The Mass Hysteria Subsides/Done Deal for Dice-K
"Something’s Gained, Something’s Lost"

Finally, the foolishness is over, the air raid warnings have ceased and it is now safe once more to go outside. The first chapter of the Daisuke Matsuzaka Saga concluded on Thursday with his name on a six year contract with the Red Sox that will pay Japan’s "National Treasure" in excess of $50 Million (not including the $51.1MM posting fee). The Sox had thirty days to close the deal, otherwise Matsuzaka-san would’ve been heading back home. Throughout the past month, the wild speculation surrounding this epic soap opera was palpable, to say the least. Not that everyone was caught up in the whirlwinds. Most "sane" folks had better things to do with their time. Then there’s whole notion of paying a foreign entity in excess of $50 million for exclusive 30-day window to bargain for the services of one of their employees. That sort of expenditure compounds prima facie absurdity exponentially. There’s no point in trying to rationalize it, so why bother. However, that didn’t stop the posters and all the various message boards from going wild over the prospect that our beloved nine would secure the services of a talented, yet untested Japanese pitcher. On Wednesday, news actually reached the point where fans could track the flight carrying Matsusaka, his agent and the Red Sox owners online. Two of the more popular boards damned near exploded with the volume.

After the Red Sox succeeded in posting the highest bid for exclusive bargaining rights with Matsuzaka-san, that presented only the first hurdle. The second and more substantial was the contract negotiation process with the player’s agent. Matsuzaka-san hired Boras, who’s reviled in many quarters for being a real-life Gordon Gekko. But Gekko/Boras is not the root cause of the problem, he’s merely a symptom. As discussed in a previous post, Boras is only acting as any good lawyer would. More than anyone else in that particular line of work, he makes money for his clients. His primary obligation is to his client, not to the "baseball industry" (a loathsome phrase if ever there was). Some have speculated that he’s not acted ethically by failing to communicate every offer made to his stable of clients over the years. That’s sour grapes. I come here neither to praise nor bury Boras. It’s simply a fact of life in the "industry of baseball" (silly, I thought it was only a "sport") that profiteering meddlers have entered the scene and have made untold millions through the representation of their talented clients, driving up costs and making it more difficult for working class folks to witness first hand the exploits of their clients.

"Lights, Camera…Action!"

The course of the negotiations went about as expected. The owners offered low, the agent countered high. Both sides retreated to neutral corners to pout before renewing the drama. There were calculated comments leaked to the media and the usual veiled threats of impending doom. However, there was no "leverage" that the player could apply. This was not free agency shopping, it was grab the best possible offer or go home. So, the agent played the stall n’ crawl game, running the clock down to the last second until his client made it clear that he wanted to play in America (and there was most likely considerable pressure brought to bear from his employer in Japan who stood to lose the posting fee). In these circumstances, nothing gets accomplished until the 11th hour. That’s when there are the cross-country flights, the 4 a.m. marathon bargaining sessions and the midnight physical exams. And the media tries to suck in everyone for the ride, as if there’s nothing else "newsworthy" going on, that the arrival of a ballplayer should lead the 6 o’clock news. My goodness, you would’ve thought that two of the four Beatles were resurrected from the dead and the "Fab Four" just hit town. What does any of this have to do with reality? Then, within hours of the expiration of the negotiating window, there’s the press conference announcing the completion of a deal where everyone smiles, say all the usual sweet nothings and there are handshakes all around.

"Cut! That’s a wrap."

Throughout the free agency madness and this transaction in particular, something just didn’t feel right. In the most elementary way, something gained and something lost.
Maybe it’s the money, and I’ve harped on that ad nauseam. I feel a lack of authenticity about all of the parties involved, like they were all character actors who played out their roles according to script. The entire charade had the feel of a "made-for-tv-movie, or one of those comedic action thrillers, like "Silver Streak", with the climactic big finish then everyone lives happily ever after. If you like that kind of fiction that’s one thing, but if you’re a baseball purist do you find joy in any of this?

The Red Sox secured the services of a potential ace and will most likely reap handsome profits from such a bold business strategy, that’s clear enough. However, with the gain comes a corresponding loss. Generations of New Englanders have made an incalculable "emotional investment" in the fortunes of the team. The franchise could not have survived over a hundred years otherwise. However, emotions hold no sway in the business world, it’s all about market share, subscription rights and branding. The real Red Sox, that entity that belongs to neighborhood kids with dreams and elderly shut-ins alike, exists no more. The investment in Matsuzaka-san was a business deal that crossed the Pacific, but sadly, the Red Sox crossed the Rubicon in the process.

What makes guys like Boras any different than Hollywood agents who represent movie stars? There is no difference. For that matter, what makes the Red Sox owners any different than the studio heads? After all, one of them is already a billionaire television mogul. Whether it’s a movie or a ballgame is only the means to the end of making a buck, right? However, most (rational) people don’t make any sort of an emotional investment with respect to movie stars and entertainment vehicles. Moviegoers plunk down the cost of a ticket at the theatre, grab some popcorn, see the show and go home. The story may be great, and the actors’ portrayals may be wonderful, but generally once the story’s been told, it’s over. The actors move onto other roles and the producers and directors move onto other projects.

It’s not that way with sports, most especially with baseball, which has a unique place in American culture. Every day for seven or eight months out of the year, the same crew of characters enters into our living rooms, bars and restaurants to provide a little entertainment and excitement to our otherwise humdrum lives. Unlike other sorts of entertainment, sporting events do not have a preordained conclusion, though most followers can pretty much determine before the first pitch is thrown whether their team will be competitive or not. In autumn, seasons change, baseball diamonds are empty and silent and baseball lovers content themselves with other pursuits.

One of the most highly anticipated moments of the winter in New England is the day when the equipment trucks are packed up and leave Fenway Park headed to Florida. It’s a bigger day than the arrival of the first crocus. And then it begins all over again. Players come, players go, but baseball remains, through cold rainy spring days, warm summer nights, the dog days, and into September when the sun begins to wane.

Maybe that’s what makes baseball different than a movie, a play or a night at the opera. There is certainty of the seasons and of baseball itself, yet there is an uncertainty. We can recall summers of long ago and while we may not recall many of the events that transpired in our own lives we can certainly remember how the Sox did in ’64 or ’67 or ’72… we may have forgotten the names and faces of our contemporaries, yet we can recall the entire starting lineup of the 1967 "Impossible Dream" Team. (N.B.: If you are over the age of 50 and cannot rattle off the names, numbers and positions of the ’67 starting nine, there is something seriously wrong with you).

Growing up, the Red Sox were a local passion, a New England thing. They were "our team", a bunch of loveable losers who always found a way to lose in spectacular fashion while the Yankee fans lorded their successes over us. If anything was made loud and clear at the press conference, it’s that the focus has been expanded to transform following the team into a global pursuit with an eye on sucking in all of the tourist dollars from the Far East. Now the team has co-opted CHB/Shank’s "RSN" theme with dreams of establishing a global cash cow. While I give the new ownership/management high grades for redefining the franchise, let’s face facts: they no longer consider the average slob as a revenue source. They now cater only to the buck, the bigger the better. There is not one square inch of the ballpark that has not been plastered with advertising "signage". Outsiders have transformed something that is regarded as almost precious to New Englanders into a cash machine. Most people want to talk about the team on the field, not revenue streams or global marketing rights. I prefer the "old days" when you could walk up and grab a bleacher seat for a buck. People like you and me (the "hot dog patrons") are no longer relevant.

Perhaps the sanest way of looking at it is to accept things for what they are. My passion for baseball remains. The beauty of walking into Fenway Park for the first time and witnessing "the green" can never be lost, nor the joy of being there, watching games with loved ones and friends. All that matters for me from now on is what happens on the field, not any of the business machinations off of it. I will continue to "root, root, root for the home team" only for what it means to me, personally, in my heart, in that place where commerce has no place. The beancounters, pinheads and agents are about as relevant to me as I am to them. See ya!