It is all too easy to condemn baseball's player's union as a bunch of spoiled crybabies afraid of losing a few of their perks. Time was, though, when baseball players were little more than indentured servants, bound to their teams and the whims of the owners.
Once upon a time, the baseball players association fought for noble causes.
When Marvin Miller took over as the players union chief in 1966, the game's minimum salary was $6,000, only $1,000 higher than it had been in 1947. It was $62,500 in 1987 and will be $300,000 next year.
During the dark days for players, they were basically forced into career-long servitude to their franchises, which could annually retain them simply by renewing their contracts for whatever figure they deemed appropriate.
A player's only recourse was to retire.
It was during the turbulent 1970s and the early '80s that the Major League Baseball Players Association rightfully flexed its muscles in attaining higher minimum salaries, increased pension funds, greater benefits and licensing rights.
More importantly, Miller fought for and won for players the rights of free agency and arbitration.
These were worthy, necessary causes. That they took so long to enact illustrates just how much control owners had over the game for so many decades.
That's why strikes in 1972, 1980, 1981 and 1985 were understandable.
"We fought for free agency," said Diamondbacks first base coach Robin Yount, a member of the Hall of Fame. "We didn't want to be bound to one team. But I'm a firm believer in unions sticking together."
Fast-forward to today, and it's a different ballgame.
The players now have an average yearly income of $2.38 million. They have arbitration rights after three big league seasons and can become free agents after six.
The players still believe that they are fighting for a noble cause, but do such inflated salaries rend their arguments ridiculous or merely sublime? Have they lost the moral high ground that they occupied when Marvin Miller arrived on the scene? How many millions are enough? How many tricked-out SUVs does a man need? When is enough exactly that? When you are a member of a group whose average salary exceeds 97% of the working public, it's time to realize that it's going to be difficult to prevail in the battle for the hearts and minds of the fans who pays your freight.
I raise this point not as a support of ownership, most of whom should be staken out naked in the desert and covered with honey and ants. Their behavior historically could easily be characterized as reprehensible. In this case, though, the players simply do not have the moral authority they may have previously enjoyed. Conceding now will not only score major points with their fan base, it will also save the game of baseball. And that is no exaggeration.
To the players I would say: stand down and make a deal. You'll still be wealthy beyond belief, even if all you consider is the average salary. To the owners: get rid of Bud Selig, who has become a two-legged public relations nightmare. Try to get along with the players, with whom you would not be who or where you are.
Try to keep this in mind, everyone: if the boat sinks, you're all going down with it, and they're aren't many of us who would throw you a life preserver.
