Worse Than Glavine
The owners canceled Opening Day. It's completely devastating.
Opening Day is canceled.
That’s not supposed to happen. It’s not even supposed to be an option. It’s the kind of absurd thing that’s used for TV comedy.
Michael: “I’d like everybody’s attention. Christmas is canceled.”
Stanley: “You can’t cancel a holiday.”
Michael: “Keep it up, Stanley, and you’ll lose New Years.”
Some people say they’re not disappointed. They don’t care anymore. It’s just two greedy sides fighting with each other, millionaires versus billionaires, destroying their sport. There’s still college and minor-league baseball. Move on.
I don’t buy it. Yes, I’m disappointed. Hell, I’m devastated. Opening Day is canceled, demolished more thoroughly than the chop shops of Willets Point. On March 31st, there will be no star-strewn bunting adorning the stands. No player introductions from Howie Rose. No Mets icon throwing the ceremonial first pitch. No early morning ride on the seven train. No lemonade in $7 souvenir cups. No peanuts or cracker jacks. No soft pretzels (the ones with salt will come out in a few minutes, if you want to wait).
No first ovation for Max Scherzer. Nothing for Starling Marte. No homecoming cheer for Pete Alonso, Jeff McNeil, or Francisco Lindor. No opportunity for Jacob deGrom to strike out 11 over seven scoreless innings. No bunts down the third base line. No doubles to the left-field gap. No sprints to first after Brandon Nimmo takes a 3-2 changeup in the dirt. No stolen bases. No chance for Pete Alonso to hit a ball so far that the entire stadium just stares.
Opening Day, or something like it, will come eventually. But it won’t be the same. Looming over the entire thing will be the fact that it’s not when it was supposed to be. The fact that, to save a few dollars, the owners canceled the best day of the year.
And yes, the owners are in the wrong. Sure, both sides could end the lockout. The players could end it by accepting a deal that fails to even keep pace with inflation, maintains the salary structures they’ve been trying to fix for decades, and barely does anything to address their fundamental concerns. The owners, meanwhile, could end the lockout by sacrificing less money than Mets fans spend on hard liquor when Edwin Díaz comes in with men on base. Which of those sounds fair?
If the Competitive Balance Tax floor — which, by the way, hasn’t increased competition — had increased with team revenues, it would be almost $300 million by now. The players not only agreed to reinstate the CBT — it ended when the last CBA did — but are asking for only $238 million with annual increases. But the owners won’t budge from $220 million, with no increases for three years and only $10 million over the entire agreement, an average increase of less than 1% a year. The players asked for an $85 million pre-arbitration bonus pool with annual increases, paying players like Vlad Guerrero Jr., who earned close to minimum wage last season while posting almost 7 WAR and finishing second in MVP voting (and making lots and lots of money for the Blue Jays). The owners won’t budge from $30 million with no increases at all.
The players have given ground. Lots of it. They’ve reduced, then completely withdrawn, one of their most important proposals: bringing more players to arbitration after two years instead of three. They accepted expanded playoffs, which will lead to $100 million in new MLB revenue. They’re willing to share revenue from advertising patches on uniforms, estimated at another $11 million per team. The owners declared any changes to the revenue-sharing system a “non-starter,” and the players accepted that.
In return, the owners gave them the peanuts that will now go unsold on Opening Day. The offer the players are making is already a win for the owners. But not enough of a win, apparently. So Opening Day is canceled.
The ultimate symbol of the two sides of the negotiations? One of the union’s toughest negotiators was Max Scherzer. His $130 million contract has the highest Average Annual Value of all time. He won’t benefit one bit from pre-arb bonuses, minimum wage increases, or a higher CBT. But he’s there negotiating for all the players who will.
Up north, it’s getting warmer. The geese are coming back. One day soon, it’ll be perfect weather for a Mets jacket. Spring is coming, the season of barbecues, cool breezes, baseball on the radio. And Opening Day is canceled. The players will get a better deal, and baseball will come eventually, but Opening Day is canceled. That’s it. If there’s a silver lining, a reason to be happy, it’s buried somewhere in Flushing Bay, deep beneath a flood of disappointment. The owners could dredge it in an instant. If only they wanted to.