Retour
As Milwaukee basks in the glow of the Brewers' first World Series championship, there's a question more pressing than whether they can do it again.
Will we even get to watch them play next year?
Major League Baseball's collective bargaining agreement expires Dec. 1, and a lockout threatens the 2027 season. The central disagreement is familiar: Owners want a salary cap. The players' union wants nothing to do with it. Once again, the fans are caught in the middle.
This year's World Series between the Milwaukee Brewers and Tampa Bay Rays offered a glimpse of what baseball could become. The Brewers ranked 19th in payroll. The Rays were 27th. Yet both defeated substantially wealthier opponents to reach baseball's biggest stage.
The usual suspects from New York and Los Angeles were left watching from home.
Does that prove baseball doesn't need a salary cap? Just the opposite. The remarkable thing about the Brewers and Rays isn't that they succeeded. It's how unusual their success remains.
Imagine a baseball world in which every team entered spring training with a legitimate opportunity to compete for a championship. Where Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and Kansas City weren't routinely at an enormous financial disadvantage to New York and Los Angeles.
Where winning depended less on who could write the biggest checks and more on who could build the smartest organization.
We saw what that looks like this October.
The Brewers and Rays didn't outspend their opponents. They outthought them. They ran the bases aggressively. They put the ball in play. They manufactured runs. They found advantages in scouting, player development, analytics and the countless details that separate excellent organizations from ordinary ones.
It was baseball as a chess match rather than a contest to see who could hit the most home runs.
And it was entertaining. Now imagine that kind of competition throughout the league.
When more teams have a realistic chance to win, more fans have a reason to care. More people buy tickets. More people watch games. More businesses purchase sponsorships.
A more competitive league could create new opportunities for players, too. A young star in Milwaukee or Pittsburgh might become a national celebrity instead of waiting for a big-market franchise to make him one. Greater interest in more markets means more opportunities for endorsements and other commercial relationships.
And imagine major league teams in Nashville, Charlotte, Portland or Salt Lake City. A healthier, more competitive league could make expansion more attractive.
Of course, a salary cap alone won't accomplish all this.
Baseball also needs a meaningful salary floor, so owners cannot simply pocket revenue-sharing payments while fielding uncompetitive teams. And the system must provide players with a fair share of the sport's growing revenues.
The players' union argues that a salary cap would suppress salaries and transfer money from players to owners. That's a legitimate concern. But there's another problem that doesn't get nearly enough attention.
Baseball careers are short.
A player with three or four seasons remaining has little reason to sacrifice earning opportunities today in exchange for a more prosperous league 10 or 20 years from now. That's not shortsightedness. It's perfectly rational. We shouldn't expect players to make that bargain simply because it's good for baseball. We should give them a financial reason to make it.
And there's an interesting lesson here from an unlikely source: Jerry Seinfeld. In 1997, General Electric CEO Jack Welch offered Seinfeld $110 million to produce another season of his enormously successful television show.
Seinfeld turned him down. Why would anyone walk away from that kind of money? Because Seinfeld had something more valuable than another year's salary. He reportedly owned 15% of the show's future syndication profits.
His decision to end the show was driven by his judgment about its audience and creative longevity. But his financial arrangement meant that protecting the show's long-term value could also benefit him personally.
And it did.
Nearly three decades later, "Seinfeld" continues generating enormous revenues. His share of the show's post-production earnings has been estimated at more than $600 million.
He could afford to think like an owner because, economically, he was one.
Now imagine baseball players having a similar incentive.
Major League Baseball already has a pension system. Why not supplement it with an additional benefit tied to the league's future revenues?
Players could earn a continuing share of baseball's prosperity based on their years of service, with benefits extending beyond their playing careers and protections for surviving spouses and families.
The details would require careful negotiation. But the principle is simple: If players help build a more valuable league, they should continue sharing in the value they helped create.
Now a young player facing an uncertain career isn't being asked to sacrifice for a future he may never experience. He's being offered a financial interest in that future.
The owners and players should be arguing about how to divide a bigger pie, not threatening to close the bakery.
Milwaukee waited 44 years to return to the World Series. Brewers fans deserve more than another labor dispute threatening the sport's future.
And baseball deserves better than an economic system in which extraordinary management is often necessary just to overcome an extraordinary financial disadvantage.
The Brewers and Rays have shown us how exciting baseball can be when intelligence, creativity and execution overcome money.
Jerry Seinfeld demonstrated how valuable a long-term financial interest can become.
It's time for baseball's owners and players to recognize that their greatest opportunity isn't extracting another dollar from one another today. It's building a more valuable game tomorrow — and making sure everyone who helps create that value shares in it.