Why Do We All Just Accept That Baseball Salaries Are Appallingly High?

The stadium scene.
April 15 2013 5:30 AM

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Labor unions are cartels that increase their members’ salaries by bargaining collectively, thus winning a more lucrative contract than workers could negotiate on their own. Baseball players are entertainers with specialized skills. They didn’t start earning their true market value until they were allowed to negotiate individually with owners—the antithesis of collective bargaining. Marvin Miller, the former United Steelworkers of America economist who became executive director of the MLBPA, was a talent agent, not a labor boss.

In 1981, both the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization and the MLBPA went on strike. The air-traffic controllers were fired—a disastrous event for the labor movement, as it signaled that the Reagan administration would not protect the interests of unions. Unionization is now at a 97-year low of 11.3 percent. And as this chart shows, the middle class’s share of the national income has declined at roughly the same rate as union membership.

Meanwhile, the players went back to work in 1981, and their salaries continued rising. The MLBPA became one of the nation’s most powerful unions because only 500 people in the world can hit a major-league curveball and only a few hundred can throw one. Unlike air-traffic controllers—or millwrights, or miners, or tool-and-die makers—they can’t be replaced without ruining the product, because they are the product.

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A 2002 article by Keith Sill of the Philadelphia Federal Reserve Bank calls this the “skill premium.” Sill explains that since 1970, “the wages paid to the most highly skilled workers—those who have higher levels of education, ability, or job training—have increased dramatically relative to the wages of the least skilled workers.” As inequality between baseball players and the public has grown, so has inequality among baseball players. Since 1972, the major-league minimum salary has risen from $13,500 to $480,000. But Hank Aaron earned just 15 times as much as the lowest-paid rookie. A-Rod, by contrast, makes 60 times more than the poorest major leaguer.

As baseball players accumulate plutocratic riches (Rodriguez will have earned a third of $1 billion by the time his contract expires), I find myself wondering why I’m supposed to cheer for a guy earning $27.5 million a year—he’s already a winner. When I was 11, I hero-worshipped the Tigers’ shortstop because I could imagine growing up to take his place. Obviously, that’s not going to happen now. Since my past two jobs disappeared in the Great Recession, I can’t watch a professional sporting event without thinking, Most of those guys are set for life, while I’ve been buying my own health insurance for 5 1/2 years. Paying to see a baseball game feels like paying to see a tax lawyer argue in federal court or a commodities trader work the floor of the Mercantile Exchange. They’re getting rich out there, but how am I profiting from the experience? I know we’re never going back to the days when Willie Mays lived in Harlem and sold cars in the offseason, but the market forces that have overvalued ballplayers’ skills while devaluing mine have made it impossible for me to just enjoy the damn game.

This, of course, is why gambling was invented: to keep us interested in sports after we’ve lost any emotional connection to the players and the teams. I have an offshore wagering account in Costa Rica. In October, I made the homer’s mistake of betting on the Tigers in Game 1 of the World Series, because I thought Verlander was invincible.

In the not-much-remembered baseball movie For Love of the Game (which I only saw because it was about the Tigers), Kevin Costner plays aging pitcher Billy Chapel, who tries to talk teammate Davis Birch out of leaving Detroit for a better deal with the Yankees. “It was your team, too,” Billy tells Davis. “I mean, how much money we gotta make?” “You wanna see my team?” Davis asks. Then he looks at his wife and children. “That’s my team over there.”

Unlike the fictional Davis Birch, Verlander got his price. But do you think he loves Detroit so much he would have signed a contract that made him anything less than the highest-paid pitcher in baseball history?

This year, I decided to get my price, too—since the players can sign with the club that offers the most financial opportunity, why can’t I become a free agent? And I regret to say that, unlike Verlander, I will not be staying with the Tigers. I bet the Washington Nationals to win the National League pennant at +350, hoping a healthy Stephen Strasburg will carry them all the way. (In the American League, the Tigers are +380, a bit short for a team with no closer.) So for the 2013 season, I’m a Nats fan. And after the playoffs, I’ll be on the market again, ready to jump ship to whichever franchise offers me the best deal.

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