Land of the Free
The term "free agent" becomes an oxymoron every year the baseball season ends.
With the winter baseball meetings beginning this week in Dallas, let's consider for a moment one of the lesser signings overshadowed by the tens of millions of dollars bestowed upon relief pitchers B.J. Ryan and Billy Wagner. At best, Esteban Loaiza is what they call a journeyman pitcher. In his eleven seasons in the majors, he averaged only 10-wins a year with a career ERA of 4.60. He has pitched over 200 innings only twice in his career.
His win total is actually a tad inflated by a remarkable 2003 campaign, in which he secured 21 victories and finished second in the Cy Young balloting. In 2004 and 2005, he returned to his old ways, winning only 10 and 12 games respectively.
Recently, the Oakland Athletics, a team legendary for using statistical analysis to field winning teams with inexpensive payrolls, offered the 33-year old Esteban a three-year deal worth more than $21 million. No wonder I got excited this spring when I noticed my youngest son throwing a pretty nasty sinker.
Free agency isn't inherently bad, and gifted (and some not-so-gifted) baseball players should have the right to make obscene amounts of money. Instead, major league baseball made a major communications blunder years ago when they encouraged the public disclosure of these inflated salaries in the first place.
Consider the numerous disclaimers and prohibitions contained in these contracts, essentially to protect the best interests of the employer. When Aaron Boone blew out his knee playing a pick-up game of basketball, the New York Yankees had the right to void his contract (hello, Alex Rodriguez). Certainly, these agreements could include stipulations that once you sign on the dotted line, you must remain silent about how much you will receive.
Real companies understand the value of keeping salaries secret. Many workplace rules prohibit employees from openly sharing information about their paychecks, because it would disrupt morale and promote internal jealousies. In the end, perceptions about performance shift dramatically when we factor money in the equation, and that is not a good thing.
For instance, Manny Ramirez won a World Series MVP award and has been a model of batting consistency throughout his tenure with the Boston Red Sox. He has a reputation for occasionally "dogging it" and yet he has played more than 150 games in each of his last three seasons. In about ten years, he will be inducted in the Hall of Fame, maybe on a first ballot. And yet despite his achievements, rarely does any sports reporter fail to mention how much money he makes.
Let's face it. The home run power of Alex Rodriquez and Manny Ramirez will always be overshadowed by their earning power, and that ultimately dilutes the overall enjoyment of the game.
Johnny Damon is a pretty decent outfielder with too much hair. It's a lot more fun debating his hitting skills over a few beers than wondering if it makes sense to give this guy $10 million a year. If I wanted to find enjoyment debating those type of numbers, I would have become an accountant.
There was a simpler time once, when my brothers and I would gather in the side yard and practice swinging our baseball bats like our idol, Carl Yastrzemski. No one really cared how much money he made. We just worried if he could ignore those heavily bandaged wrists and tattoo a few balls off or over the Green Monster.
Statistically, baseball is too often about failure. True fans lament about many things. I know I would be a lot happier if I could just boo that bonehead because he struck out with the bases loaded without the added knowledge of how much he gets every two weeks.
Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Unfortunately these days, ignorance is overpaying athletes and bragging about it to the world.
With the winter baseball meetings beginning this week in Dallas, let's consider for a moment one of the lesser signings overshadowed by the tens of millions of dollars bestowed upon relief pitchers B.J. Ryan and Billy Wagner. At best, Esteban Loaiza is what they call a journeyman pitcher. In his eleven seasons in the majors, he averaged only 10-wins a year with a career ERA of 4.60. He has pitched over 200 innings only twice in his career.
His win total is actually a tad inflated by a remarkable 2003 campaign, in which he secured 21 victories and finished second in the Cy Young balloting. In 2004 and 2005, he returned to his old ways, winning only 10 and 12 games respectively.
Recently, the Oakland Athletics, a team legendary for using statistical analysis to field winning teams with inexpensive payrolls, offered the 33-year old Esteban a three-year deal worth more than $21 million. No wonder I got excited this spring when I noticed my youngest son throwing a pretty nasty sinker.
Free agency isn't inherently bad, and gifted (and some not-so-gifted) baseball players should have the right to make obscene amounts of money. Instead, major league baseball made a major communications blunder years ago when they encouraged the public disclosure of these inflated salaries in the first place.
Consider the numerous disclaimers and prohibitions contained in these contracts, essentially to protect the best interests of the employer. When Aaron Boone blew out his knee playing a pick-up game of basketball, the New York Yankees had the right to void his contract (hello, Alex Rodriguez). Certainly, these agreements could include stipulations that once you sign on the dotted line, you must remain silent about how much you will receive.
Real companies understand the value of keeping salaries secret. Many workplace rules prohibit employees from openly sharing information about their paychecks, because it would disrupt morale and promote internal jealousies. In the end, perceptions about performance shift dramatically when we factor money in the equation, and that is not a good thing.
For instance, Manny Ramirez won a World Series MVP award and has been a model of batting consistency throughout his tenure with the Boston Red Sox. He has a reputation for occasionally "dogging it" and yet he has played more than 150 games in each of his last three seasons. In about ten years, he will be inducted in the Hall of Fame, maybe on a first ballot. And yet despite his achievements, rarely does any sports reporter fail to mention how much money he makes.
Let's face it. The home run power of Alex Rodriquez and Manny Ramirez will always be overshadowed by their earning power, and that ultimately dilutes the overall enjoyment of the game.
Johnny Damon is a pretty decent outfielder with too much hair. It's a lot more fun debating his hitting skills over a few beers than wondering if it makes sense to give this guy $10 million a year. If I wanted to find enjoyment debating those type of numbers, I would have become an accountant.
There was a simpler time once, when my brothers and I would gather in the side yard and practice swinging our baseball bats like our idol, Carl Yastrzemski. No one really cared how much money he made. We just worried if he could ignore those heavily bandaged wrists and tattoo a few balls off or over the Green Monster.
Statistically, baseball is too often about failure. True fans lament about many things. I know I would be a lot happier if I could just boo that bonehead because he struck out with the bases loaded without the added knowledge of how much he gets every two weeks.
Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Unfortunately these days, ignorance is overpaying athletes and bragging about it to the world.
posted by msockol at 6:00 AM
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