Originally published February 9, 1995, by Mike Barnicle for The Boston Globe
In my dream, the president settles the baseball strike by asking this arrogant, melonfaced dope Donald Fehr, lawyer for the players, to go to Waco to negotiate with Janet Reno. But when Fehr gets there, the attorney general orders the FBI to toast Fehr along with these imbecile millionaire athletes who, were it not for a Godgiven ability to throw, catch and hit a ball, are just a collection of lefthanded elevator operators and righthanded 7Eleven clerks. Another problem solved.
I mean, how embarrassing is this? No matter what you think about Bill Clinton, he is still “Da Man.” He’s the guy elected to sit in the White House. He’s the leader of the free world.
Nobel laureates, senators, members of Congress, the joint chiefs, the head of the CIA, Wall Street billionaires, corporation chiefs, university chancellors, national and international figures all arrive at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue a bit awed, awkward and respectful in the presence of power. It’s a house filled with history.
So here we are the other night with Fehr, who appears to soak his face in cement prior to every public appearance, coming out of the West Wing to announce that he and his players have flipped the bird to Clinton and to Bill Usery, the mediator. Why Fehr’s assistant, Gene Orza, practically called Usery senile.
The players didn’t like the recommendation of Usery, who settles disputes for a living. And they didn’t care that Clinton, who has enough to worry about besides a baseball strike, devoted his time to try to get grown men to go back and play a game at pay scales far above minimum wage.
What do they want, anyway?
They claim to represent a union. But what kind of union has some members cutting lucrative free agent deals while everybody is on strike? You figure Walter Reuther, John L. Lewis or George Meany would allow autoworkers, coal miners or carpenters to sign individual contracts while the picket line continued? The truth is that ball players are to organized labor what shopping mall guards are to law enforcement.
The players, who claim they are striking for future generations, don’t care what happens to recently retired veterans found homeless in Houston; now they’re on the bricks for some 13yearold Little Leaguer with terrific hands and tremendous bat speed? Give me a break. They charge for autographs, treat fans like trash, and go about their selfish ways in whatever town and for whatever team will pay the freight.
And what they have done is unbelievable. In a country where the majority define themselves as workers, nearly everybody with any common sense hates the ballplayers.
Actually, “hate” is too meek a word; “loathe” and “despise” would be more like it.
Oddly enough, the strike has its roots in the near total incompetence of the owners. They were the ones who began throwing incredible sums of money at players. Confronted with nearbankruptcy, many owners began looking for ways to save themselves from themselves. They figured the solution might be a salary cap.
In the process of devising this numbskull idea, guys like the egomaniac who owns the White Sox
Jerry Reinsdorf decided to fire the baseball commissioner. He was an obstacle to their greed. In his place, they selected an empty suit from Milwaukee, Bud Selig, who, if he were a woman, would be pregnant each month because he cannot say “no” to anybody.
Stop the story here and there is no question who wins the public relations war: the players, in a walk.
Enter Fehr who, no matter what concessions are made, always says something like: “There’s nothing new here and they are not bargaining in good faith.”
The reality is that Fehr is afraid to make a deal with John Harrington, the Red Sox owner, who has been negotiating for those who have nearly ruined their own sport.
Let me tell you about Harrington: He is a tough businessman with an altar boy’s face and demeanor. He has been around a long time and I have known him a hundred years and if you cannot make a deal with John Harrington, you cannot make a deal period, because the man is both honorable and honest.
So now the whole 1995 season is about to disappear because Donald Fehr and a handful of blind ballplayers still say “not enough” to people who merely want the games to resume. Never mind that the magic of our best sport has been diminished almost to the point of no return.
Clearly, it’s time for parents all across America to sit the kids down and say to them: “Don’t you start caring about or cheering for these greedy major league ballplayers because they don’t care about you or the game you like so much. Welcome to reality.”
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