Competitive Balance

George Vass

Still only a dream in majors

Long history of the game indicates that parity among teams has never really been achieved

TO EMPLOY CONTEMPORARY jargon, "C'mon Bud Selig, get real!" Competitive balance? Who's kidding whom?

Not that Selig, now armed with virtually unlimited power as baseball commissioner, isn't serious about yearning for a contending team in each city. His heartfelt longing, however, is reminiscent of President Herbert Hoover's dream of a "chicken in every pot." What Hoover got instead was the turkey of the Great Depression.

Competitive balance indeed! It's like trying to square the circle.

On hearing the phrase "competitive balance," a romantic might hum the tune of the hit song "The Impossible Dream" from the Broadway musical Man of LaMancha, which is still bouncing around dinner theaters. Selig runs the risk of resembling its hero, Don Quixote, who set forth to slay dragons and ended up tilting at windmills.

A more scientifically minded skeptic might refer to the eternal quest for a perpetual motion machine. The U.S. Patent Office has been deluged for two centuries with countless patent applications for such a device. Sadly, none of a myriad of ingenious contraptions, despite inventors' claims, puts forth more energy than it absorbs. The basic laws of the universe render such a result unachieveable.

Immutable scientific laws have nothing to do with any attempt by Selig to construct a level playing field for the game he loves and governs, but if history is a reliable guide--and it often is--such a commendable goal is doomed to failure.

Still, you have to admire Selig's ambition and convictions, which he set out eloquently in an interview by Chicago Tribune baseball writer Phil Rogers.

Among Selig's statements: "I was a fan for many years. I ran a club (Milwaukee Brewers), and one thing I've known, I've been convinced of, is that every fan has to have hope and faith. If you remove hope and faith from the mind of a fan, you destroy the fabric of the sport. It's my job to restore it."

Hope and faith. You can't knock either the sentiment or Selig's aspiration to bring relief to benighted fans of perennially underachieving teams. Unfortunately, however, neither hope nor faith has been universal for fans in every major league city at any time in the game's history. Or ever will be.

To quote the Bible, with all due respect: "Ye have the poor always with you." Substitute "also-rans" for "poor" and you're talking baseball.

These days, of course, the term "small market" seems to have replaced "also-ran" as if a team's destiny were always governed by the size of its economic base. Selig touched on this in commenting that "the game does have serious problems. Fans in cities like Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Milwaukee (all small market) know it."

But then so do fans in Chicago (large market), though their grievances may be different--such as never being able to enjoy having their team play in a World Series. Or. almost never, considering that man's lifespan is limited. The Cubs last gratified them in 1945, and the White Sox haven't raised an American League pennant since 1959.

(From 1940 through 1966, the Cubs finished over .500 in only three of 27 seasons, including the pennant-winning year of 1945. They've finished over .500 in merely 14 of the last 60 seasons, including the division-title years of 1984 and 1989),

Another large market team, the Anaheim Angels, is now competing in the 40th season of its existence. During the first 39, the Angels have achieved an unblemished, if also uneviable, record in World Series competition. They've never been involved in one.

It seems that despite what the bean-counters may say, baseball success is not directly linked to whether a team is "large market" or "small market." It's not a hard and fast rule that money teams win (witness the Baltimore Orioles and Los Angeles Dodgers of 1999) and impecunious ones lose.

After all, each of the four cities--Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Milwaukee--mentioned in Selig's preceding statement has relished World Series play during the decades in which Chicago and Anaheim have languished without pennants.

To be fair, Selig recognizes that more than merely spreading the wealth is needed to assure fans that every team has a reasonable' chance of meeting high expectations. He stresses the need for competence on the part of the personnel running the teams.

"If you do a good job, you have a good team," he said. "It's not necessarily about money."

He continued: "When you study history, you understand the importance of doing a good job. People talk about the Dodgers and Yankees as always having spent money but (the Brooklyn Dodgers under) Branch Rickey and (Yankees under) Ed Barrow and George Weiss (also) had brilliant organizations."

True enough. The Yankees won 29 A.L. pennants and 20 World Series in a period of 43 years from 1922 through 1964 under Barrow and Weiss. Rickey, revered by many as the predominant front office "genius" of the game, built the famous "Boys of Summer" Dodger teams of the late 1940s and 1950s, winners of six N.L. pennants.

Interestingly, Rickey long ago anticipated Selig's analysis of the chief reason for the Yankees' success over an extended period. He noted that money played a part, but like Selig emphasized the greater role of organizational skill.

"The Yankee success is not due to the play of luck or fortune at all," Rickey wrote. "It is the result of excellence primarily in the front office."

That's always been essential in baseball. It may be overlooked that while Rickey made the most of what today would be considered a large market franchise in Brooklyn, he was similarly successful earlier in "small market" St. Louis. And that after his Brookyn tenure, he laid the foundation for the Pittsburgh Pirates who shocked the Yankees on Bill Mazeroski's World Series-winning home run in 1960.

The great Cardinals teams of the 1920s, '30s, and '40s, including the Gas House Gang of 1934, were Rickey constructs, winning nine N.L. pennants and six World Series in 21 seasons (1926-1946). Rickey made an art form of doing more with less money than any general manager in baseball annals.

The other side of the coin, to use an appropriate analogy, can also be found in St. Louis. Namely the eternally deplorable and now defunct Browns, whom Rickey was involved with both as player and manager .before his Cardinals days, which started in 1919. They were the epitome of an also-ran, languishing out of contention in the A.L. in all but seven or eight seasons of their entire 53-year existence (1901-1953).

The Browns did win an A.L. pennant in 1944, though they lost the World Series to the crosstown Cardinals. Significantly, a nostalgic book about that erabears the ironic rifle, Even the Browns, underlining how improbable their sole triumph seemed.

The Browns; came close one other season, when led by the great hitter George Sisler, they finished second to Babe Ruth's Yankees in 1922. But they were generally futility exemplified. In 53 years, they finished over .500 only 12 times. In the then eight-team A.L., they were no better than sixth in 34 seasons, and finished last 12 times. When flamboyant Bill Veeck tried to follow up his 1948 success with the Cleveland Indians by buying the dirt-cheap Browns in 1951, most people thought he'd lost his mind in venturing to challenge the dominant Cardinals in St. Louis.

The great sportswriter Grantland Rice versified: "Stalwarts have hunted the charging lion, deep in the jungle veldt. Brave men have stood to the tiger's rush, seeking his costly pelt. Hunters have tackled the elephant, never a job for clowns.

This world is packed with daring deeds--but Veeck has purchased the Browns."

Another noted scribbler, john Lardner, quipped, "Many critics were surprised to know the Browns could be bought because they didn't know the Browns were owned."

In the Browns' case, "owned" was used somewhat loosely, though there were 1,400 stockholders, because the team had been kept afloat by subsidies from the A.L.

Veeck's ownership of the Browns was brief and disastrous, ending with an eighth place finish in 1953, after which they fled without him to Baltimore and to greater glory as the Orioles. Yet, it did produce the defining moment in their anguished annals, one that keeps the celebrity of the St. Louis Browns eternally green even among those fans--as well as nonfans--who are otherwise totally ignorant of baseball history.

On August 19, 1951 Eddie Gaedel, a 3-foot, 7-inch midget emerged from the Browns' dugout to pinch-hit for genuine player Frank Saucier in the first inning of the second game of a doubleheader with the Detroit Tigers. Tiny Gaedel drew a walk from pitcher Bob Cain to become a baseball "immortal" in a huge way.

If all else is forgotten about them, the Browns--and perhaps even Veeck, who conceived the promotional prank--will be remembered for Gaedel's turn at-bat.

While the Browns may have been the archetypical non-achieving franchise, though their run of 43 consecutive seasons (1901-1943) has long since been shattered by the Cubs' string of 54 futile campaigns in a row, they always had plenty of comrades in misery in their interminable plight.

Among other legendary losers for extended periods were the Philadelphia Philllies, Boston Braves, Washington Senators (both first and second franchises), Philadelphia-Kansas City A's (between bursts of glory under Connie Mack at Philadelphia, and Charlie Finley later in Oakland), and White Sox.

Even such teams as the Boston Red Sox, Dodgers, Reds and Pirates, perceived these days as frequent contenders, have suffered through long down periods.

The annals of baseball are cluttered with teams that didn't have a prayer for decades on end from Opening Day to the final out of a season. Their fans had neither faith nor hope, and as for charity ... well, that did exist, in a way that anticipated current revenue sharing plans between "haves" and "have-nots." During hard times, league offices kept indigents like the Browns alive by providing handouts.

Consider the Boston Braves, who scampered to Milwaukee in 1953 for a 13 season--mostly successful--stand before sneaking off to Atlanta after the 1965 season. They shared the unenviable designation of being the N.L. "doormats" with the Phillies for virtually their entire 52-season (1901-52) 20th Century stint in Boston.

Like the Browns in relation to the Cardinals in St. Louis, the Braves were virtually always overshadowed by the Red Sox in Boston. In only 13 of their 52 seasons did the Braves finish over .500. They lost 100 or more games 11 times, with their most abysmal record being 38-115 in 1935 (when they were called the Bees, apparently to conceal their identity).

True, the Braves emerged briefly into the sunlight with a surprise pennant in 1914. Significantly, they were called the "Miracle Braves" because they surged from last place in July to shock the perennial powerhouse New York Giants by finishing on top. Perhaps even more astonishing, their success came just two seasons after a four-year (1909-12) span in each season of which they lost at least 100 games.

Pitcher Chief Bender of Connie Mack's then-formidable Philadelphia A's, who were to face the upstart Braves in the World Series, dismissed the notion of scouting them. "What's the good of looking over a bush league outfit?" he growled.

The "bush league" outfit swept the A's in what still may rank as the greatest upset in Series history.

But, the next year the Braves resumed their fandango with futility for 33 more seasons, until 1948 when they astonished again by winning a pennant behind the pitching of Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain. They lost the World Series to Cleveland.

As in the case of the Browns. and Gaedel, the most memorable incident of the Braves' 33-year dryspell had little to do with successfull play. Instead, it was Babe Ruth's last fling as a player, the three home runs he hit on May 25, 1935, in a Braves uniform at Pittsburgh to bring his final toter to 714.

One of the Braves' woebegone managers during their dismal period was Casey Stengel, who coincidentally also played briefly for their most dogged competitors for the N.L.'s worst record, the Phillies.

In 1922, outfielder Stengel was traded by the melancholy Phillies to the New York Giants, the game's reigning dynasty under manager John McGraw. Stengel was told of the trade in the locker room. during a rain delay. Half-clothed, he raced out onto the rain-soaked field of Baker Bowl, and circled the bases, sliding into each bag. He returned to the locker room, covered with mud, but grinning ear-to-ear.

He explained he was celebrating being liberated from the gosh-awful Phillies, and being sent to a winner, the usually high-flying Giants. (He rejoiced even more in his second year as a Giant with his heroics in the World Series triumph over the Yankees).

The Phillies, with or without Stengel, were in a dead-heat with the Braves as the N.L's most futile team for virtually the entire first half of the 20th Century. In fact, they outdid them in one respect, with 13 seasons between 1901 and 1950 in which they lost 100 or more games to a mere 11 for the Braves. Conversely, the Phillies, won more games than they lost in only 12 of the 50 campaigns.

Between 1919 and 1945, a span of 27 seasons, the Phillies finished last 16 times in the eight-team N.L. During a 13-season (193345) stretch, they were never better than seventh, managing to climb out of the cellar on five occasions. For that matter, they were not exactly world-beaters later on, adding four consecutive (1958-61) eighth place finishes before realignment into smaller divisions eradicated eighth place after 1968.

In the long view, the Phillies, who did win surprise pennants in 1914 and 1950, but lost both World Series, were not-so-lovable losers for three-quarters of the 20th Century, until they' emerged as fairly potent in the late 1970s. They finally won a World Series in 1980 and challenged again in 1983 and 1993.

The futile Phillies, as well as the Braves, Browns, and other perennial also-rans, of the pre-free agency days preceding the mid-1970s, reeled from one financial crisis to another in an age of low attendance, and virtually no other source of income. One frequent ploy was to trade off promising young players, or established veterans needed to plug a hole for well-heeled teams such as the Giants when they bid for Stengel.

The also-rans often demanded a bundle of money as part of a deal with a rich team because they always needed funds to pay their bills. Often a trade resulted when a bank required payment on a loan that had kept the team going. Cash might be needed to pay hotel bills, players salaries, or even to buy baseballs.

The Phillies sold off outstanding players year after year, a self-defeating but unavoidable practice that kept them in the cellar or nearby interminably. Among the future stars sold was Bucky Walters, who later was the ace of the Cincinnati Reds when they won pennants in 1939 and 1940, and the Series the latter year.

"We had players going and coming all the time," Walters recalled of his days with the Phillies. "Sometimes, you could hardly tell who was on the team. But because the team never had any money, the owner used to have to scramble to pay the bills. If the bank wanted a payment, the club often had to sell somebody to get the cash."

While the Phillies and Braves were almost mere talent-providers for the wealthier N.L. teams for many years (as in a different way were the Cardinals, though the shrewd Rickey always got more than he gave up), the Browns. Senators. and A's, particularly after they moved to Kansas City in 1953, served similarly in the A.L.

For example, the Red Sox after their purchase by immensely wealthy Tom Yawkey, in the early 1930s, bought one great player after another from the A's, Senators, and Browns, spending millions over-all in an age when that was real money.

Yawkey yearned to outgun the hated Yankees, though it took until 1946 to achieve his aim, and it all ended in tears, with the loss to the Cardinals in the World Series featured by Enos Slaughter's celebrated dash.

When the Great Depression forced owner-manager Connie Mack to disassemble his great team of the late 1920s and early 1930s, the Red Sox acquired, among others, future Hall of Famers Lefty Grove, an eventual 300-game winner, and slugging first baseman Jimmie Foxx, who once hit 58 home runs.

Yawkey sent $225,000 to the Senators along with infielder Lyn Lary for shortstop Joe Cronin, another Hall of Famer, and future Red Sox manager and eventual president of the A L. Senators owner Clark Griffith needed money to keep his team going, and the handiest source of cash was selling Cronin, though the shortstop was his son-in-law.

Almost from the inception of the A.L. in 1901, the Senators were notorious for their inadequacies. A popular bit of doggerel underlined their usual futility in this fashion: "Washington, first in war, first in peace, last in the American League."

The similarly impoverished Browns sold their best players to the Red Sox. year after year. Among those transferred were pitcher Ellis Kinder, a 23-game winner in 1949, slugging shortstop Junior Stephens, who in 1950 tied led Willianls for the league lead in RBI with 159; and outfielder Al Zarilla, who batted .325 the same season.

After the Connie Mack era ended, and the A's moved to Kansas City for the 1955 season under the ownership of Arnold Johnson, who was also under-financed, a series of trades with the Yankees led to accusations of skull-duggery. The climax came when he A's obtained Roger Maris from Cleveland in June 1958, and 18 months later sent him to the Yankees, for whom he was to hit 61 home runs in 1961.

The outcries of collusion between the Ns and Yankees were loud and fierce, particularly from Veeck.

In his book, Veeck as in Wreck, he wrote, "... Kansas City (under Johnson's ownership) was not all independent major league team at all, it was nothing more than a loosely controlled Yankee farm club."

Veeck continued: "Frank Lane (Indians general manager) knew he was sending Roger Maris on a one-stop trip to the Yankees when he traded him to Kansas City. Everybody in baseball knew it ..."

Johnson's response to such accusations was at least witty. "If we were a Yankee farm club, we'd be a lot better," he reportedly said of his team.

After Johnson's death, maverick Charlie Finley took control of the team, and in 1969 moved them to Oakland, where he turned them into overachievers, with three consecutive World Series titles from 1972-74.

Ironically, it was Finley's attempt to boost his finances in "small market" Oakland in the way earlier poverty-stricken teams had done that led to the advent of free agency in the mid-1970s. He sought to auction off his top players to the highest bidder, just as the Browns, Phillies, and Braves had done in earlier days.

His effort was stymied by one of Selig's predecessors, Bowie Kuhn, yet it triggered the free-agent salary explosion. That has led to the current crisis in which "small market" teams allegedly can't compete with their wealthy superiors.

So what's new? From a historical standpoint, it almost seems as if baseball is trapped in a vicious circle. Or to resort to another cliche, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Competitive balance is a worthy aim, but it may be a mere illusion, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

While reaching for it is commendable, it's an open question as to whether it can ever be grasped.

Baseball, and Selig, should be so lucky.

COPYRIGHT 2000 Century Publishing
COPYRIGHT 2000 Gale Group