DK'S GRIND

Kovacevic: Players have no business bringing fans into fight

Dejan Kovacevic
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Jameson Taillon in 2019. - MATT SUNDAY / DKPS

Jameson Taillon's a gem in every way, as a pitcher, as someone who's persevered through cancer and multiple arm surgeries and, above all, as a person. I've seen with my own eyes the passion, the energy he invests in doing right by the Pirates' fans. Before games. At team events. In charitable settings. And that dedication's been there from the day he was drafted a decade ago.

Trust me, the next time he takes a mound at PNC Park will make for a tremendous moment. For him and for the countless local people he's touched.

He's getting there, by the way:

So please consider all of the above as context for why I took issue with one sentence of his tweet that followed the Major League Baseball Players Association's rejection of the owners' latest proposal late Saturday night:

"Our fans," he wrote.

And I get why. That's common in all this back-and-forth. Both sides want to have the fans on their side, even if that's increasingly impossible. Rob Manfred's using it just as much as Tony Clark, just as much as anyone else. And Taillon, as the Pirates' union representative, wouldn't be an exception.

Still ...

In Pittsburgh, home of the Pirates, home of a 134-year-old franchise that hasn't won a damned thing since it was a 92-year-old franchise, "what our fans deserve" is a fair economic system that offers more than a couple of freakish chances every 30 or 40 years to compete for a World Series championship.

In Pittsburgh, "what our fans deserve" is the comfort in knowing that, when a great player passes through the gates, it won't be the system that takes him away at the first opportunity.

In Pittsburgh, "what our fans deserve" is a salary cap.

That was my reaction upon seeing his tweet, and it led to this response:

Then this back from him:

And the conversation closed with this:

He's right about the CBA year, of course. That expires after the 2021 season.

He's also right, as emphasized in my lede, in caring about the fans. He always has. He still does.

When he steps onto the field here, I'll bet anything that the reverence he feels for Roberto Clemente and other facets of the franchise are real:

[caption id="attachment_997567" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Jameson Taillon takes the field in 2019. - GETTY[/caption]

Same with those awesome stirrups he sported a couple summers ago one night in Atlanta:

[caption id="attachment_997568" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Jameson Taillon in Atlanta in 2018. - GETTY[/caption]

But there's a distinction, I dare say, between bringing up the fans in that sense and bringing them up in ongoing labor negotiations. Because in Pittsburgh, as Taillon and all of his more tenured teammates are intimately aware, almost all of the public discourse related to the team is about payroll. And the system. And, in turn, Bob Nutting.

Never mind that, in a cap system, no one would even know Nutting existed, since a cap system brings with it a tight floor -- no more than a meaningless $20 million gap in the NFL, NHL and NBA -- as well as the expanded revenue sharing that allows all owners to pay up to that level.

Here, when it comes to baseball, it's pretty much all we talk about. Not Josh Bell's 37 home runs. Not Bryan Reynolds and Kevin Newman breaking out as rookies. Not a compelling human storyline like Taillon himself. Nope, it's just payroll, payroll, payroll.

He knows that. They all know that.

Even amid this current flap over how to conduct the 2020 season, the reflexive remark from the common Pittsburgher will be something about how baseball or the Pirates suck, and how they can't wait for the Steelers and Penguins to get going. I hear it every day. I'm betting you do, too.

Yet again, I know the players do, as well.

So "what our fans deserve" is to have their wishes respected.

They won't all be informed. They won't be equipped with the background or even the basics of sports economics. But the customer's always right, as they say, and these customers are tuning out. Especially in Pittsburgh. They're still engaged, as I see it, but they're angry. Always angry.

And no, they don't all want to see baseball back:

I mean, that's hardly scientific or representative, but wow. Imagine the locals expressing such a sentiment about football or hockey.

Baseball's in one hell of an 0-2, bases-empty, bottom-of-the-ninth hole. And the only people blissfully unaware of this are those in baseball's myopic world.

It's not just about this latest mess. It's about the games taking forever. It's about the ratings tanking, right along with the attendance. It's about sandlots sitting empty. And you'd better believe it's about this economic system that skews laughably toward a handful of teams with the largest revenue pools, thus quashing hope in half or more of the other markets before the first pitch is thrown.

It's about a salary cap. All of this.

And even though the CBA expires next year, not this one, it'd be crazy to not recognize that the ingredients are all starting to fill the pot toward precisely that:

1. Teams are losing money.

That'd always been the one thing that held back the cause. MLB topped $10 billion in revenue in 2019, and the teams at the top, in particular, were making a killing. Right now, of course, no one's making money. In fact, the teams that stand to lose the most from the possible short season ahead are the Yankees, Dodgers, Red Sox and so forth.

That's strikingly similar to what led the NHL to lock out players in 2003-04 for a year and a half to get a cap and, really, save the league. It wasn't until the owners at the top started losing money that Gary Bettman was able to unify them all. Meaning the Rangers, Maple Leafs, Red Wings and so forth.

This coronavirus impact won't go away if/when they start playing. It's likely to linger for years to come, if only because of the economic environment that's expected.

It's wild that this scenario's here, but it's definitely here.

2. The dislike is real.

I don't really need to elaborate on this one, right?

Suffice it to say that so much of what occurred with the NHL in 2003-04 was the result of bitter personal ill will between the parties. It became way more important to win than to play.

3. It's actually being discussed.

Almost. Kind of.

Earlier this month, Tom Ricketts, owner of the Cubs, broached the subject of 'revenue sharing' with ESPN. They made quite the splash. I wrote about Ricketts' remarks myself.

Six days ago, Ken Kendrick, owner of the Diamondbacks, also broached 'revenue sharing' on Phoenix radio station Arizona Sports 98.7 FM. Those didn't get much attention at all, so I'll share them here in full: “Why is it that we are the only sport that doesn’t have revenue sharing? All of the other major sports have revenue sharing. What would be happening right now — think about it — if this situation would've evolved and we had been in a revenue-sharing model? We would be acting as partners to get back together and get back on the field. The very lack of a revenue-sharing model puts us in an adversarial position when we really ought to be partners and advancing the game and building the revenues because all would win in those circumstances. Our union leadership takes the position that’s a non-starter. It’s sad.”

He's completely correct. If the union hadn't predictably been averse to the very term 'revenue sharing' -- "A system that restricts player pay based on revenues is a salary cap, period," Clark immediately barked -- none of this would be happening. All the finances would've been laid out, an independent audit would've determined the size of the revenue pool for 2020, and it'd easily get split between owners and players. Just like what's being done in the NFL, NHL and NBA, without a peep.

But what's amusing within this is that Ricketts, Kendrick, the Cardinals' Bill DeWitt and other owners who's spoken up lately never use 'salary cap,' either. Never, ever, ever. Even when answering questions directly about a cap. So the usage of 'revenue sharing' is, in and of itself, remarkable. And groundbreaking.

Baby steps.

Here's what I've got to say on this, in general ...

Salary cap.

SALARY CAP!

SALARY CAP!

SALARY CAP!

I'd scrap this season, the next and the one after that, if needed, to get one. And happily so. Nothing could or would mean more to the health of this spectacular but sickly sport than to stare down all of its problems, like Bob Gibson at a batter who's taken too long to step into the box, and fire away.

It's beyond ludicrous to think all the other sports have it wrong when they're the ones on the upswing.

____________________

For more on baseball labor, check out the debut of 'DK's Daily Shot,' my new every-weekday podcast.

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