Simpson is somehow blameless. All he remembers is the criminal trial, and the rejoicing of most blacks in this country at the not guilty verdict. And Baker certainly isn’t alone. It’s Baker, and others who share his views, who are guilty of viewing this issue solely through the prism of race, not the reporters who question Bonds. It’s they who conveniently forget the facts about O.J. and the facts about Bonds simply because they are black.

And why? While there are certainly multitudes of black athletes who have been wronged in various ways because of prejudice, Barry Bonds can hardly claim to be among them. He grew up the child of a famous millionaire major leaguer player. He was endowed with enormous financial and physical blessings for his entire life. This wasn’t the child of a sharecropper from Alabama, who was spit upon in the bus leagues or forced to suffer through the inferior quality of segregated restaurants, schools, bathrooms and hotels. He’s a child of privilege. To play the race card in his favor is patently ridiculous, and it’s a disgrace to all black ballplayers who did suffer the ignominy of racist behavior.

I could use any number of other black players as an example, but I’m going to use Jim Rice because I know his situation better then most. Rice had real disadvantages because of his skin color. He grew up in a working class family in the South, and had to learn real work at an early age. His high school coach threw him off the team his sophomore year for a lack of hustle, and only allowed him back on when apologized and begged for a second chance. By his senior year, once he had made a reputation as the best player to come along in years, the school board re-wrote the high school boundaries to include his street in the area that attended the white high school. Once he graduated, the boundary shifted back again.

Rice always had to work a job, and took his responsibilities to his employer so seriously that he almost never played major league ball at all. With several major league scouts waiting for him to appear at an American Legion game, Rice wouldn’t leave his job on a loading dock because his replacement hadn’t arrived yet. Consequently, many scouts left before seeing him, and most who remained labeled him lazy because they didn’t know he was laying down in the dugout between innings because he had worked a full shift on the dock before the game.

When Rice finally reached the majors, his arrival coincided with the racial conflicts in Boston regarding busing. He had to watch buses full of black children being stoned by Irish Southies on the evening news every night, then face the microphones of acerbic media members named Ryan, Sullivan, Murphy, Callahan or McDonough. He had to endure the loneliness of having no black teammates for four years worth of games during his career, and had to listen to some of the home fans in Boston calling him “Uncle Ben” from the left field seats. When he returned to South Carolina in the off-season to play a little golf, he was told to his face that the only reason he was allowed to play the nicest course in town was because he was a famous ballplayer. Otherwise, his skin color would have confined him to the public course in town.

And how did Rice react to this treatment? Did he play the race card? Did he cheat? Did he inject himself with steroids to help recover from the injuries that forced him to retire at 36? No, because his parents and his coaches taught him personal responsibility early in life, a lesson he never forgot.

Now, years later, Rice can’t get elected to the Hall of Fame, partly because he was portrayed in the media as a jerk and partly because he didn’t cheat to extend his career. He took the abuse with stoicism and suffered the resultant damage to his reputation. He took the responsibility to play the game hard and with honesty, and wouldn’t allow himself to cheat the game with illegal drugs. Bonds has done Rice, and countless others who preceded him, a dual disservice. First he cheated the game and cheapened their accomplishments with artificially bloated statistics, then he cheated their legacy for facing down racism by implying that his cushy upbringing compared to theirs.

What Bonds’ apologists have done is a further disservice. They have lent legitimacy to his ludicrous complaints, and allowed Bonds to escape responsibility for his actions. Both Bonds and his apologists should be ashamed of themselves.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

The Empty Glass

Fair is fair.

I am as frustrated about the lack of off-season improvement from the Royals as any fan, but I’m going to look at this from a different perspective. Rather than look solely at the baseball aspects of this stagnation, let’s judge it from David Glass’ view. After all, he’s not a baseball guy, and readily admits it.

No, David Glass is a businessman. His purchase of this club and every decision he’s made regarding the team since that purchase, has been driven with business in mind. Period. And, in that case, it’s only fair to allow that he won’t run the Royals on his personal nickel. It has to be a self-sustaining enterprise, so I have no problem with his long-standing direction to Allard Baird that the club’s payroll must be in line with its revenues.

So, if we are to grant Mr. Glass this point, it’s only fair that we judge the club as a business. Is it being run well? Are they reaching the goals of all good businesses, namely to make money?

Let’s look at the Royals strictly from that cold corporate perspective. What does it look like just as a business enterprise? We all know about the shortcomings they face; both the club and Bud Selig are more than happy to trumpet the woes of small-market teams. But what are the Royals’ strengths? What can be used to offset the disadvantages inherent in baseball's current economic system?

  • They have a local monopoly. There’s no other major league ball club within 400 miles.
  • They’re cheap. Compared to the Chiefs, KU basketball, or other major league clubs, a night with the family at Kauffman Stadium is very affordable.
  • They have a loyal fan base. This isn’t Montreal, where the fans will run and hide if the team falters. There is a hard-core group of fans that will always head out to the ballpark, no matter how bad the team performs. On top of that, the not-so-loyal followers proved in 2003, when the club contended for much of the season, that they will return to the park to watch a good product.
  • There is finally a decent base of young, inexpensive talent on the big league club. Most teams in baseball would like to have David DeJesus, Angel Berroa, John Buck, Zack Greinke, Jeremy Affeldt, Runelvys Hernandez, Denny Bautista, Ruben Gotay, Calvin Pickering and many of the bullpen arms. There are even some serviceable trade bait parts that other teams would find attractive at the trading deadline – like Mike Sweeney, Matt Stairs, Scott Sullivan, Eli Marrero, Terrence Long, and Tony Graffanino.
  • They have a workable stadium. No, Kauffman Stadium isn’t chuck-full of luxury suites and wide concourses. But the playing field is beautiful, the seats are comfortable, the site-lines are outstanding, and it can get very loud when it’s a good game. It’s a nice home-field advantage.
  • They will always have an extra source of revenue from Major League Baseball because they are a low-revenue team. The club had a small-market team’s worst nightmare in 2004; the highest payroll in the club’s history coinciding with the worst record in club history. And you know what? They still made a profit. About $5 million net profit, to be exact, thanks to shared revenue and luxury tax from MLB. Most businessmen would agree that it’s not a bad deal if you can get it.

There are other strengths, but you get the point. The question, then, is whether or not they are leveraging their strengths to get the maximum amount of success despite their weaknesses. Are they, in short, being run as a sound business?

The answer is a resounding No.

What Mr. Glass should be able to see, being a good businessman, is that, in baseball, performance on the field directly translates to profits for the team as a business. More wins equals more tickets sold, which equals more beer and hot dogs purchased. It means more demand for Royals merchandise, and greater demand for advertising space on stadium billboards, scoreboards, drink cups and outfield walls. It means more television viewers and more radio listeners, which translates to higher demand for radio and TV advertising time for the broadcasters, giving the team leverage on negotiating the rights to air those broadcasts. Winning is simply good business.

What’s more, winning, to a degree, is a self-perpetuating enterprise. It makes running your business easier. Winning means that young players will want to be drafted by the Royals, and that veterans will want to come to Kansas City through free agency. It means good scouts and front office personnel want to come to the club, or stay with them if they are already here. It means minor league clubs will want to partner with the Royals, and local communities will want to keep them around. It means, ultimately, forcing Kansas City to replace Kauffman Stadium with a more modern park that will generate even more revenue.

That is what winning does. And, so far under the David Glass regime, it’s the one thing the team has failed miserably to do.

Sure, it’s harder to win these days, as players are costing more and more to obtain or keep. Like in most businesses, being successful in baseball is hard. To quote Tom Hanks as Jimmy Dugan:

“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”

He also said, “There’s no crying in baseball”, and truer words have never been spoken. And for that reason, I don’t want to hear about the troubles involved in putting a winning team on the field in Kansas City.

What I want is results. My real job is with General Electric, and as both an employee and a stockholder, I absolutely expect my hard-invested money to be put to good use. When GE’s stock started diving toward the end of Jack Welch’s tenure as CEO, I was one angry investor. How dare they take my money, give me limited investment options in my 401(k), which basically forces me to buy GE stock, and then allow the stock to drop from $60 per share to $20 in a two-year span. What a raw deal.

As a paying customer of the Royals, someone who pays my hard earned money to attend 6-10 games each year, always with at least one member of my family and often with all of them, I’m the equivalent of a stockholder. I give you my money and I expect results, just like I do with GE.

To date, those results just haven’t been there. Instead, all my money has purchased me is a team picked dead last in ESPN’s power rankings for the upcoming season. A team that proved it can turn a $5 million profit with a $47 million payroll, and then promptly cut that payroll by about $10 million just as revenue-sharing dollars are likely to go even higher. At this level of spending, it’s entirely possible the Royals could turn a $20 million profit in 2005, which is certainly great for David Glass, but it doesn’t do much for me as an investor. Why hasn’t that $20 million been spent on more major league talent? Or, since I will grant the point that it’s hard to recruit veterans to the team in its current state, why have we heard nothing of the club investing that money in minor league facilities or instructors, or in scouts and player personnel staff, or in development and acquisition of international free agents in Latin America?

In short, where is the return on my money?

I’m happy to give you a break, Mr. Glass, and judge the Royals’ performance strictly as a business. Like I said, fair is fair.

But, in case you’ve never learned this lesson Mr. Glass, in baseball, winning is good business. And, no matter what your balance sheet might say, your business is nearly bankrupt.

An Apology

My sincere apologies to Jayson Stark are in order. And here I am to offer them.

If you recall, I ripped Stark pretty well in recent years for his failure to support Jim Rice for the Hall of Fame. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t object to such a stance, because I have never been such a Rice zealot that it clouded my objectivity. Rice is a borderline guy, I admit it. Rational people can object to his election.

But Stark’s objections we so pat, in my view, so lacking in real supporting facts, that I felt compelled to call him out and email him with my rather expansive thoughts on the matter. To his credit, Stark always replied thoughtfully and politely, no matter how lengthy or pointed my commentary. Then came last year’s ballot, when he not only kept Rice off his ballot again, but reiterated all of his hollow objections again, without any new or more detailed reasons to explain why he wouldn’t be swayed. I wrote at the time that it seemed clear Stark was a lost cause, that he had put the Jim Rice question to rest in his own mind, after years of struggling with Rice’s candidacy. I wrote him off and dropped my efforts to persuade him away from The Dark Side.

It turns out I was wrong. This year, when his latest ballot was published on ESPN.com,Stark’s views had finally changed. After ten years of deciding Rice wasn’t worthy of the Hall of Fame, Stark changed his mind and voted for Rice.

When I saw that, I sent Jayson a quick email, thanking him for being as open-minded as he always said he would be, and apologizing for labeling him a lost cause. True to form, Jayson sent a gracious, polite, thoughtful reply.

This is the kind of thing that gives me hope, not only for Jim Rice’s chances of ultimately being inducted into Cooperstown, but for life in general. I don’t know why, because this is a pretty trivial matter in the grand scheme of things, but it does just the same. Maybe it’s the fact that Stark turned out to be an honest man. He said he would always be open to dissenting views, and he was true to his word. That’s rare in the world of big time sports these days, where athletes regularly say it’s not about the money just before they accept the biggest contract offer, or claim they didn’t take steroids, or didn’t slap the ball (hear that A-Rod?). Stark’s honesty was a pleasant surprise.

So here’s to you Jayson. Please accept my sincere apologies for giving up on you.

Now, about your views on Alan Trammell…