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Open letter to Bud Selig and Donald Fehr
by: Shawn Griffin from SportsTerminal.com
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Attn: Bud Selig and Donald Fehr
From: A Baseball Fan
Dear Bud and Donald:
I guess I should start this off by saying, "Here we go again."
I remember, as a kid, closely following and attending Cleveland Indians games at a cesspool of a ballpark. I remember following bums like Joe Charboneau, Rick Waits, Rich Yett (better known as Rich "Not Ready" Yett) and Ernie Camacho, to name just a few. Even though my team never did well, I always looked forward to the start of the baseball season. I watched the MLB "Game of the Week" with Tony Kubek and I watched Tommy Lasorda dress up as a wizard every Saturday morning on the ridiculous kids series called "The Baseball Bunch." Then I would dutifully watch "This Week in Baseball" with Mel Allen. After that, and before the Game of the Week, I would go out and play catch with some friends, acting out as best we could Ozzie Smith, Reggie Jackson, Mike Schmidt, Dave Parker and many others…they were very good times.
Then the 1981 strike occurred. Strike One. Bad times.
I was just a kid, but I remember not looking forward to Saturdays as much as I used to that July and August in 1981. The players and owners could not get together and resolve their differences, so kids like myself and my friends were left to just imagine the wonderful plays of our favorite baseball stars. Of course, this also meant we didn't go down to the stadium to watch our beloved, horrible Tribe teams lose any more games. Then your predecessors worked things out and baseball came back. The 1981 All-Star Game was played in old Municipal Stadium when they worked things out. I went to that game with my parents and loved every minute of it as Gary Carter won the game with a late hit. Seventy-six thousand fans showed up that night. Baseball was back and I was happy.
Then something very interesting occurred. My team finally retrieved their brain from the freezer and went about building up their farm system with excellent young talent like Albert Belle, Charles Nagy, Jim Thome and Manny Ramirez. They did something I never was accustomed to -- they started to win. They were exciting. They built a beautiful new ballpark.
Fast forward to 1994. My team was in a…PENNANT RACE! I never thought I would see something like that in my lifetime. The White Sox were 67-46, one game ahead of my beloved Tribe. The White Sox/Indians rivalry was gaining steam. In the AL West, Texas and Oakland were battling it out. In the National League, Houston and Cincinnati were involved in a close race and Montreal -- YES, Montreal -- had the best record in all of baseball at 74-40. I couldn't get a ticket to Jacobs Field. I watched every exciting game like it was game seven of the World Series.
Very, VERY good times.
Then you struck…again. Strike Two. Just as my team was in the middle of one of the most exciting seasons I have ever known, you bums couldn't work things out. You both took your toys and ran home. I was pissed. Very pissed.
Very bad times. I vowed to not let baseball be a major part of my life ever again. Players were averaging over a million bucks a year, owners were spending yachts full of cash to buy teams…yet you two idiots could not find a way to keep the season going. Thanks. That was just wonderful. Thanks for ruining another summer for me.
Well, I came back. What could I do? My team made it to the World Series in 1995 and 1997…I HAD to follow them. Okay, go ahead and yell at me. Tell me I am part of the problem, and if more people would have stuck to their guns rather than running right back to the ballpark, then maybe you two would have negotiated some type of real solution to baseball's labor issue.
But you didn't. For not sticking to my guns, I take some responsibility.
Now here we are in the 2002 season. Baseball is a joke in Minnesota and Montreal -- the fans know you want to move those teams out of there. Attendance is brutal. Ten teams are drawing less than 20,000 per game. Four of those teams are either in first or second place. The new ballparks are filled, you say? Wrong. In Texas, Milwaukee and Pittsburgh, attendance is down. More than half of the teams in the league go into the season knowing they have no chance to compete for a ring. Whenever a big name ballplayer becomes a free agent or is about to be traded, the Yankees line up to grab him.
I hope you guys like what you have created.
Now we learn that you met a couple weeks ago and, according to Peter Gammons, all that was accomplished was some type of negotiating session in which minutiae such as bus rides more than two hours were discussed.
Were any concrete issues resolved? Of course not. It's looking more and more as though you guys aren't going to be able to negotiate an agreement in which both sides are satisfied. What does this mean to us fans? It probably means that another strike will ruin yet another season.
Well, Bud and Donald, it's my time to speak. I'm at the plate, you guys are pitching to me and I am down 0-2. One more strike and you can count ME OUT this time.
Never again will I pay 25 bucks to attend a game. Never again will I buy officially licensed merchandise from Major League Baseball. Never again will I fork over cash for "MLB Extra Innings" on satellite. Follow baseball as closely as I do now? Forget it.
That's right, Bud and Donald. If you strike this time, I am taking my toys and going home. And you will never hear from me again. Ever.
See more of Shawn's columns at SportsTerminal.com,
and feel free to e-mail him at shawng@sportsterminal.com!
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