Bad baseball and business follies
In the last two months of this dismal, astonishing season I’ve made a deliberate attempt to watch just two Cubs games in their entirety: one in person against the Cardinals in August, and then the last game of the season. Fortunately, they won both, and I was especially happy with the latter since, for some odd reason, I can feel somewhat satisfied in my Cubdom by finishing an otherwise disastrous season with a victory (especially at sun-splashed Wrigley with the ivy showing hints of color); perhaps it’s just knowing that the last innings for several months turned out well.
Anyway, as the Dusty Death March finally stood a day away from resolution there was yet another flurry of activity with Andy MacPhail’s announcement of his resignation, resulting in an hour of press questions for MacPhail, iterim prez John McDonnough, and Tribune Co. chariman Dennis Fitzsimmons. As I listened to the talk it dawned on me that the great Corporate Cubs Canard–the suits see fans in the seats win or lose, so they don’t care about winning since it might cost more money–was about to dominate the local sports news for a few days, especially since the management reins were being handed, at least temporarily, to the team’s (successful) VP of marketing.
A quick look at the papers this morning of course proved me right. Yet it just exasperates me, the argument is just so fricking ridiculous, especially when spewed from the mouths and keyboards of people who claim to understand both the business and on-field aspects of the sport.
Okay, I will concede that Tribune Co. isn’t going to feel a particular urgency to single out one of its assets for special attention, especially when it seems to be generating steady revenue year-in and year-out. Perhaps the general corporate short-term attitude has also crept into the Cubs’ front-office mentality and is preventing them from properly constructing longer-term plans to rebuild the whole organization. But in the 25 seasons of Tribune ownership the team has won three divisions, one wild-card berth, and twice been within a couple innings of the World Series. That’s a vast improvement over the previous 35 seasons under the stewardship of the Wrigley family, which makes it hard to argue that the ‘corprate mentality’ has hurt the team on the field.
Yet what I find utterly ridiculous about the notion that Tribune management is deliberately constructing mediocre-to-bad teams, and emphasizing Wrigley’s party atmosphere, over on-field success is the notion that a successful team is inherently less profitable than a bad one. Certainly, success leads to higher player salaries…but it also generates more interest, resulting in more prime-time playoff appearances (read: higher advertizing revenues) and the ability to bump up next season’s ticket prices. Yes, Connie Mack said that a team that gets off to a fast start, generates lots of interest, and then ultimately finishes fourth is nicely profitable because the money is taken in but management can hold the line on player salaries–but the key element is still some measure of success.
Moreover, did anyone pay attention to the buzz around Wrigleyville in the fall of 2003? The ringing of cash registers at souvenir stands well into November? The throngs of ticket-seekers on a cold February morning in 2004? Do people really think that cold, corporate calculation in Tribune Tower feels that the revenue potential of putting the Cubs–the long-standing doormats of the National League–into a sustained run of prime-time battles deep into the World Series would be lower than that of just running the world’s largest beer garden?
If those corporate suits were so smart and calculating as the armchair owners seem to think they are, here’s a more likely scenario for maximizing the profit potential. They would build up the team to the point where it would consistently take all three playoff series to the limit, thus maximizing the profit of each by playing all possible games whose net reciepts don’t need to be shared with the players. They would make the team just good enough to reach the 7th game but perhaps not good enough to win it, thus keeping everyone (players and fans alike) hungry while justifying both ticket-price increases and some dampening of players’ raises. They’d keep this up for several seasons, culminating in a World Series victory–after which the team would quickly be sold: the team’s valuation would be at a lofty premium, and Bill Veeck knew long ago that you don’t make money by operating a baseball team but rather by selling it.
Maybe I’m wrong, maybe there is a TribCo beancounter with a cost-benefit spreadsheet showing that the risks involved with such a scenario are too high compared with the current steady revenue stream. But, as in most human endeavors, it is probably incorrect to attribute the lack of success to calculated malice when it can just as easily be explained by incompetence and bad luck. The self-fulfilling prophecy of a goat’s curse probably has a lot more power, and longer life, than any corporate business model.


