Baseball’s Owners Draw Bottom Line in San Diego

The Lords of Baseball scheduled their secret emergency meeting for the first week of November, 1992, to discuss the calamitous events of the previous month.

Dave Winfield had driven home the decisive run in the World Series, proving that the free-agency system works, and Toronto had defeated Atlanta for the championship, proving that it pays to have the highest payroll in the game.

The owners were horrified. Their labor agreement with the players was due to expire at the end of 1993 and how would it look for them to enter negotiations with the sport appearing as fit and hearty as ever--with both the owners and players swimming in money, trading backstroke for backstroke?

How could they possibly muster public support for a union-busting lockout now?

Clearly, the owners needed to devise an ingenious new strategy.

Unfortunately, they were all out of geniuses.

“Any ideas?” asked Milwaukee owner Bud Selig, bringing this session to order because, after all, he was the one who bought the gavel.

Five minutes passed.

No one said a word.

“Come on,” Selig said, finally breaking the silence. “The finest minds in the game are convened in this room. I can’t believe we can go five minutes without hearing a single coherent thought.”

Ten minutes passed.

“We need a sacrificial lamb,” Peter O’Malley muttered beneath his breath.

“A what?” Selig asked, leaning closer.

“A sacrificial lamb,” O’Malley repeated. “One franchise to be offered up for the sake of the other 27. One franchise to be utterly ravaged and gutted, to be torn apart, superstar by superstar, dumping $10 million, maybe $15 million worth of contracts. Make it look like the Boston Tea Party. Get rid of all the top salaries, bring in a bunch of minimum wagers and hold press conferences to say that this is the only way small- to medium-sized markets will be able to survive in the ‘90s unless the Basic Agreement is drastically--I say drastically--revised.

“But, you didn’t hear that from me.”

Selig scratched his head.

“But what would that accomplish?” he asked.

“Visual aid,” O’Malley replied. “You can tell the fans that we’re losing money, but when they see the record-breaking attendance figures and read about our television contract, they don’t believe it. Not for a second. We need to demonstrate to them, very vividly, very dramatically, that we’re hurting, and badly. We’d have to sell out a franchise to do it, but you know what they say: No pain, no gain.

“But, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“That sounds like what we’ve already been doing,” said Pittsburgh’s Doug Danforth.

“True,” Selig noted. “But you forget one thing, Doug. No one cares about Pittsburgh.”

“Exactly,” Philadelphia’s Bill Giles chimed in. “So the Pirates move. So what? So the Pirates fold. Big deal. We need someone who can make a splash, rile the community, get in the media’s craw, inflame a nationwide furor.”

Twenty-seven owners swiveled in their chairs and glared at George Steinbrenner.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Steinbrenner said, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he resumed scribbling in his daily planner: CALL AGENTS FOR BOGGS, KEY AND SPIKE OWEN TOMORROW.

“Any volunteers, then?” Selig said.

“Me! Me! Oh, me!” shouted Jackie Autry, leaping out of her seat, waving her right arm frantically.

“Sit down, Jackie,” Jerry Reinsdorf of the Chicago White Sox instructed. “It has to be a good team.”

“We have a good team,” San Diego’s Tom Werner said.

Stunned silence engulfed the room.

“Come again, Deep Pockets,” Selig sputtered, using the owners’ term of endearment for the filthy rich--and greatly admired--Werner.

“We can be the lamb,” Werner said. “Have you considered the damage we’re capable of? Benito Santiago--gone. Tony Fernandez--see ya. Gary Sheffield--outta here. Anyone want a slightly used McGriff?”

“But, but . . .” stammered Richard Jacobs of Cleveland. “You were a player away from the pennant last season.”

“And,” interjected Minnesota’s Carl Pohlad, “the Padres ownership group is worth a billion dollars, at least.”

“Precisely,” Werner said. “That’s the beauty of it. If the richest S.O.B.s in the sport can’t make a go of it, in one of the most affluent regions in either league, then the Pastime must be in big trouble, right? We’ll tell the press we lost . . . oh, let’s make up a number here . . . what’s that figure you guys have been using, Jackie?”

“Eight million, I think.”

“Great. We’ll tell them the Padres lost $8 million last year and now we have to tighten the belt. Fire sale commences immediately.”

“But what about the fans?” Florida’s Wayne Huizenga asked.

Werner snickered and pointed his thumb at Huizenga.

“New guy,” Werner winked.

The Padre owner cleared his throat and continued.

“You screw the fans, of course. What’s San Diego ever done for me? Last year we had the National League batting champion, the National League home run champion, stayed in the race until the end of August--and we draw less than two mil. They didn’t deserve that team. Just wait till they see the team we’re going to give them instead.”

“What will you do?” Huizenga asked, trembling.

Werner looked at Huizenga and laughed again.

“Tell you what, Wayne. I’ll give you the pick of the litter. You get your feet wet, play 70, 80 games and then give me a call. You can have whoever you want. How about Sheffield? You like Gary Sheffield?”

“I like him a lot.”

“Then he’s yours. Get back to me in June. How about McGriff? Who wants McGriff?”

Werner stared straight into Ted Turner’s eyes.

“What are you in World Series now, Ted? Oh-for-2, Ted? You want to be the new Denver Broncos, Ted? Sid Bream going to take you to the promised land?”

Turner shrugged and bowed his head.

“Let me think about it,” Turner whispered.

“You do that, Ted,” Werner said. “And, people, you know the rest of the roster. Fernandez. Darrin Jackson. Greg Harris. Bruce Hurst. Get your bids in before next July 31. Worst offer accepted.”

Selig called for a vote on Werner’s proposal. It passed unanimously.

“Remember,” Selig cautioned as he brought the gavel down with a crack, “we’re only doing this for the good of the game.”

“For the good of the game!” the owners cried in unison.

And then they laughed and they laughed and they laughed.