March
2002
Just
a Fan: Picturing
Trenton as a major-league town
By
Joe Emanski
Across
the world, sports fans don't have the privilege of enjoying the
madness that we know as professional sports in the US Though, to
be sure, they experience their own sorts of madness as they support
their favorite clubs in whatever sports they follow.
But
as major sports leagues in the US gradually transform into entertainment
conglomerates whose foremost interest is putting an entertaining
product on a stage, rather than an association of individual clubs
who compete against one another, one has to wonder if we have completely
lost sight of why we watch sports to begin with.
Once
upon a time, sports clubs consisted simply of the best players in
their area. The best players from Cincinnati took part in exhibitions
against the best players from St. Louis or Pittsburgh. Spectators
cheered them on. Eventually someone realized that it was at least
as good as theater and charged admission. Professional sports were
born.
As
we consider a few points that illustrate how far today's major leagues
have strayed from their natural sporting paths, consider also that
the only thing that separates Trenton from the "Major Leagues"
is some other city's exclusivity rights-i.e., Their "ownership"
of that sport in this area. It's sort of like owning air, only it's
endorsed by the federal government.
Trophies
don't mean a thing. Sure, all major leagues have some hardware
that goes to the league champion at the end of the season. In the
case of the NHL, the Stanley Cup goes on international tours.
But
you know what's supposed to go with trophies that really doesn't?
Prize
money.
Teams
recognize monetary rewards for winning their league championships,
and it's not chump change. But with big salaries came the obsolescence
of prize money. Today's players use their World Series or Super
Bowl shares to buy spare sailboats. Once upon a time, prize money
meant they didn't have to work as much at their off-season job.
If
you win your local bowling league, chances are you get a little
plastic trophy. If you're lucky, your last name is engraved correctly
on a faux brass plate. If you're really lucky, you get a cash prize
that more or less covers your costs for the season.
The
spirit of that is gone. The trophy, even the Stanley Cup, means
nothing to a professional athlete now (no matter what they may say).
All that remains is the spare sailboat.
If
the Flyers and the Rangers and the Devils really competed for the
Stanley Cup, then there would be no reason to keep the Trenton Titans
out of the competition. To the victors go the spoils.
But
NHL teams compete for huge amounts of cash in television deals,
endorsement deals, season tickets and other revenue drivers. And
if the Titans had a piece of that pie, there would be less to go
around.
Revenue
sharing. Baseball fans have spoken out in favor of revenue sharing.
They have watched the Yankees win four of the last six World Series,
and they want a piece. If the Yankees create so much more revenue
than the Phillies, it must be because business conditions are easier
in New York. It has absolutely nothing to do with management skills.
Fans
must be careful what they wish for when it comes to revenue sharing.
The natural endpoint of revenue sharing would come when all 30 Major
League Baseball teams received equal shares of overall MLB revenue.
If that happened, it would mean that Alex Rodriguez's $250 million
salary would be spread evenly across all the teams. In other words,
baseball would be an exhibition sport.
Baseball
officials speak of a "competitive balance draft" in which
the teams that perform the worst in one season get to choose players
from the rosters of the teams that perform the best. In reality,
it means that a scrub like Arizona's Tony Womack, who was a World
Series hero but who really isn't any good, will be shifted from
the D'backs to Tampa Bay, because the D'backs certainly aren't going
to let Randy Johnson or Curt Schilling be taken from them.
But
you can easily imagine a world in which Randy Johnson just might
be on his way to Tampa Bay if MLB's central offices had all the
say (though only if Tampa and St. Petersburg built them a sparkling
new stadium). It would shore up the Devil Rays, who are struggling,
and would make the Devil Rays a more enticing road team.
If revenue were split evenly among all clubs, then the Trenton Thunder
would have no problem operating successfully in the major leagues.
Except of course, that Major League Baseball wouldn't let them.
Permanent
Major League Membership. Who named Jacksonville a major-league
city? The National Football League did, by awarding them one of
two expansion franchises in 1992. And now there's nothing anyone
can do about Jacksonville being in the NFL, except the club itself
and the NFL. It's a permanent association.
It
wouldn't matter if Jacksonville ownership suddenly turned into a
pack of mules. The Jaguars would still be an NFL club. It wouldn't
matter if the City of Trenton built a superdeluxe 50,000-seat stadium
and signed dozens of quality college football players to contracts.
Trenton would still not be an NFL city. Jacksonville would.
Based
solely on logic, the concept makes no sense. But major league sports
have worked this way for so long that today it does seem to make
sense to us. If Jacksonville, or the Montreal Expos in baseball,
had to earn their place in the highest level of the sport, then
we'd have a scenario in which new, competitive teams could rise
from the ranks naturally, because they had the talent and the business
sense. Jacksonville, through its first six seasons, has earned that
right by repeatedly reaching the playoffs. The Expos, on the other
hand have not.
And
don't even get me started on the playoffs…
You
can reach Joe Emanski at Joe@trentondowntowner.com
.
