Paul Newman said it in the classic movie "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid": "I couldn't do that. Could you do that? Why can they do it? Who are those guys?".
Butch was talking about the trackers he and the Sundance Kid couldn't shake. Most of the American League may well be saying the same thing about the Oakland A's.
The A's are the hottest team in baseball since the All-Star break and are currently holding an AL wild card slot. And yes, this is the same team I wrote about three months ago when they were threatening an all-time record for offensive futility. At the time, the A's team batting average was .210. Yes, you read that correctly.
Things are still pretty offensive with the A's offense. The team's batting average is up to .232, but that's still last in the AL, even worse than the dreadful Seattle Mariners. Cliff Pennintgon's sub-.200 batting average at shortstop was a glaring hole, so the A's went out and got another guy (Stephen Drew) who's hitting below the Mendoza Line.
There are offensive bright spots: Josh Reddick and Yoenis Cespedes are having solid seasons, and the two-headed first base combo of Chris Carter and Brandon Moss has combined for 26 homers since their May call-ups.
But the real answer to the Butch Cassidy question is the pitching. Even after losing Gio Gonzalez (who may win 20 for the Nationals), Trevor Cahill (9 wins and a 3.99 ERA in Arizona) and closer Andrew Bailey (just coming off a season-long injury in Boston), the 2012 A's staff trails only Tampa's in AL ERA and only the Angels in staff shutouts (the A's have 13 whitewashes this year).
Even their pitching dominance is sort of, well, A's-like, which is to say: not eye-popping. Tommy Milone's win in Cleveland last night moved him into the team lead--with 11 (he'd been tied with Bartolo Colon, who will not win any more games this year as he serves a doping suspension). The only other guy with more than 20 starts is Jarrod Parker, who has all of 8 wins.
Yet, just like those trackers in "Butch Cassidy", the A's are not just staying with their prey--they're gaining on them. Just as Colon was banned, lefty Brett Anderson returned after Tommy John surgery--and promptly dominated in his first two starts.
How they're doing it might be a bit of a mystery, but the A's--puny payroll, dumpy ballpark and all--are chasing the big boys, and you know how the movie ended.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Live Strong
My carpool buddy, colleague, and regular verbal sparring partner Steve Bitker asked me on the way to work this morning what I thought about the Lance Armstrong matter. And the best I could do by way of answer was to say, "it's complicated".
It's complicated for a lot of reasons. Armstrong himself is complicated: a prickly, combative bundle of Texas bravado who survived cancer and then brought the Euro-centric sport of cycling to heel. Armstrong won those 7 Tour de France titles as the undisputed boss of the peloton. Whether he was doping or not, nobody could dispute the sheer force of will and power of personality that Armstrong brought to his sport.
But (and with full knowledge that I'm cribbing the title of his autobiography), it's not just about the bike with Lance Armstrong. He sees himself as something more than a rider. A crusader, a conscience, a mentor, a s***-disturber--pick one or more. The Lance Armstrong Foundation is a major player on the cancer front. While other world-class athletes retire to celebrityhood, Armstrong has created something meaningful that I suspect will barely feel a blip from this development.
It's complicated because the whole anti-doping campaign is a bit murky. Most people agree that sports should be a place for fairness, but beyond that, things get a little tricky. Is it fair that some athletes are allowed to use medications that clearly improve their own ability to perform (asthma drugs, painkillers, ADHD medications, etc.)? What about things like hyperbaric chambers? And on and on we go, splitting hairs finer and finer.
And then there's the actual process. The US Anti-Doping Agency has the curious power to end someone's career (the "lifetime ban" being levied on Armstrong means he can't compete, coach, or play any official role in any sport that follows the World Anti-Doping Code). Yet USADA can't bring criminal charges (recall that a Justice Department investigation of Armstrong was dropped) and doesn't operate under the same rules we use in our criminal courts.
Armstrong attacks the process as "unconstitutional" (here's his statement); others have complained that our anti-doping rules require the accused to prove his innocence (as opposed to forcing the accuser to prove guilt). Most of us would assume that before someone is banned from his sport for life, there'd at least be a positive test result entered as evidence. But it turns out that's not necessary under USADA's rules. And make no mistake: the rules are not exactly simple. Olympic gold medal-winner Hope Solo was slapped on the wrist this year after she took something a doctor prescribed for menstrual problems.
At the end of the day, nobody proved anything here. USADA can't say it nailed Armstrong. Armstrong can't say he cleared his name. Essentially, he's telling the world, "I'm bigger than this. Do whatever you like." It does seem at odds with his image for the pugnacious Armstrong to walk away from a fight. Some will see that as evidence of his guilt; others buy his claim that the process is flawed and he had no hope of a fair hearing.
So back to Steve's question: what do I think? I think Armstrong remains a mythic figure. I know he dominated a sport riddled with drug use. I can't say for sure, but it wouldn't surprise me if he doped too. I am certain that his persona is way bigger than cycling; folks who couldn't find the Alpe d'Huez if you spotted them the proper French département are wearing Livestrong bracelets today. And this part is tricky, because forecasting history is very dangerous business, but I think that many years from now, Armstrong will be known more for his exploits on the roads of France and his tireless work on the cancer battle lines than for whatever USADA writes in its press release announcing its decision. That's what I think about Lance Armstrong.
It's complicated for a lot of reasons. Armstrong himself is complicated: a prickly, combative bundle of Texas bravado who survived cancer and then brought the Euro-centric sport of cycling to heel. Armstrong won those 7 Tour de France titles as the undisputed boss of the peloton. Whether he was doping or not, nobody could dispute the sheer force of will and power of personality that Armstrong brought to his sport.
But (and with full knowledge that I'm cribbing the title of his autobiography), it's not just about the bike with Lance Armstrong. He sees himself as something more than a rider. A crusader, a conscience, a mentor, a s***-disturber--pick one or more. The Lance Armstrong Foundation is a major player on the cancer front. While other world-class athletes retire to celebrityhood, Armstrong has created something meaningful that I suspect will barely feel a blip from this development.
It's complicated because the whole anti-doping campaign is a bit murky. Most people agree that sports should be a place for fairness, but beyond that, things get a little tricky. Is it fair that some athletes are allowed to use medications that clearly improve their own ability to perform (asthma drugs, painkillers, ADHD medications, etc.)? What about things like hyperbaric chambers? And on and on we go, splitting hairs finer and finer.
And then there's the actual process. The US Anti-Doping Agency has the curious power to end someone's career (the "lifetime ban" being levied on Armstrong means he can't compete, coach, or play any official role in any sport that follows the World Anti-Doping Code). Yet USADA can't bring criminal charges (recall that a Justice Department investigation of Armstrong was dropped) and doesn't operate under the same rules we use in our criminal courts.
Armstrong attacks the process as "unconstitutional" (here's his statement); others have complained that our anti-doping rules require the accused to prove his innocence (as opposed to forcing the accuser to prove guilt). Most of us would assume that before someone is banned from his sport for life, there'd at least be a positive test result entered as evidence. But it turns out that's not necessary under USADA's rules. And make no mistake: the rules are not exactly simple. Olympic gold medal-winner Hope Solo was slapped on the wrist this year after she took something a doctor prescribed for menstrual problems.
At the end of the day, nobody proved anything here. USADA can't say it nailed Armstrong. Armstrong can't say he cleared his name. Essentially, he's telling the world, "I'm bigger than this. Do whatever you like." It does seem at odds with his image for the pugnacious Armstrong to walk away from a fight. Some will see that as evidence of his guilt; others buy his claim that the process is flawed and he had no hope of a fair hearing.
So back to Steve's question: what do I think? I think Armstrong remains a mythic figure. I know he dominated a sport riddled with drug use. I can't say for sure, but it wouldn't surprise me if he doped too. I am certain that his persona is way bigger than cycling; folks who couldn't find the Alpe d'Huez if you spotted them the proper French département are wearing Livestrong bracelets today. And this part is tricky, because forecasting history is very dangerous business, but I think that many years from now, Armstrong will be known more for his exploits on the roads of France and his tireless work on the cancer battle lines than for whatever USADA writes in its press release announcing its decision. That's what I think about Lance Armstrong.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Scratching the Surface on Steroids
Plenty of people are asking one question in the wake of the Melky Cabrera steroid suspension: "How could he?"
The answer's pretty simple: because he comes from a culture where this sort of thing happens all the time.
A better question: "How do the people who want to get the drugs out of sports deal with the fact that so many of their players come from a place where they'll do anything to get ahead?"
Melky Cabrera may someday be seen as a cautionary tale. Or, and I fear more likely, he'll just be a more-visible-than-most example of a dirty system that most American baseball fans have no idea even exists.
Cabrera was born in the Dominican Republic, an impoverished nation that provided 11% of the players on Major League Baseball's Opening Day rosters this year, making it the biggest foreign supplier of MLB labor. He signed his first pro contract with the Yankees at age 17. His $175,000 signing bonus was 36 times the average Dominican annual income (for comparison's sake, an American player would need a $1.5 million bonus to get the same income multiple).
Cabrera's first appearance as a professional ballplayer came the following summer in the Dominican Summer League, a place where performance-enhancing drugs are either exceedingly common or the players are exceedingly clumsy in their doping efforts--or both. I counted at least 14 DSL players who were hit with 50-game suspensions for using steroids in 2011, and the beat goes on: when I clicked on the 2012 DSL website, the only items showing in the "League News" section were more drug suspensions.
The news that a man named Juan Nunez, working on Cabrera's behalf, tried to flim-flam MLB officials with a fake website touting a supplement that supposedly caused the positive drug test is very revealing. Cabrera's agents, Sam and Seth Levinson, apparently used Nunez as a go-between for their Dominican clients. The Levinsons are emphatic in painting Nunez as a lone wolf, saying that he was not a salaried employee and doesn't even have a company phone. In other words: plausible deniability.
The Levinsons' agency ACES represents a number of MLB players, including New York Mets star David Wright. They stood to reap a healthy payday if Cabrera's drug use had gone undetected and he signed the expected fat free agent deal after this season. Who knows? Maybe they still will.
Even if they don't, the Levinsons remain a part of a system that is all too happy to scoop up the poor, young and desperate of the Dominican Republic, offer them a lottery-ticket way out, and watch as a disproportionate number of these players end up trying to secure their future with performance-enhancing drugs. As the fine documentary film "Ballplayer: Pelotero" showed, this business of scouting and signing poor, uneducated teenagers is not a pretty thing.
Melky Cabrera entered this system 11 years ago. It's since paid him more than $6 million (or, in Dominican terms, 123 times the average annual income for that timeframe). This is a man who, though he first played ball in the US 9 years ago, still speaks almost no English. This is a man who has fathered three children by three different women, who left home to play baseball at an age where American kids are sweating out their driver's license exam.
Please don't read this as an excuse for cheating. Please do read this as a request that all of us who love baseball spend a little time thinking about the broader issues here. Melky Cabrera's name was already widely known when he got caught. Bet you'd never heard of Amalio Reyes, or Marcos Coca, or Eliseo Batista, or any of the numerous other Dominican players who tested positive. But they all saw baseball as a way out and, sadly, it appears they were all willing to do anything to succeed.
The answer's pretty simple: because he comes from a culture where this sort of thing happens all the time.
A better question: "How do the people who want to get the drugs out of sports deal with the fact that so many of their players come from a place where they'll do anything to get ahead?"
Melky Cabrera may someday be seen as a cautionary tale. Or, and I fear more likely, he'll just be a more-visible-than-most example of a dirty system that most American baseball fans have no idea even exists.
Cabrera was born in the Dominican Republic, an impoverished nation that provided 11% of the players on Major League Baseball's Opening Day rosters this year, making it the biggest foreign supplier of MLB labor. He signed his first pro contract with the Yankees at age 17. His $175,000 signing bonus was 36 times the average Dominican annual income (for comparison's sake, an American player would need a $1.5 million bonus to get the same income multiple).
Cabrera's first appearance as a professional ballplayer came the following summer in the Dominican Summer League, a place where performance-enhancing drugs are either exceedingly common or the players are exceedingly clumsy in their doping efforts--or both. I counted at least 14 DSL players who were hit with 50-game suspensions for using steroids in 2011, and the beat goes on: when I clicked on the 2012 DSL website, the only items showing in the "League News" section were more drug suspensions.
The news that a man named Juan Nunez, working on Cabrera's behalf, tried to flim-flam MLB officials with a fake website touting a supplement that supposedly caused the positive drug test is very revealing. Cabrera's agents, Sam and Seth Levinson, apparently used Nunez as a go-between for their Dominican clients. The Levinsons are emphatic in painting Nunez as a lone wolf, saying that he was not a salaried employee and doesn't even have a company phone. In other words: plausible deniability.
The Levinsons' agency ACES represents a number of MLB players, including New York Mets star David Wright. They stood to reap a healthy payday if Cabrera's drug use had gone undetected and he signed the expected fat free agent deal after this season. Who knows? Maybe they still will.
Even if they don't, the Levinsons remain a part of a system that is all too happy to scoop up the poor, young and desperate of the Dominican Republic, offer them a lottery-ticket way out, and watch as a disproportionate number of these players end up trying to secure their future with performance-enhancing drugs. As the fine documentary film "Ballplayer: Pelotero" showed, this business of scouting and signing poor, uneducated teenagers is not a pretty thing.
Melky Cabrera entered this system 11 years ago. It's since paid him more than $6 million (or, in Dominican terms, 123 times the average annual income for that timeframe). This is a man who, though he first played ball in the US 9 years ago, still speaks almost no English. This is a man who has fathered three children by three different women, who left home to play baseball at an age where American kids are sweating out their driver's license exam.
Please don't read this as an excuse for cheating. Please do read this as a request that all of us who love baseball spend a little time thinking about the broader issues here. Melky Cabrera's name was already widely known when he got caught. Bet you'd never heard of Amalio Reyes, or Marcos Coca, or Eliseo Batista, or any of the numerous other Dominican players who tested positive. But they all saw baseball as a way out and, sadly, it appears they were all willing to do anything to succeed.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Bye Bye Birdie
It's ready-made material for comedy writers: an Olympic badminton scandal! 8 players have been DQ'd in London after tanking their matches, and around the world, you can hear the clucks of disapproval.
The legendary British sportsman Lord Sebastian Coe called it "depressive" and "unacceptable". Fans in the arena booed as doubles squads from China, South Korea, and Indonesia played a brand of badminton that would have gotten you booed out of last weekend's family reunion tournament. There was nothing subtle about the way each side tried to out-tank the other, patty-caking serves into the net, allowing the shuttlecock to drop unmolested, standing stock-still instead of darting about the court.
I've watched this farce several times, and I gained a weird kind of respect for the players involved. The crowd was booing, tournament officials were growing increasingly frantic (at one point issuing a disqualifying "black card", but then rescinding it), and yet the stoic players continued their non-efforts.
Naturally, the vast majority of people who hear about this are branding the Shuttlecock Eight as losers, poor sports, and worse. But when you dig a bit deeper into this story, you might come to a different conclusion. I did.
Here's the thing: If I asked you to define the goal of an Olympic athlete, you'd answer without hesitation: "Win a gold medal." Easy, right?
Maybe not. What happened on that badminton court in London was, perversely, because the players wanted to win gold. And it wasn't totally unexpected.
Badminton's governing body sowed the seeds of this weedpatch by changing the Olympic badminton tournament from a "knockout" event (lose once and you go home) to a pool-play format, where teams play several preliminary-round matches and then the top teams from each group advance to the knockout rounds. It wasn't a popular decision; many in the sport sensed that it could lead to teams throwing matches to arrange a more favorable slot in the round of 16. In fact, on the very day of The Great London Tanking, the Australian coach implored officials to at least schedule all the pool-round matches simultaneously so no team would be able to game the system.
Naturally, the Lords of Shuttlecock ignored the pleas and the rest is history. 8 athletes are being sent home in shame for, essentially, trying to give themselves a better shot at a gold medal. I'm fascinated by the negative reaction; are people similarly outraged when a runner eases her way to the finish line in a heat, knowing she's secured a slot in the next round?
Much of the opprobrium centers on the notion of sportsmanship. But let's circle back: if the goal of the endeavor is to win a medal, is it "unsportsmanlike" to try to put yourself in a position to win it? Each match in the tournament is merely a step toward the goal, not an end in and of itself.
If anyone should be sent packing, it's the badminton poobahs. They set the trap into which 8 women stepped in pursuit of Olympic glory. Talk about disrespecting the sport--a bunch of guys in blazers and ties are the ones who should be called out.
The legendary British sportsman Lord Sebastian Coe called it "depressive" and "unacceptable". Fans in the arena booed as doubles squads from China, South Korea, and Indonesia played a brand of badminton that would have gotten you booed out of last weekend's family reunion tournament. There was nothing subtle about the way each side tried to out-tank the other, patty-caking serves into the net, allowing the shuttlecock to drop unmolested, standing stock-still instead of darting about the court.
I've watched this farce several times, and I gained a weird kind of respect for the players involved. The crowd was booing, tournament officials were growing increasingly frantic (at one point issuing a disqualifying "black card", but then rescinding it), and yet the stoic players continued their non-efforts.
Naturally, the vast majority of people who hear about this are branding the Shuttlecock Eight as losers, poor sports, and worse. But when you dig a bit deeper into this story, you might come to a different conclusion. I did.
Here's the thing: If I asked you to define the goal of an Olympic athlete, you'd answer without hesitation: "Win a gold medal." Easy, right?
Maybe not. What happened on that badminton court in London was, perversely, because the players wanted to win gold. And it wasn't totally unexpected.
Badminton's governing body sowed the seeds of this weedpatch by changing the Olympic badminton tournament from a "knockout" event (lose once and you go home) to a pool-play format, where teams play several preliminary-round matches and then the top teams from each group advance to the knockout rounds. It wasn't a popular decision; many in the sport sensed that it could lead to teams throwing matches to arrange a more favorable slot in the round of 16. In fact, on the very day of The Great London Tanking, the Australian coach implored officials to at least schedule all the pool-round matches simultaneously so no team would be able to game the system.
Naturally, the Lords of Shuttlecock ignored the pleas and the rest is history. 8 athletes are being sent home in shame for, essentially, trying to give themselves a better shot at a gold medal. I'm fascinated by the negative reaction; are people similarly outraged when a runner eases her way to the finish line in a heat, knowing she's secured a slot in the next round?
Much of the opprobrium centers on the notion of sportsmanship. But let's circle back: if the goal of the endeavor is to win a medal, is it "unsportsmanlike" to try to put yourself in a position to win it? Each match in the tournament is merely a step toward the goal, not an end in and of itself.
If anyone should be sent packing, it's the badminton poobahs. They set the trap into which 8 women stepped in pursuit of Olympic glory. Talk about disrespecting the sport--a bunch of guys in blazers and ties are the ones who should be called out.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Epic Futility
The 2012 Oakland A's are chasing history.
In an homage to the past, let's call them the "Swingin' (and Missin') A's". As I write this, the A's are sitting on a team batting average of .210. If they can keep (not) pounding out the hits at this rate, they'll break one of baseball's oldest records: the lowest team batting average for a season. The reigning "champs" of the Modern Era (since 1900) are the 1910 Chicago White Sox.
The "No-Go Sox" of 1910 are often portrayed as having posted a .212 team batting average. Not so. The Baseball-Reference.com entry for the '10 Sox proves the team hit only .211 (and even that required some "rounding up", because those Sox hit only .210859 as a team).
More than a quarter of the way through the season, the A's pattern seems set: these guys would have trouble hitting water if they fell out of a boat. Only one regular has credible numbers: outfielder Josh Reddick is hitting .275. His 11 home runs and 24 RBI's top the team and project to full season of .275/39/86. Imagine this bunch without him.
Several regulars are below the Mendoza Line. Second baseman Jemile Weeks is parked at .199, which is embarrassing--but at least he's not the worst hitter in his family. Big brother Ricky, the Brewers' All-Star second baseman, is hitting .155 and leads the free world in strikeouts. Note to Jemile: don't call him for help.
You could argue--heck, I am arguing--that the A's are even more pathetic than those long-ago White Sox. Let's not forget: 1910 was in baseball's "dead-ball era". Reddick's 11 home runs are 4 more than the whole 1910 Sox team hit for the season. And: 1910 was a long, long time before the designated-hitter rule. That's right, the A's are building their paltry numbers without having to send their pitchers up to hit.
The 1910 White Sox pitching staff hit .196. Factor them out, and the team's batting average rises to .212. Sure, A's pitchers will get a few at-bats in interleague games. Not many so far: the pitchers went 0-5 at AT&T Park, the only series in which the A's have played without a DH this year.
Who knows how this happened? You have to feel for A's "hitting" coach Chili Davis, whose 19-year major league career stats (2380 hits, 350 home runs) must seem to this bunch as if they were written in an ancient, dead language.
The crazy thing is that, for all their offensive anemia, the A's are within 2 games of a wild card playoff spot at the moment. But that crummy batting average is actually a good thing: even if they fall out of the playoff chase, their pursuit of history will keep us watching them, right down to the final out of the season.
In an homage to the past, let's call them the "Swingin' (and Missin') A's". As I write this, the A's are sitting on a team batting average of .210. If they can keep (not) pounding out the hits at this rate, they'll break one of baseball's oldest records: the lowest team batting average for a season. The reigning "champs" of the Modern Era (since 1900) are the 1910 Chicago White Sox.
The "No-Go Sox" of 1910 are often portrayed as having posted a .212 team batting average. Not so. The Baseball-Reference.com entry for the '10 Sox proves the team hit only .211 (and even that required some "rounding up", because those Sox hit only .210859 as a team).
More than a quarter of the way through the season, the A's pattern seems set: these guys would have trouble hitting water if they fell out of a boat. Only one regular has credible numbers: outfielder Josh Reddick is hitting .275. His 11 home runs and 24 RBI's top the team and project to full season of .275/39/86. Imagine this bunch without him.
Several regulars are below the Mendoza Line. Second baseman Jemile Weeks is parked at .199, which is embarrassing--but at least he's not the worst hitter in his family. Big brother Ricky, the Brewers' All-Star second baseman, is hitting .155 and leads the free world in strikeouts. Note to Jemile: don't call him for help.
You could argue--heck, I am arguing--that the A's are even more pathetic than those long-ago White Sox. Let's not forget: 1910 was in baseball's "dead-ball era". Reddick's 11 home runs are 4 more than the whole 1910 Sox team hit for the season. And: 1910 was a long, long time before the designated-hitter rule. That's right, the A's are building their paltry numbers without having to send their pitchers up to hit.
The 1910 White Sox pitching staff hit .196. Factor them out, and the team's batting average rises to .212. Sure, A's pitchers will get a few at-bats in interleague games. Not many so far: the pitchers went 0-5 at AT&T Park, the only series in which the A's have played without a DH this year.
Who knows how this happened? You have to feel for A's "hitting" coach Chili Davis, whose 19-year major league career stats (2380 hits, 350 home runs) must seem to this bunch as if they were written in an ancient, dead language.
The crazy thing is that, for all their offensive anemia, the A's are within 2 games of a wild card playoff spot at the moment. But that crummy batting average is actually a good thing: even if they fall out of the playoff chase, their pursuit of history will keep us watching them, right down to the final out of the season.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Does It Pencil Out?
When you hear Golden State Warriors co-owner Joe Lacob confidently declare that a half-billion dollar arena will be built on the San Francisco waterfront, you may be forgiven if you respond with a bit of an eye-roll. We've heard all this before, right?
The obstacles seem pretty obvious. Let's begin with the whole idea of building a gleaming sports palace atop a crumbling bunch of pier pilings (we're talking about Piers 30/32 south of the Bay Bridge, a site now used to park cars for Giants game--and only on the parts that haven't started falling into the Bay). The estimates say it might cost $100 million just to stabilize everything so they can start building on top of it.
Then you have the whole murky morass that is San Francisco politics. Sure, Mayor Ed Lee says he wants this to be his "legacy project" and the whole Board of Supervisors signed a letter inviting the Warriors to make the move. But nothing ever proceeds in a straight line in San Francisco and I'd be shocked if somebody didn't try to block this deal. It's just the way things work in The City.
But the thing that really grabs your attention is the price tag. $500 million, all from the private sector. It's not that the deep-pocketed owners don't have that kind of coin. You just wonder if a half-billion dollar basketball barn represents a good use of their capital.
And then you enter the parallel universe of sports economics. It's the universe in which some experts think the buyers of the Los Angeles Dodgers got a bargain at $2 billion.
Here's the deal on an arena: it's not just for basketball games. In fact, Warriors games would make up only a fraction of the revenue for this waterfront complex. You're talking rock concerts, circus dates, ice skating spectaculars, conventions and so on and so on, more than 200 dates a year. Add in the cash from the possible restaurant/retail component. And don't forget one of the basic truths of any stadium or arena: even with the escalating prices of the "cheap" seats, the real cash comes from the luxury suites.
In fact, sports management expert Robert Boland of New York University says luxury suite revenue equals that from all the other seats in the building. Boland calls a project like the Warriors arena basically a massive "catering operation" in which the cash flow from concessions, restaurants, retail and the like builds into a big river of money that makes the whole thing profitable and maybe very profitable.
Some people wondered if Lacob and Warriors co-owner Peter Guber were a little crazy when they bought the team and started talking about building the underperforming team into an international brand. The jury's still out on that, but if you're going to go long, you need to take some risks. While $500 million seems like a big roll of the dice, the potential payback makes it the obvious play--and the odds aren't as long as they might seem.
The obstacles seem pretty obvious. Let's begin with the whole idea of building a gleaming sports palace atop a crumbling bunch of pier pilings (we're talking about Piers 30/32 south of the Bay Bridge, a site now used to park cars for Giants game--and only on the parts that haven't started falling into the Bay). The estimates say it might cost $100 million just to stabilize everything so they can start building on top of it.
Then you have the whole murky morass that is San Francisco politics. Sure, Mayor Ed Lee says he wants this to be his "legacy project" and the whole Board of Supervisors signed a letter inviting the Warriors to make the move. But nothing ever proceeds in a straight line in San Francisco and I'd be shocked if somebody didn't try to block this deal. It's just the way things work in The City.
But the thing that really grabs your attention is the price tag. $500 million, all from the private sector. It's not that the deep-pocketed owners don't have that kind of coin. You just wonder if a half-billion dollar basketball barn represents a good use of their capital.
And then you enter the parallel universe of sports economics. It's the universe in which some experts think the buyers of the Los Angeles Dodgers got a bargain at $2 billion.
Here's the deal on an arena: it's not just for basketball games. In fact, Warriors games would make up only a fraction of the revenue for this waterfront complex. You're talking rock concerts, circus dates, ice skating spectaculars, conventions and so on and so on, more than 200 dates a year. Add in the cash from the possible restaurant/retail component. And don't forget one of the basic truths of any stadium or arena: even with the escalating prices of the "cheap" seats, the real cash comes from the luxury suites.
In fact, sports management expert Robert Boland of New York University says luxury suite revenue equals that from all the other seats in the building. Boland calls a project like the Warriors arena basically a massive "catering operation" in which the cash flow from concessions, restaurants, retail and the like builds into a big river of money that makes the whole thing profitable and maybe very profitable.
Some people wondered if Lacob and Warriors co-owner Peter Guber were a little crazy when they bought the team and started talking about building the underperforming team into an international brand. The jury's still out on that, but if you're going to go long, you need to take some risks. While $500 million seems like a big roll of the dice, the potential payback makes it the obvious play--and the odds aren't as long as they might seem.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
I Never Thought I'd Say This...
...but I was thrilled to see the fans at Dodger Stadium doing The Wave and giddy when one of their beach balls landed on the warning track and delayed the game.
"What?", you're saying. "I thought you were the crusty traditionalist who abhorred that kind of junk."
Well, I'd rather not be called "crusty", but generally, yeah. I've always taken a rather dim view of the show-up-late, leave-early, la-de-da LA fans.
But this is different. This was a celebration. The Wicked Witch is dead.
Last night's Dodger Stadium crowd, more than 44,000 strong, came partly to see the renewal of the Giants-Dodgers rivalry. But the real reason they were there was to celebrate the renaissance of one of the proudest franchises in American sports after the dark years of Frank McCourt's ownership.
Before the Dodgers took the field, the joy was in the air. Dodger Hall of Famer Don Newcombe, Rachel Robinson (widow of the legendary Dodger Jackie Robinson), and new Dodgers part-owner Magic Johnson handled the ceremonial first pitch. Magic later bellowed, "It's time for Dodger baseball!", and with that, the process of erasing the bad memory of the McCourt era revved into high gear.
Frank McCourt and his wife Jamie managed to drag the once-proud Dodgers franchise into their world of obscene spending and personal bickering. They used the Dodgers as the ATM for their own profligate lifestyle, eventually running the team into bankruptcy and forcing Major League Baseball to take over.
Let's not forget: when the Giants paid their first visit to Dodger Stadium last year, the once-proud stadium sported filthy restrooms dotted with graffiti and Giants fan Bryan Stow was beaten into a coma in the lawless parking lot.
It couldn't be more different now. It's a new beginning in LA. Even if you bleed orange-and-black, you had to be happy to see that beach ball on the warning track.
"What?", you're saying. "I thought you were the crusty traditionalist who abhorred that kind of junk."
Well, I'd rather not be called "crusty", but generally, yeah. I've always taken a rather dim view of the show-up-late, leave-early, la-de-da LA fans.
But this is different. This was a celebration. The Wicked Witch is dead.
Last night's Dodger Stadium crowd, more than 44,000 strong, came partly to see the renewal of the Giants-Dodgers rivalry. But the real reason they were there was to celebrate the renaissance of one of the proudest franchises in American sports after the dark years of Frank McCourt's ownership.
Before the Dodgers took the field, the joy was in the air. Dodger Hall of Famer Don Newcombe, Rachel Robinson (widow of the legendary Dodger Jackie Robinson), and new Dodgers part-owner Magic Johnson handled the ceremonial first pitch. Magic later bellowed, "It's time for Dodger baseball!", and with that, the process of erasing the bad memory of the McCourt era revved into high gear.
Frank McCourt and his wife Jamie managed to drag the once-proud Dodgers franchise into their world of obscene spending and personal bickering. They used the Dodgers as the ATM for their own profligate lifestyle, eventually running the team into bankruptcy and forcing Major League Baseball to take over.
Let's not forget: when the Giants paid their first visit to Dodger Stadium last year, the once-proud stadium sported filthy restrooms dotted with graffiti and Giants fan Bryan Stow was beaten into a coma in the lawless parking lot.
It couldn't be more different now. It's a new beginning in LA. Even if you bleed orange-and-black, you had to be happy to see that beach ball on the warning track.
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