[GForce22]

(...continued)

“There are SO many reasons this will never work, George,” Ripken said, realizing he could be blunt as needed with Brett.
“Name ‘em.”
“Money,” said Gwynn right off the bat. “Like it or not, George, you need money.”
“Corporations,” Brett fired back.
“You’ve seen what corporate ownership does,” responded Ripken. “How much have the Wal-Mart guys pumped into the Royals? Barely anything. Why? Because all they care about is their bottom line.”
“Would it be easy?” Brett responded. “No. But what if you’re looking for companies in their base area? The companies pay for the stadiums, and they are smaller than most big league parks so construction is a bit less. Their investment is less right off the bat because there isn’t a purchase price for the team. They get the team, they get the stadium naming rights, and they get ownership.”
Gwynn shook his head. “How doesn’t that create the same situation in the big leagues now? You’ve got lesser quality players, in smaller cities, but you keep the big corporation ownership. I don’t see how you’re solving anything.”
Brett swung a chair around backwards and grabbed a seat, leaning on the back. “The biggest problem with corporate ownership is their concern about a profit. How do you make this financially attractive to them, right?”
Ripken sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Gwynn propped himself up in bed, his third cup of coffee on the nightstand as he tried to keep his attention.
“Put the corporate stuff aside for a minute. How many people lament how rare the three of us are, guys who spent their whole careers in one city, for one team?”
“You’re going to lock players into one team for their career?” Ripken asked.
“Not at all. Just bear with me,” Brett responded. “I watched Seinfeld one episode, and he went on this whole thing about ‘you root for laundry.’ It’s true. And it’s not the free agency itself or anything like that, but a feeling that a team isn’t YOUR team. There isn’t continuity. There’s a fear of a small market club moving. There’s fear of not being able to afford your best players. Will the owners spend enough to compete? Will they raise my ticket prices? And if you can’t go to the game, can’t see your favorite players, how much ‘yours’ is a team going to feel?”
“So what do you do to help that, George? I’m still at a loss here.”
“OK. First you put teams in markets that don’t have one. You put them in places where there are large corporations, Fortune 500 corporations. You get them to own the teams, build the stadium, give them the naming rights. They don’t buy the teams…the teams are theirs, subject to a few things. One, they can’t move the franchise.”
“Let’s say you get the corporations to do this,” Ripken said. "You still need the players and you still need to keep that loyalty. Having a company from the area owning the team won’t get that done.”
“True. But if you get local people to serve as GM and manager of the teams, then you’ve got a basis.”
Gwynn and Ripken laughed heartily. “George, I love ya, man, you know that,” Gwynn said. “But you really think having Joe from the tavern on Main St. as manager is going to make people excited about these new franchises you would be bringing to them?”
Brett chuckled as he got up from his chair and grabbed a bat, which Gwynn always traveled with. Suddenly, Brett was like Tom Cruise in “A Few Good Men,” pacing maniacally with the bat in his hand as his mind raced.
“No. I don’t mean Joe Civilian wins a raffle to manage the new team. We’re not going to Podunk here guys. We’re going to good cities, cities that have turned out major league talent, major league stars even. There are people from these cities with name recognition locally that will get support, and nationally that will get fan interest, a curiosity factor.”
“You feel like paying these guys,” asked Gwynn.
“Of course. And pay them well. More than minor leaguers make, more than the minimum, in fact. But we have a salary cap from the start. There’s no labor negotiation to be had, it’s a set league thing. We discuss it with the corporations and agree on a figure, and that’s that. But we make a floor as well to protect the players’ interests.”
“You’re playing with a lot of unknowns here, George,” Ripken said.
“I agree,” said Gwynn. “I love your enthusiasm, dude, and I support what you’re saying, but you’re playing a game of ‘what if’ all throughout this concept.”
“Here’s the thing guys. We’re not committed to ANYTHING right now. This is all concept. But if, just if, this happened as I proposed. If we got the corporate backing. If we set a salary cap. If we could get the stadiums built. If the cities approved it. If we got the local connections to be part of it. If all of those things happened…”
“Who would play?” Gwynn interjected.
“You don’t think we could find players?” Brett asked.
“You’ve got diluted major leagues, 5 or 6 levels of minors and the quality down there is a big drop-off,” said Gwynn. “You can’t have corporations building stadiums for High School kids. The talent isn’t there.”
Ripken stood up at this point and gave Brett the first positive point in his quest.
“I don’t buy that, Tony. Travel this country, see all the kids, all the men who could probably play if they ever got the opportunity. The whole scouting thing has gotten so damn computerized that we don’t just say this guy can do this or this guy can do that. Think about it. I was too big to be a shortstop. You put on too much weight to still hit. George was too old to hit at the end. All these knocks and somehow we got it done. If a pitcher is too short he doesn’t get a look. A batter hits a ball a mile but has a hitch in his swing a scout worries about? Won’t take the chance. A guy hits like a machine but is heavy? No way, he’ll never hold up. The players are the one thing I really think we COULD find,” said Cal, his youth baseball and minor league roots digging in deep, much to Brett’s pleasure.
“Exactly. Look, here’s all I want to know. If all of these things happened, would you guys be for it? I’ll do the leg work, but if I can make it happen, will you join me?”
After his comments about the players, Ripken suddenly seemed to have a fire in his belly about the idea. Sure, owning a minor league franchise was nice, but being part of this could be something more.
“You don’t need to do it on your own, George,” said Rip. “I’ll help any way I can.”
Gwynn laughed and got up out of the bed. “If it will get you out of this room, count me in.”
Brett was as excited about baseball as he’d been in years.
“This will happen guys. We can do this.”
And like a shot, the three legends believed it.