I’ve heard the word “contraction” used. It was in Lamaze class, referring to the magic moment the dads (or whoever) began coaching the he-he-he dog panting. After a few real “contractions” the soon-to-be mom began calling the dog panting, well-meaning dad vile names. A few more “contractions” and it was time to hit the heavy drugs.
The airlines have been good at inventing their own airplanespeak. A passenger, for instance, doesn’t get off an airplane; he “deplanes.” We don’t watch just any movie; it’s an “in-flight movie,” just in case you forgot you were on an airplane. It’s my view this is exactly what they’re trying to do: help us forget — by making us feel like a scientist or astronaut — that we’re 30,000 feet in the sky, with nothing but a few inches of metal and plastic between us and an unpleasant environment. A fact that never, for even a second, escapes my mind.
And now baseball, American as a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, feels the need to muddy up the King’s English with confusing references to the delivery room. Baseball, I’m sure you know by now, wants to cull out a few bad apples, separate the wheat from the chaff, toss off some dead weight … you know … “contract.”
Commissioner Bud Selig has been roundly criticized by the knee-jerk media and the predictable players union, for both the timing — coming days after an outstanding World Series (as if the reaction would’ve been any different if Selig had waited until December) — and the substance of his announcement, as if this were some kind of surprise. The players union — sport’s strongest and most intractable — and the working man’s media both howl in protest, expressing shock and amazement at the suggestion of “contraction.” The six or seven season ticket holders in Montreal, Tampa, Miami, and Minnesota threaten lawsuits. Mayors, aldermen, senators, and governors are outraged that these normally ignored municipal potholes might — poof — “contract.”
Sportsfans, let me be the first to admit I’m not exactly Peter Gammons with exclusive information here. Still, I’ve been reading about “contraction” for years. It’s been discussed, pro and con, at great length by the columnists now so flummoxed at the very idea. It’s not like Selig is proposing “contracting” the Cardinals.
This is what you’re going to hear for the next six months, maybe much longer. Most of the media and the players union will suggest that this “contraction” is a crying shame, and damn well un-American. It’s the greedy, voracious baseball owners’ way of eliminating profitless road trips, cutting jobs of good hearted, innocent people — Christian peanut vendors for the love of God! — ripping the hearts out of said half-dozen loyal fans, and trying to legislate themselves out of bad past decisions, all right after baseball’s most successful season and just before Christmas, and humbug to you, Bud.
The wide-eyed, innocent owners will proclaim that they’re only looking out for us — the sacred fan — by making the product better for you and me. They’ll say these towns will not support baseball. They’ll say the union was in the loop for many months. They’ll say they’re ready to make concessions, enlarge rosters, make sure that Triple-A players (lots of ’em) can still play in the Big Leagues.
The truth is this: They’re both lying … and they’re both telling the truth. Such is the acrimonious, treacherous, Byzantine terrain of baseball and its evil inseparable twin: the players union. Every fan knows that baseball (and the NBA and NHL for that matter) is badly overextended. I could cut four teams out of each league and sleep well tonight knowing I’ve just helped the Ice Bats, Round Rock Express, and the CBA in the process. A good day’s work!
And yes indeed, big-market baseball owners, too greedy and shortsighted to really share profits with the Devil Rays of the world, and too stupid (Tom Hicks) to ever say “no” or too drenched in excess cash (King George) to have any reason to — yes, they’re trying to rectify past mistakes, legislate their uncontrollable excesses, and swear this time they’ll stare down the union and make the hard decisions (say salary cap) they need in order to keep their game competitive.
And so the stage is set for a winter filled with angry, self-righteous rhetoric. Stage right is the Union: a professional golden guild, filled with the hubris of years of fighting a stupid, oafish opponent, a union that’s never tasted defeat. Stage left, the Owners: trying again to get it right. Past history says they won’t, but we saw Mariano Rivera blow a save, costing his team the World Series, so anything’s possible.
For my part, I can’t understand why we fans get so upset that a few wealthy young men might lose jobs so that we fans don’t have to watch Triple-A players masquerade as Big Leaguers, but then pay no attention when Dell “contracts” the jobs of 5,000 folks. I hope baseball “contracts.” It’s the right decision. Downsizing is, after all, the rage these days. God bless ’em. I wish ’em luck. They’ll need it.
If you remember only one thought here, let it be this: Both sides will claim to have the fans’ interest at heart. This is utter bullshit. This is (and always has been) an internal brawl where the only interest is self-interest.
This article appears in November 16 • 2001.