Morris and Steinbrenner: A Radically Altered Baseball Climate : Yankee Boss, the Scrooge of ‘86, Brings to Mind the Question: Just What Is It the Owners Are Trying to Win?

For Christmas, George Steinbrenner put orange rinds and lumps of coal in the sanitary hose of every big-leaguer.

The free-agent Santa of winters past who gave millions to Dave Collins, Roy Smalley, Oscar Gamble, Don Gullett, Butch Wynegar and other such players is the Scrooge of ’86. Talk about symbolism.

When George III missed the deadline last Friday to sign Jack Morris, it was a watershed in the economic history of baseball as sure as the day Steinbrenner signed that other right-hander--Catfish Hunter--as the first free agent.

The owner who opened his checkbook to begin an era finally closed it 12 years and many costly lessons later. One act began the auction madness. The other marked the conclusive, and many would say collusive, end of it.

Owners are clinking their glasses these days, toasting their solidarity and enjoying the visceral satisfaction of sticking one in the ear of an abrasive union that has led them on a merry chase for years.

Through two solid winters of players-union discontent, the owners have refused to sign any significant free agent or establish any new inflated salary precedent that could be cited before an arbitrator. A coincidence? An epidemic of common sense? Or a precisely orchestrated battle plan?

Management’s position, enunciated by its Player Relations Committee, is basically that it has discovered common sense. After years of excess, all 26 owners finally wised up that they were businessmen first, not dice rollers. Free-agent speculation, at the going rate, was just bad business.

“This industry has to show fiscal responsibility like any other,” said a PRC spokesman. “The union perceives this as an exercise in muscle. . . . They don’t like to face it that, even though there is still a lot of money out there, the good times are over. You probably aren’t going to see relief pitchers signing for $50 million or utility players for a million. People probably aren’t going to make that kind of money anymore.”

The union has suffered wounds to its great pride that won’t heal soon. “This is the arrogance of robber barons who say, ‘We’re the rich guys. We have a monopoly. So, we can ignore the (labor) agreements we sign and you can’t stop us. So, buzz off,’ ” said outraged union executive director Don Fehr.

“This has terrible long-range consequences. It’s probably going to end up bloodier than ever next time,” said Fehr of baseball’s next possible strike, before the 1990 season. “You think (the hatred) was ugly the other times (in the 1981 and 1985 strikes). That’s nothing compared to the bad blood now.”

It will take three more months before the union’s year-old grievance claiming collusion can be heard by an arbitrator. And it may take three years before the union can point the strike gun at the owners’ heads once more. Those are issues for the future. What we have right now is a radically altered climate of financial expectation when players and management talk turkey.

Before Morris-Steinbrenner, there still was a sliver of doubt that the owners could hold the line and keep their competitive fingers off tasty expensive morsels such as Morris, Tim Raines, Larry Parrish and Rich Gedman. Now, nobody inside the game wonders. Free agency, at least as we’ve known it, looks stone dead. Here’s why:

Morris made Steinbrenner an offer no owner could refuse. That is, no owner whose primary consideration was winning the pennant. Morris has won the most games of any pitcher in the 1980s. He’s 30, at his peak and coming off a 21-8 year. The Yankees finished second last season. Their big need: More and better starting pitching. By signing Morris, the Yankees also could denude a key division rival, the Tigers.

What did Morris demand? Not any specific salary. He agreed to let a neutral labor arbitrator determine his income. Give me whatever is fair--the going rate for 20-game winners playing in New York City.

Morris, his agent and probably the union had concocted a textbook test case to take to the public and, someday, to a grievance arbitrator. If the New York Yankees won’t sign Morris, who’s going to sign anybody?

These days, the owners are in the catbird seat. Short run, if they stay united, it’s hard to see how they can fail to calm the salary waters. After all, the most an arbitrator has authority to do in a grievance procedure is restore players to the status they enjoyed before the Big Chill of ’85. So what if he gives Kirk Gibson a raise, or extends his contract a year or two, or makes him a free agent again? Hey, say owners, things were that bad anyway; what have we got to lose?

Besides, and this is the key to the scheme, more players get frightened all the time and sign for less than they would have a couple of years ago. Every player who buckles helps lower the whole salary structure of the game. And that sets new long-range precedents for future arbitration cases.

“Players must, sooner or later, take some risks. Otherwise, the owners will have won,” said Fehr. “Everybody’s salary is sort of related at every level. If a Don Mattingly collapses (in his demands) at $1.5 million a year, he caps everybody underneath him.”

When it comes to their own money, ballplayers are not famous for being brave. The owners are just waiting for some courageous, but expendable, soul to test the system they’ve arranged. Go on, they seem to say, make a demand. Then, get angry when your team makes a laughably low counteroffer. Pass up the safety of arbitration and see what teams offer on the “open” market.

Could Ray Knight be this guinea pig?

The MVP of the World Series turned down an $800,000 one-year contract from the Mets; it slighted his .298 average and October heroism. He wanted two years at a million per. On Dec. 8, the Mets rejected arbitration, in effect saying, “See ya around, Ray.” Now, Knight’s on the open sea. Others in the same raft: Rick Dempsey, Dave Kingman, Lonnie Smith. Will they get their price? More? Will they settle for less than their old clubs offered? Or will some still be unsigned by anybody on May 1 and come slinking back to their old teams--jobs lost, leverage blown--and settle for relative peanuts?

For the next three years, owners figure to stay in control, probably reducing the average salary of $420,000 a man. Plenty of players will be buffaloed into lower pay. In a broad sense, maybe it’s fair that the price of mediocrity (and Knight is an average player) level off at $800,000 a year instead of two years at a million per.

However, that isn’t the big problem. The wild card in this deck is the blatant intimidation tactics that baseball’s owners have chosen to adopt. Among fans, who are sick of listening to ridiculous salary demands and watching multiyear loafers, there will be some sympathy for the bosses and some snickers at players.

Unfortunately, come 1990, there will be hell to pay unless owners can find a far less inflammatory middle road to salary moderation. And it’s the whole of baseball that would suffer then.

The pendulum swings. The tide of battle shifts. But the greedy war goes on. Have a happy new era, baseball.