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07-08-2002, 12:48 AM
By Dale Hoffman
Bud Selig, local hero and baseball commissioner, is the leader of the free world in predictable conversation. He's never had a meeting that wasn't "productive" and never faced a problem that history hasn't told him how to solve eventually, although every one of them is "extremely serious."
You may bump into him this week dressed in his customary business suit, white shirt and lightning rod, trying like the rest of us to have a good time at the All-Star Game. If that happens, do a favor for him and baseball.
Ask him about the wife and grandkids. Get him to handicap the sausage race or to provide his take on Martha Stewart. Don't under any circumstances mention Don Fehr, John Burkett, contraction, strikes or steroids.
We all know how the commissioner feels about those subjects because he hasn't changed his opinion or his lines on any of them for 15 years. While nobody can tell him what to say, this would be a great week to suggest what he shouldn't talk about.
And when it comes to baseball's arrogant, mind-numbing, adolescent, suicidal labor snit, the only appropriate word until this party leaves town is mum.
Similarly, should you encounter Fehr on the street wearing a sport shirt and sardonic smile, try for a vow of silence on revenue sharing, luxury taxes, lockouts and long-term contracts. Feel free to get his opinion on WorldCom or Summerfest.
Don't bother looking for Burkett, although he would be the fellow in the dunce cap. The Boston right-hander's threat to boycott his sport's most gala occasion wasn't the dumbest contribution to the modern game's general lunacy, just the latest.
Try to think of the last time anyone on either side said anything that made a particle of sense, let alone promoted the peace.
While Burkett's comments were inflammatory, management fancies itself as conciliatory when it sends a tag team of executives from city to city trying to take the lead in the public relations race. The truth is the public has no use for anything either party has on its mind unless it involves pennant races or serves to cut ticket prices.
Not only have millions of Americans stopped going to the games, too many of their kids have stopped playing it. A poll came out this week reporting that 2.9 million 12- to 17-year-olds said they'd played baseball at least once. That sounds like a lot of balls and strikes, except that the same study said 4.9 million had played 12 years ago. At that rate, our grandchildren will be as familiar with the balk as they are with the 45 rpm record. Both have a big hole right in the middle of them. But that hasn't happened yet, and it doesn't have to happen at all. The people have proved they still love the national pastime, but only when it shuts up and plays.
We have the response to Barry Bonds' historic home run chase and last fall's spell-binding World Series as evidence of that, and we will have this week as well if the combatants forgive each other for a few days and keep their eyes on the ball.
The time couldn't be better for that, and the place couldn't be more perfect. Baseball is a game that thrives on your undivided attention. It doesn't scream like football or scurry like hoops. It's strategy and subtlety and tradition, and this week it has the nation's stage to itself.
An exceptional stage at that. While the roof has squeaked and the grass has browned on occasion, when Miller Park is all dressed up with the dome open, it shouts comfort, excitement and old-fashioned fun.
That will be all the shouting we need this week
Bud Selig, local hero and baseball commissioner, is the leader of the free world in predictable conversation. He's never had a meeting that wasn't "productive" and never faced a problem that history hasn't told him how to solve eventually, although every one of them is "extremely serious."
You may bump into him this week dressed in his customary business suit, white shirt and lightning rod, trying like the rest of us to have a good time at the All-Star Game. If that happens, do a favor for him and baseball.
Ask him about the wife and grandkids. Get him to handicap the sausage race or to provide his take on Martha Stewart. Don't under any circumstances mention Don Fehr, John Burkett, contraction, strikes or steroids.
We all know how the commissioner feels about those subjects because he hasn't changed his opinion or his lines on any of them for 15 years. While nobody can tell him what to say, this would be a great week to suggest what he shouldn't talk about.
And when it comes to baseball's arrogant, mind-numbing, adolescent, suicidal labor snit, the only appropriate word until this party leaves town is mum.
Similarly, should you encounter Fehr on the street wearing a sport shirt and sardonic smile, try for a vow of silence on revenue sharing, luxury taxes, lockouts and long-term contracts. Feel free to get his opinion on WorldCom or Summerfest.
Don't bother looking for Burkett, although he would be the fellow in the dunce cap. The Boston right-hander's threat to boycott his sport's most gala occasion wasn't the dumbest contribution to the modern game's general lunacy, just the latest.
Try to think of the last time anyone on either side said anything that made a particle of sense, let alone promoted the peace.
While Burkett's comments were inflammatory, management fancies itself as conciliatory when it sends a tag team of executives from city to city trying to take the lead in the public relations race. The truth is the public has no use for anything either party has on its mind unless it involves pennant races or serves to cut ticket prices.
Not only have millions of Americans stopped going to the games, too many of their kids have stopped playing it. A poll came out this week reporting that 2.9 million 12- to 17-year-olds said they'd played baseball at least once. That sounds like a lot of balls and strikes, except that the same study said 4.9 million had played 12 years ago. At that rate, our grandchildren will be as familiar with the balk as they are with the 45 rpm record. Both have a big hole right in the middle of them. But that hasn't happened yet, and it doesn't have to happen at all. The people have proved they still love the national pastime, but only when it shuts up and plays.
We have the response to Barry Bonds' historic home run chase and last fall's spell-binding World Series as evidence of that, and we will have this week as well if the combatants forgive each other for a few days and keep their eyes on the ball.
The time couldn't be better for that, and the place couldn't be more perfect. Baseball is a game that thrives on your undivided attention. It doesn't scream like football or scurry like hoops. It's strategy and subtlety and tradition, and this week it has the nation's stage to itself.
An exceptional stage at that. While the roof has squeaked and the grass has browned on occasion, when Miller Park is all dressed up with the dome open, it shouts comfort, excitement and old-fashioned fun.
That will be all the shouting we need this week