UL Baseball Lacks Charge With Both Circuits Down

The World Series that wasn’t as certainly something, wasn’t it?

Cleveland rallying from a three games-to-none deficit to level Atlanta and earn Bobby Cox a consolatory phone call from Marv Levy.

Kenny Lofton’s over-the-shoulder, back-to-home-plate basket catch to rob David Justice in Game 4.

Dennis Martinez’s perfect game in Game 5.

Omar Vizquel’s bounding ball through the legs of Fred McGriff to win Game 6.

Albert Belle’s ninth-inning, two-out, three-run home run to decide a Game 7 for the ages, 10-9.

If we hadn’t seen it ourselves, we’d have never believed it.

Under normal circumstances, the sports section you are holding would be filled with such post-Series rumination. Game 7 should have been played Sunday night. As per tradition, the next few days are reserved for reflection and afterglow. Was this the best World Series since (pick a date)? Is (name of winning team here) the next great dynasty? Or: That Series was so dull, I had to switch over to a hockey game.

Instead, living in these post-meltdown days, we find ourselves reading front-page stories about some player agent’s folly called “The United Baseball League” and actually pouring over each paragraph with keen interest.

A United Baseball League with 10 still unnamed, unowned, unstocked teams playing in such locales as Vancouver, Mexico City, Caracas, San Juan, Fresno, Louisville, Charlotte, Raleigh-Durham and . . . Riverside?

Say this much: It beats whatever’s happening at the moment in the two divided baseball leagues.

Of course, it’s one thing to talk about assembling a new league and quite another to actually get it done, as Alan Rothenberg was saying just the other day. But this being hot stove season, talk is what American baseball fans do--especially in the extended, remixed-by-M.C. Bud I Hammered The Season version.

On paper, the United League has a few things going for it, starting with its abbreviated handle. The UL. Brings to mind the former Kansas City utility infielder, U.L. Washington--the type of player the UL can plan on landing with its anticipated average player salary of $520,000.

In the UL, charter franchises can be purchased for $5 million. This is called bringing the game back to the people. If each of the two million individuals who used to attend Angel games every summer dropped $2.50 into the kitty, they could buy their own UL team and set out to do what they always wanted--bring back Jim Abbott, Dante Bichette, Devon White and all the old favorites.

Dick Moss, a high-powered baseball player agent, is one of four heavy hitters in charge of the UL project, an irony even Bud Selig might be able to appreciate. After complaining for years that the agents are running the game, Selig’s Army shut theirs down, possibly to be replaced by a baseball league run by an agent.

Former New York Rep. Bob Mzarek, Texas Rep. John Bryant and noted economist Andrew Zimbalist are helping Moss organize the UL. This represents a substantial advantage over Selig, Marge Schott, Tom Werner and Jackie Autry.

Players in the UL would share in their teams’ financial achievements and misfortunes, receiving 35% of the franchise equity and 35% of the pretax profits. Blowing off public appearances in the community, snubbing 5-year-old autograph seekers, walking out a ground ball in late September, sitting out an important game with a hangover--all these surlier sides of the game, gone, vanished, just like that.

The UL is also looking into long-ignored markets that deserve big-league baseball. Buffalo, with its great fans. Phoenix, with its great Cactus League heritage. New Orleans, with its great restaurants.

Maybe, if we’re lucky, Anaheim will get a major-league franchise to call its own too.

Unfortunately, the UL enters the ballpark with one significant flaw:

Probable start-up date--1996.

The time to strike is immediately, if not sooner. Imagine the public-relations thunder the UL could create by picking off a Jack McDowell here, a Dennis Eckersley or a Larry Walker there. With the current 28 clubs looking at training camps filled with Class A hopefuls and off-the-street scrubs, the UL could bill itself as “the real major league in ‘95” and get the public to bite.

But Moss said Tuesday that the odds of having “a quality league” in place within four months “are greatly against us,” meaning that the establishment gets another 16 months to get its act together and restore at least some consumer confidence. Come April ‘96, assuming the AL and NL have not imploded, the UL will debut saddled with a second-rate image burdened with two extra, unwanted initials.

From UL to USFL, there isn’t much of a leap.

In the immortal words of Gary (ABA) (WFL) (WHA) Davidson, timing isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.