A report last week from Deadspin showed that teams like the Royals, Marlins and Pirates make money despite fielding lousy teams which can't draw flies. Because they keep costs down? Yes, but also because of revenue sharing.
Since the mid-1990's, baseball has had a system where "big market" (think New York, LA, Chicago) teams share revenue with "small market" (think Kansas City, Tampa, Cleveland) teams. The idea was to level the playing field, redistribute wealth, so other teams could compete.
This year, for example, the New York Yankees (baseball's Microsoft) have a payroll of $206 million, while the Pittsburgh Pirates have a payroll of $35 million. In fact, the Yanks Alex Rodriguez ($34 million) makes as much as the entire Pirates roster. I picture *A-Rod walking up to the Pirates batting cage and saying "I can buy you guys." Would he want them?
Revenue sharing hasn't worked. Come October, big spenders dominate while little spenders make tee times. "Moneyball" theories aside, money rules.
There are exceptions. The Florida Marlins have won two championships and the Tampa Bay Rays won a pennant a couple of years ago. Cleveland came within a game of the World Series a few years ago.
Rooting for a small market team means rooting for exceptions. Baseball does not have a salary cap like other sports or shared TV revenue like the NFL. Baseball has the strongest players union, by far, of any professional sport and owners who often are their own worst enemies.
(As an aside, check out "Lords Of The Realm" by John Helyar for more on the "real" history of baseball.)
And there is revenue sharing (this year's pool is about $450 million), but now comes word that a number of owners pocket the dough for themselves. While the idea was that teams would spend away on new players, there aren't strict guidelines on what to do with the money.
Reminds me of the episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Robert goes to his brother for money due to some hard times and promptly spends it on a weekend in Vegas.
When baseball's labor agreement is up next year and owners cry about player salaries, they won't have much leverage will they?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Beam Me Up Kiddos
Timely article in the Tribune (link below) about technology and kids.
Over the weekend I took my twins, who are entering 7th grade, to get cell phones. We agreed that they would use part of their allowance to pay for them and see how it goes.
Growing up I remember:
- Listening for my mother's ringing a cow bell when it was time to get home
- Standing in line for the pay phone in my college dorm
- Racing home (or not leaving the house) before answering machines to wait for a phone call.
Progress, I guess, and a teachable moment.
My kids and I have always had regular dialogue about money and the choices involved. They had bank accounts at age 6 and an allowance tied to chores. When we go out to eat they have a choice of either getting a soda or a dollar.
I’ve always enjoyed observing personalities as they relate to money. For example, if I gave my daughter $100 she would figure out a way to save every dime. My son? He would leverage it and try to spend $110. My daughter’s reaction when I asked for the first month’s cell phone fee – “Dad, can I get back to you on that?”
But I have also watched them try to pool their resources for a Christmas gift. Or get out a sharp pencil to figure out how long they need to save for a game or clothing. I have watched them burn through money, regret it, and learn from it . Choices. Hopefully that’s the key takeaway as they grow older.
What lessons have you tried to impart about money? I would love to hear from you.
http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/family/ct-met-tweens-teens-poll-20100822,0,6396201.story
Over the weekend I took my twins, who are entering 7th grade, to get cell phones. We agreed that they would use part of their allowance to pay for them and see how it goes.
Growing up I remember:
- Listening for my mother's ringing a cow bell when it was time to get home
- Standing in line for the pay phone in my college dorm
- Racing home (or not leaving the house) before answering machines to wait for a phone call.
Progress, I guess, and a teachable moment.
My kids and I have always had regular dialogue about money and the choices involved. They had bank accounts at age 6 and an allowance tied to chores. When we go out to eat they have a choice of either getting a soda or a dollar.
I’ve always enjoyed observing personalities as they relate to money. For example, if I gave my daughter $100 she would figure out a way to save every dime. My son? He would leverage it and try to spend $110. My daughter’s reaction when I asked for the first month’s cell phone fee – “Dad, can I get back to you on that?”
But I have also watched them try to pool their resources for a Christmas gift. Or get out a sharp pencil to figure out how long they need to save for a game or clothing. I have watched them burn through money, regret it, and learn from it . Choices. Hopefully that’s the key takeaway as they grow older.
What lessons have you tried to impart about money? I would love to hear from you.
http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/family/ct-met-tweens-teens-poll-20100822,0,6396201.story
Monday, August 9, 2010
Let Them Eat Walleye
With folks in a huff over Michelle Obama’s Spanish jaunt (a New York Daily News column compared her to Marie Antoinette), I thought I'd provide a side by side comparison of the First Lady’s trip to the Gaul family’s annual trek to the Northwoods of Wisconsin.
This is strictly for comparison purposes, though if the President decided to join us next year it would create the biggest stir since pasteurization.
Methods of Transportation:
Obama: Air Force Two, limousine
Gaul: Minivan, fishing boat
Security:
Obama: 70 Service Agents
Gaul: Old English Sheepdog
Accommodations:
Obama: 60 rooms at Costa Del Sol
Gaul: Two Bedroom cabin
Greeted upon Arrival by:
Obama: King Juan Carlos
Gaul: Several hundred mosquitoes
Dinner:
Obama: Sea bass tartare, lobster with seaweed risotto
Gaul: Burgers a la Weber
Entertainment:
Obama: Flamenco performance by Juan Andres Maya
Gaul: Bonfire guitar performance by Guillermo Gaul
Leisure activities:
Obama: Swimming at a closed beach
Gaul: Diving off the pier
Top Sightseeing attraction:
Obama: Alhambra Palace, a16th century cathedral
Gaul: World’s largest penny in Woodruff
This is strictly for comparison purposes, though if the President decided to join us next year it would create the biggest stir since pasteurization.
Methods of Transportation:
Obama: Air Force Two, limousine
Gaul: Minivan, fishing boat
Security:
Obama: 70 Service Agents
Gaul: Old English Sheepdog
Accommodations:
Obama: 60 rooms at Costa Del Sol
Gaul: Two Bedroom cabin
Greeted upon Arrival by:
Obama: King Juan Carlos
Gaul: Several hundred mosquitoes
Dinner:
Obama: Sea bass tartare, lobster with seaweed risotto
Gaul: Burgers a la Weber
Entertainment:
Obama: Flamenco performance by Juan Andres Maya
Gaul: Bonfire guitar performance by Guillermo Gaul
Leisure activities:
Obama: Swimming at a closed beach
Gaul: Diving off the pier
Top Sightseeing attraction:
Obama: Alhambra Palace, a16th century cathedral
Gaul: World’s largest penny in Woodruff
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Wringing Out the Clouds....
And Other Random thoughts.
Having lived in Chicago all my life, I can't recall a stretch more humid than last month. Hotter? '95 was awful. But not as humid. And not just the morning when my "el" car felt like a Russian steam bath.
I remember a David Letterman skit many years ago when he went on the street to find “Mr. Humidity,” the New Yorker who resembled a walking radiator. They say “It’s not the heat that gets you but the humidity.” Amen.
*A Rod
"A" as in asterisk. Alex Rodriguez is in elite company, the 7th player in baseball history with 600 home runs. In recent years it’s become a rather dubious group with new members Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa and *A Rod each linked to steroids.
It remains to be seen where *A Rod ends up history and public perception wise. Fans seem to embrace him at arm’s length, but at age 35 he has a lot of years left.
I’m certain, however, of one thing: History will be kind to Ken Griffey Jr., who retired this year with 630 career homers and without the stain of performance enhancing drugs. Griffey was blessed with every tool except durability; otherwise he would have left Bonds, Aaron, Ruth et al. in his wake years ago.
Alternate Reality
The other night I was flipping channels and came across one of those ubiquitous reality shows. In a riveting piece of drama, a dishevled woman looks up from the couch and discovers she has overslept for whatever ridiculous, contrived activity was on tap. I looked at my wife and said, “Why didn’t the cameraman wake her?” and learned that there are actually RULES for these shows, and that the camera crews can’t get involved. Who knew? Wish I was around when the suits came up with them. I’m sure it was like the Geneva Conventions.
Blago
Time to trade the custom made suits for a D.O.C. monogram. Next up: Republican kingpin Bill Cellini. The circus is leaving town but plenty of good theater remains.
Simple Beauty
My daughter turns 3 this week. We have had a good deal of bonding time lately, much of it at the pool, as Mom cares for the new baby.
Monday night was like many this summer. Looks like rain all day, rains a bit (“The clouds are raining” she likes to say) then clears after dinner.
Off to the pool. It’s cloudy, a bit chilly, with just a handful of people. She discovers two small water bottles and brings them to me in the shallow end. Beauty salon time as she rinses my hair, then a series of turns as she fills one bottle with water from the other. Then she lies down, asking me to lie in the water, the end of her corkscrew curls dipped in water. She laughs, running the bottles under the surface.
After a while I look up. We are the only ones left. Our moment. Our summer.
Having lived in Chicago all my life, I can't recall a stretch more humid than last month. Hotter? '95 was awful. But not as humid. And not just the morning when my "el" car felt like a Russian steam bath.
I remember a David Letterman skit many years ago when he went on the street to find “Mr. Humidity,” the New Yorker who resembled a walking radiator. They say “It’s not the heat that gets you but the humidity.” Amen.
*A Rod
"A" as in asterisk. Alex Rodriguez is in elite company, the 7th player in baseball history with 600 home runs. In recent years it’s become a rather dubious group with new members Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa and *A Rod each linked to steroids.
It remains to be seen where *A Rod ends up history and public perception wise. Fans seem to embrace him at arm’s length, but at age 35 he has a lot of years left.
I’m certain, however, of one thing: History will be kind to Ken Griffey Jr., who retired this year with 630 career homers and without the stain of performance enhancing drugs. Griffey was blessed with every tool except durability; otherwise he would have left Bonds, Aaron, Ruth et al. in his wake years ago.
Alternate Reality
The other night I was flipping channels and came across one of those ubiquitous reality shows. In a riveting piece of drama, a dishevled woman looks up from the couch and discovers she has overslept for whatever ridiculous, contrived activity was on tap. I looked at my wife and said, “Why didn’t the cameraman wake her?” and learned that there are actually RULES for these shows, and that the camera crews can’t get involved. Who knew? Wish I was around when the suits came up with them. I’m sure it was like the Geneva Conventions.
Blago
Time to trade the custom made suits for a D.O.C. monogram. Next up: Republican kingpin Bill Cellini. The circus is leaving town but plenty of good theater remains.
Simple Beauty
My daughter turns 3 this week. We have had a good deal of bonding time lately, much of it at the pool, as Mom cares for the new baby.
Monday night was like many this summer. Looks like rain all day, rains a bit (“The clouds are raining” she likes to say) then clears after dinner.
Off to the pool. It’s cloudy, a bit chilly, with just a handful of people. She discovers two small water bottles and brings them to me in the shallow end. Beauty salon time as she rinses my hair, then a series of turns as she fills one bottle with water from the other. Then she lies down, asking me to lie in the water, the end of her corkscrew curls dipped in water. She laughs, running the bottles under the surface.
After a while I look up. We are the only ones left. Our moment. Our summer.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Back to $chool
Here’s all you really need to know about how money drives everything in college sports:
Alabama football coach Nick Saban gets paid $4,000,000 per year. The average yearly salary for a professor at Alabama is $116,000.
Alabama won the National Championship last season. It is estimated that a home game in Tuscaloosa brings in over 21 million dollars to the university.
That’s PER GAME.
Just sayin'.
Nick Saban received a bonus of $200,000 for beating Texas in the title game. And what did the hard working young men who played for Nick Saban get?
A nice ring and a chance to study for free.
I’m sure got some swag, maybe a nice Rose Bowl sweat suit and some gym shoes.
But that’s about it. Or is it?
A few weeks ago Nick Saban referred to sports agents as “pimps” amid allegations that several Division I players, including former Heisman Trophy winner Reggie Bush, took money (in Bush’s case over $250,000) from agents while in school.
Imagine that.
The system is screwy. The NFL and universities have done a fine job fostering a “farm system” for the pros to develop players, so-called “student athletes.”
Think about that. How much does it cost for an employer to hire and train a new employee? For the NFL, not much.
Basketball is no different. The NBA imposed a “one and done” rule requiring players to play somewhere until the minimum age of 19, effectively letting colleges train them for a year, at no cost, with the idea that kids would benefit from “the college experience.”
Hooey. This is America, right? If someone told me when I was 19 “drop out now and we will pay you millions” do you think I would even consider another year of Mac and Cheese and Old Style? Money can’t buy you love, but it makes livin’ a lot easier.
Modern college athletics has turned the concept of “student athletes” on its head. I’m talking revenue sports, not fencing or field hockey.
And yes, I know there are plenty of college athletes who go to class with no aspirations of making a living shooting a ball or knocking people over. For every jock studying ceramics or martinizing, you have one majoring in astrophysics or electrical engineering.
But let’s get real. The time commitment to play a major revenue sport is year-round, the pressure tremendous.
And there are some silly rules. Athletes are not allowed to work in season (presuming they could find the time). But they are allowed to get paid to play another sport. Drew Henson was a quarterback at Michigan while under contract with the New York Yankees for a cool 6 years/17 million dollars.
Agents are pervasive in amateur sports, and the temptation is real because the “free education” carrot is not enough for many athletes. When I was in school at Missouri I certainly saw a few fancy cars, but I also witnessed guys who waiting until Thanksgiving to go home and do their laundry. Many wore team issue clothes every day.
So here’s a modest proposal: How about taking a slice of that revenue and paying players a small stipend, say $50 - $100 per week? It wouldn’t get rid of agent “pimps,” but it might help level the playing field a bit.
Pay to play? Please.
Alabama football coach Nick Saban gets paid $4,000,000 per year. The average yearly salary for a professor at Alabama is $116,000.
Alabama won the National Championship last season. It is estimated that a home game in Tuscaloosa brings in over 21 million dollars to the university.
That’s PER GAME.
Just sayin'.
Nick Saban received a bonus of $200,000 for beating Texas in the title game. And what did the hard working young men who played for Nick Saban get?
A nice ring and a chance to study for free.
I’m sure got some swag, maybe a nice Rose Bowl sweat suit and some gym shoes.
But that’s about it. Or is it?
A few weeks ago Nick Saban referred to sports agents as “pimps” amid allegations that several Division I players, including former Heisman Trophy winner Reggie Bush, took money (in Bush’s case over $250,000) from agents while in school.
Imagine that.
The system is screwy. The NFL and universities have done a fine job fostering a “farm system” for the pros to develop players, so-called “student athletes.”
Think about that. How much does it cost for an employer to hire and train a new employee? For the NFL, not much.
Basketball is no different. The NBA imposed a “one and done” rule requiring players to play somewhere until the minimum age of 19, effectively letting colleges train them for a year, at no cost, with the idea that kids would benefit from “the college experience.”
Hooey. This is America, right? If someone told me when I was 19 “drop out now and we will pay you millions” do you think I would even consider another year of Mac and Cheese and Old Style? Money can’t buy you love, but it makes livin’ a lot easier.
Modern college athletics has turned the concept of “student athletes” on its head. I’m talking revenue sports, not fencing or field hockey.
And yes, I know there are plenty of college athletes who go to class with no aspirations of making a living shooting a ball or knocking people over. For every jock studying ceramics or martinizing, you have one majoring in astrophysics or electrical engineering.
But let’s get real. The time commitment to play a major revenue sport is year-round, the pressure tremendous.
And there are some silly rules. Athletes are not allowed to work in season (presuming they could find the time). But they are allowed to get paid to play another sport. Drew Henson was a quarterback at Michigan while under contract with the New York Yankees for a cool 6 years/17 million dollars.
Agents are pervasive in amateur sports, and the temptation is real because the “free education” carrot is not enough for many athletes. When I was in school at Missouri I certainly saw a few fancy cars, but I also witnessed guys who waiting until Thanksgiving to go home and do their laundry. Many wore team issue clothes every day.
So here’s a modest proposal: How about taking a slice of that revenue and paying players a small stipend, say $50 - $100 per week? It wouldn’t get rid of agent “pimps,” but it might help level the playing field a bit.
Pay to play? Please.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Kase Fer Book Lernin'
"Dad," I heard my 11 year old son call from the kitchen.
"I want to go to college at USC, Florida, LSU, what's LSU?, Ohio State or Penn State."
I guess there are worse criteria for picking a school than Football polls.
My two seventh graders and I have had quite a few talks about college lately. They are curious as a number of their cousins and friend's siblings go off to school.
They want to know "what you do there" and are intrigued, to say the least, by the idea that they are on their own. Our talks have me thinking about the value of education and the pressures kids face.
Growing up, my parents led by example. We lived in a home filled with books and newspapers and they were consistent in emphasizing effort and thirst for knowledge over grades.
They stressed the importance of being well read and the value of knowing a little bit about a lot of things. I remember coming home from college and my parents asking what I learned, not what I got.
Which isn't to say that if I crossed the Bluto Blutarsky line I wouldn't have faced the music. I did well. But graduation day was the beginning of my education, not the end.
Somehow we have bought into the notion that a college degree is a necessity, for everyone. Not sure I buy that.
My freshman year at Missouri I was in a large Marketing class with a visiting professor from Australia. On the first exam he gave 2/3 of the class a C or lower and heard moans when he posted grades. One student yelled, "Everyone deserves a chance" and he quickly replied, "No, not everyone deserves a chance. Everyone deserves an oppotunity to take a chance." He turned his back to us a moment and then said "You know what I am saying don't you?" (pregnant pause) "Most of you don't belong here."
College isn't for everyone, and yet we seem backwards compared to many cultures where kids serve as an apprentice in a chosen field before going to college or trade school.
Mr. Marshall at my high school was one of the most interesting, well read people I have ever known. I don't recall whether or where he went to college. He was a custodian, in charge of cleaning our athletic locker rooms. A good man.
As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, "Whatever your life's work is, do it well. A man should do his job so well that the living, the dead, and the unborn could do it no better.”
And for my kids: No matter where life takes you, be a learner, an interesting person. That's an "A" on my report card.
"I want to go to college at USC, Florida, LSU, what's LSU?, Ohio State or Penn State."
I guess there are worse criteria for picking a school than Football polls.
My two seventh graders and I have had quite a few talks about college lately. They are curious as a number of their cousins and friend's siblings go off to school.
They want to know "what you do there" and are intrigued, to say the least, by the idea that they are on their own. Our talks have me thinking about the value of education and the pressures kids face.
Growing up, my parents led by example. We lived in a home filled with books and newspapers and they were consistent in emphasizing effort and thirst for knowledge over grades.
They stressed the importance of being well read and the value of knowing a little bit about a lot of things. I remember coming home from college and my parents asking what I learned, not what I got.
Which isn't to say that if I crossed the Bluto Blutarsky line I wouldn't have faced the music. I did well. But graduation day was the beginning of my education, not the end.
Somehow we have bought into the notion that a college degree is a necessity, for everyone. Not sure I buy that.
My freshman year at Missouri I was in a large Marketing class with a visiting professor from Australia. On the first exam he gave 2/3 of the class a C or lower and heard moans when he posted grades. One student yelled, "Everyone deserves a chance" and he quickly replied, "No, not everyone deserves a chance. Everyone deserves an oppotunity to take a chance." He turned his back to us a moment and then said "You know what I am saying don't you?" (pregnant pause) "Most of you don't belong here."
College isn't for everyone, and yet we seem backwards compared to many cultures where kids serve as an apprentice in a chosen field before going to college or trade school.
Mr. Marshall at my high school was one of the most interesting, well read people I have ever known. I don't recall whether or where he went to college. He was a custodian, in charge of cleaning our athletic locker rooms. A good man.
As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, "Whatever your life's work is, do it well. A man should do his job so well that the living, the dead, and the unborn could do it no better.”
And for my kids: No matter where life takes you, be a learner, an interesting person. That's an "A" on my report card.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Found At Sea
RIP Captain Phil.
That would be Captain Phil Harris of the Cornelia Marie, star of Discovery Channel's "Deadliest Catch," who passed away during filming earlier this year.
I've been hooked(pun intended) on "Catch" for a few years now, my one dose of reality TV.
The formula is simple enough. A group of crab fishing boats head out in the Bering Sea (between Alaska and Russia) with cameras aboard. While they "compete" to see who has the most crab at the end, ultimately it's about their individual haul, a year's pay condensed into a few months.
The show opens with close ups each captain in front of his crew as Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" blares in the background. At one point Captain Sig Hansen is shown thrusting his arm forward as if to signal a "first down." The faces are worn as an old tire, but the rush is on.
The ship's men are classic "bad boys," hard driving cowboys willing to risk their lives in one of the most dangerous jobs on earth.
And the danger is ever present. They work 18 hours at a time some 300 miles from shore. As they fight the raging waves, snow, rain and sleet, the crew offloads over 100 crab "pots" into the sea, each weighing about 800 pounds. Go overboard or get struck with a pot and your're toast.
They don't gather for yoga in the morning, and the work hardly lends itself to a spread in Men's Health or GQ. The captains in particular are overcaffinated, chain smoking and sedentary. Captain Phil suffered a massive stroke followed by a fatal embolism. His two sons are part of his crew, and one struggles with an addiction to pain killers.
So why watch? The show is pure testosterone, and there is a certain honor with each of the crews, many of which are second and third generation.
But there's no free ride. A rookie on the boat, called a greenhorn, goes through a stiff test in order to move up to deckhand. Some might call it hazing. With no HR department the vets have free reign.
I'm hooked, because it's my ultimate fantasy. When I was a kid we used to vacation in Wisconsin and had a neighbor (in the proverbial "house on the hill") who was a commercial fisherman. Paid to fish. Cool.
Not quite my career choice. I suppose someone could run up to my desk and douse me repeatedly, and I do recall a female co-worker many years ago with a mouth that would make a longshoreman blush, but that's as close as I get to life on the Bering Sea. A man can dream, can't he?
That would be Captain Phil Harris of the Cornelia Marie, star of Discovery Channel's "Deadliest Catch," who passed away during filming earlier this year.
I've been hooked(pun intended) on "Catch" for a few years now, my one dose of reality TV.
The formula is simple enough. A group of crab fishing boats head out in the Bering Sea (between Alaska and Russia) with cameras aboard. While they "compete" to see who has the most crab at the end, ultimately it's about their individual haul, a year's pay condensed into a few months.
The show opens with close ups each captain in front of his crew as Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" blares in the background. At one point Captain Sig Hansen is shown thrusting his arm forward as if to signal a "first down." The faces are worn as an old tire, but the rush is on.
The ship's men are classic "bad boys," hard driving cowboys willing to risk their lives in one of the most dangerous jobs on earth.
And the danger is ever present. They work 18 hours at a time some 300 miles from shore. As they fight the raging waves, snow, rain and sleet, the crew offloads over 100 crab "pots" into the sea, each weighing about 800 pounds. Go overboard or get struck with a pot and your're toast.
They don't gather for yoga in the morning, and the work hardly lends itself to a spread in Men's Health or GQ. The captains in particular are overcaffinated, chain smoking and sedentary. Captain Phil suffered a massive stroke followed by a fatal embolism. His two sons are part of his crew, and one struggles with an addiction to pain killers.
So why watch? The show is pure testosterone, and there is a certain honor with each of the crews, many of which are second and third generation.
But there's no free ride. A rookie on the boat, called a greenhorn, goes through a stiff test in order to move up to deckhand. Some might call it hazing. With no HR department the vets have free reign.
I'm hooked, because it's my ultimate fantasy. When I was a kid we used to vacation in Wisconsin and had a neighbor (in the proverbial "house on the hill") who was a commercial fisherman. Paid to fish. Cool.
Not quite my career choice. I suppose someone could run up to my desk and douse me repeatedly, and I do recall a female co-worker many years ago with a mouth that would make a longshoreman blush, but that's as close as I get to life on the Bering Sea. A man can dream, can't he?
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