Wouldn’t it be something if a free agent baseball player turned down a contract that would earn him $17 million a year for one that paid him, say, $12 million?
Wouldn’t it be something if he said, I can live just as well on the lesser amount and, besides, I like the players on this team better?
Wouldn’t it be something?
But it won’t happen. Because it’s about the money. It’s always about the money.
Well, not always.
Tony Gwynn spent his entire career with the San Diego Padres and was vastly underpaid. But he liked living in San Diego, liked playing for the Padres.
Mark McGwire chose to retire after the 2001 season because he couldn’t produce the way he used to and he wasn’t going to stick around just to pick up a big check.
You have to respect him for that.
Barry Bonds, who broke McGwire’s single-season home run record, will sign a new contract with some ballclub that will allow him to buy a small country.
When he tried to make it sound as if signing with a ballclub that has a chance to win a World Series was his most important priority, his agent put everything in true perspective.
“Is this about money?” Scott Boras said. “Of course it is. This is a business.”
Thanks for confirming that.
Boras is the consummate businessman. He got Alex Rodriguez his record-breaking contract with Texas.
And he will do well for Bonds.
Goody goody.
Frankly, all this talk of money bores me.
Agents bore me.
Owners bore me.
Agents should never get their names in print. An agent should be referred to as “the agent for Alex Rodriguez” or the “agent for Barry Bonds,” but their names should never be used.
That would do untold damage to their egos.
That’s the idea.
The game? It will survive the greedy agents and the foolish owners.
Baseball is still the greatest game going.
We saw how great it can be last summer.
We had a classic World Series.
We in the Northwest were privileged to watch a Mariner team that played the game as well as it can be played.
People will look back on last season and realize how fortunate they were to have witnessed it.
Day in, day out, you knew that you were going to watch entertaining, well-played baseball, and the people who played it were going to give it a good effort every game.
The game ruled. We didn’t have to put up with malcontents or prima donnas in the clubhouse. We didn’t have to worry about money talk.
We discussed great hitting. Smart strategy. Superb defense. Stellar pitching.
We talked about the hit-and-run, moving runners along, gap-hitting.
The game took precedence.
And wasn’t that a pleasure?
I don’t know about you, but there has been a void in my life since the season ended.
I miss not having a game to go to or to watch on TV.
I miss getting up and not having any standings to look at to see how far the Mariners are ahead in the American League West.
I miss not having a boxscore to check out to see how many hits Ichiro Suzuki got the night before.
It was nice having the little guy in Seattle last week to talk about his Most Valuable Player award.
If only he could have gotten into uniform and gone out and punched out three hits and leaped above the right-field wall to rob someone of a home run.
I looked at him sitting there in the front of the room and was still amazed that anyone that slight could do what he did.
I think much of his success can be attributed to what I see as almost a Zen-like state he gets himself into, where he is able to shut out all distractions and focus completely on the game.
I see a player who learns from every at-bat, be it good or bad, a player who is always thinking, a player who might get buzzed by a high, inside pitch, then on the next pitch, line a single up the middle, as if to say, “Throw at my head, will you?”
I see a player who is right there with the Jordans and the Montanas as far as finding that competitive edge.
I see a player who could dominate the game for years.
May he do so as a Mariner. May he never become so obsessed by money that he bails on us for a few dollars more.
Money.
Bah. Humbug.
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