Jose Reyes

I have an unhealthy disdain for Jose Reyes.

As a Braves fan, hating the Mets is a foregone conclusion. I’ve loved watching their front office implode, and I honestly enjoy seeing headlines like “Bernie Madoff Rips Off Mets”. I know it’s sad. I even tried as an child to ignorantly defend John Rocker, simply because he was so good against the Mets.

Jose Reyes embodies my extreme hatred. He rivals any shortstop on Earth, can steal bases at will, and has shown flashes of being a top-tier hitter. His half-hearted effort after signing a five year/$33 million deal in ’07 and subsequent MVP performance this year (his contract year) only make him more frustrating to watch.

My hatred, however, was very short-sided.

Last month, my family and I traveled to Bristol to see the White Sox Rookie League team. The starting pitcher, making his Bristol debut, was my wife’s childhood friend from Venezuela, Jean Duque. After signing with the White Sox in ’07, Jean finally made it to the U.S. and found himself the opening night starter for the entry level team.

My wife and mother-in-law beamed as they watched Jean’s impressive, two hit performance. The intensity on his young face was telling of the pressure he carried. He kept his hat brim down, starring intently between spots behind the plate and the path between the dugout and mound. A ritual mass killing could have happened in left field, and Jean would have still only seen the 60 feet, six inches in front of him. In that moment, the sound of the ball smacking the catcher’s mitt was all that mattered.

On a strict pitch count, he was pulled after the fifth and immediately sent to the training room where we tried to speak with him. Jean, though, was only able to give a skittish hello and quickly made is way to the dugout, not wanting his coaches to see him fraternizing with fans.

This extreme pressure is not unique among Hispanic players. In countries like the Dominican Republic and Venezuela, baseball is revered. Not simply for the game itself, but because a bat and glove are the tangible versions of a dream for a better life for themselves and the communities they carry with them. For these players, America is the land where they can fully display their talents at the highest level and make more money than everyone they know combined several times over.

Baseball isn’t revered because it’s an enjoyable occupation. It’s a lifeline. 

For Jean, the possibilities of baseball in the U.S. are providing the needed avenue to support the family and newborn child he left in his small community in Venezuela. 

Understanding someone’s history and journey in life will always give more perspective to why they act a certain way. In athletics, this goes even farther and more still regarding international players who’ve overcome staggering odds to reach the top.

I recently watched a documentary on the rise of Hispanic players in Major League Baseball and the overwhelming wealth of talent pouring in from Central and South America. Reyes was among those spotlighted. As he made his way through his parents’ modest, Dominican home, he smiled and proudly introduced member after member of his family. Like a young boy eager to show off, Reyes led the camera to the back deck to showcase the view of his home country. To Reyes, this was success.

Like any other passionate sports fan, however, I’m irrational. My emotions for the game tend to dictate how I see the world away from the playing field. Players in uniform cease to be individuals and  become the name on their jersey. This is an attribute we typically desire for athletes, but it applies to the good and bad. Our favorite players are gods when they succeed and dogs when they fail. The U.S. women’s soccer team were heroes after beating Brazil. A week later, they’re choke artists. No matter what happened in all the games leading up to their lose to Japan, they’ll be labeled losers who couldn’t take the pressure.

Watching Jean and hearing my wife’s stories of growing up in poverty made the game an entirely different experience. The name on the front of the jersey was insignificant. All I wanted was to see him dominate batters and earn his way up the Chicago farm system.

After seeing Reyes in his Dominican hometown, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to hope he pulls a hamstring or develops a nasty bout with tendonitis. He didn’t chose the team who gave him a chance. He went with the club who did, whether it was the Mets, Brewers, or the fighting spatulas from Bob’s Cooking School. He took the chance that presented itself, and it’s hard to hold that against him.
 
But don’t get me wrong. I still hate Jose Reyes... just a little less than before.

When in Rome Part Three...

Ever tried explaining fantasy sports to someone? It’s downright embarrassing. When I was in college, my roommate and I joined a fantasy baseball league with some of our friends. On the day of our draft, we declared a corner in the computer lab on campus and obnoxiously (and pathetically) trash talked each others picks. The girl I liked at the time asked me what we were doing, and suddenly reality set in. I was arguing with my friends over a team of grown men (who didn’t know I existed) I had assembled. I had created a fantasy world where I was the mastermind behind the team. I was pretending to be Frank Wren or Theo Epstein.

The football version of fantasy sports is by far the most glaring example of our obsession with the NFL. Using players as giant, muscular avatars, the experience of living out our inner Tyler Durdens has skyrocketed to new heights. In the 2010 season alone, an estimated 18 million people played fantasy football across the country. (Some reports estimate a number much greater.)

Fantasy football is so popular even established and respected news networks who don’t specialize in sports regularly feature reports on which sleeper free agents can help you win your office league. Articles with titles like “Fantasy Football could help you get a raise” pop up across the internet, promising corporate networking possibilities for our online addiction. Even the business world is forced to create fantasy football policies due to the hundreds of millions in lost revenue caused by employees playing fantasy football at work.

Opponents to fantasy football believe the activity is ruining the experience of supporting a team, but those puritan cries are muffled by the mountains of revenue brought in by this billion dollar industry. Therefore the NFL created a channel catered specifically to fantasy leagues. The Red Zone Network is the watered down, instant gratification version of Sunday games. By showing only scoring opportunities from every team, fantasy players can watch their teams win or lose as if they were watching an actual game. If this were in Sports Illustrated, it would appear in the “Sign of the Apocalypse” section.

But of course the NFL loves fantasy leagues. In what other context would a meaningless touchdown in a blowout game keep fans glued to the screen? Only if they’re trailing by five points against the guy from accounting in the office league.

Again, try explaining this to someone who doesn’t care.

The appeal of fantasy football is not in the activity itself (albeit fun), but rather in the intimate connection it gives fans who otherwise wouldn’t have access to actual NFL players. Men who are faster, stronger, and more powerful become pawns in the hands of men who’ve seen the bottom of a milkshake more than they’ve seen the end of a mile run.

I don’t mean to paint fantasy players as pathetic slobs (I’ve played several times), but it does bring the average person closer to a world that is otherwise unattainable.

In my previous posts, I compared the NFL to the gladiators of ancient Rome. Applying this same logic to fantasy sports, could you imagine fantasy gladiators? Or maybe war conquests? Fantasy Crusades could be a huge hit.

Indulging in these games is no more absurd than enjoying the game itself. We should, however, be honest about what drives the intensity behind this activity. In the ESPN 30 for 30 film, Silly Little Game, fantasy sports creators said owning their original fantasy baseball team made them feel like gods. Their passion was in the palm of their hands, regardless if it was a fantasy.

With the proper perspective, fantasy sports can be more fun than simply watching the games. The story about my friends meeting in the computer lab is one of the best memories I have from my years at East Tennessee State (regardless of my embarrassment). However, it can also morph into a vehicle for an NFL junkie’s desperate attempts at glory without ever risking a concussion, torn ACL, or separated shoulder. Like a man visiting a strip to club to experience a woman, this endeavor will be ultimately unfulfilling.

When in Rome Part Two...

Tyler Durden: Hey, you created me. I didn’t create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better.

Ever walked into a college poster sale? It’s exactly what it sounds like. Large images tailored specifically for young men with a small section of generic coffee house images and Salvador Dali reprints. But regardless of where and when this poster sale visit may happen, I would be willing to bet the cash in my wallet (currently $12) you’ll find Tyler Durden’s bruised and bloodied face on one of those wall sized images.

If you are a male between the ages of 35 and 20, there’s a good chance watching/reading Fight Club somehow affected your path to manhood. The story of a white collar bachelor embracing his primal alter ego resonated its way through my generation like a Playboy through a boot camp barrack. Just ask any man on the the street the rules of fight club. I’ll bet another $12 he knows them.

Differing from other blockbusters, this film’s popularity is more Beowulf than Titanic. Fight Club spoke to something buried deep within me; a part of me that longed to be a conquerer with bloody knuckles. Like thousands of other young men, my friends and I in high school started our own fight club. We met in a cinder block building, paired up with someone our size, and fought. The bouts were more often an embarrassment, but we saw them as epic.

In my previous post, I posed the question of why we watch professional football, a sport that leaves its players crippled physically, mentally, and emotionally, with such religious fervor. The answer may have more to do with our basic, core selves.

Risking life and well being for the glory of victory are themes as old as athletics and are not new to American football. Ancient Mesoamerican cultures (Mayan, Aztec, etc.) typically used losers of a “ballgame” as human sacrifices in religious ceremonies and the gladiator events of Rome were based entirely around one man killing another.

This running theme of dominance over an opponent has now evolved into it’s current manifestation; the NFL. In a highly structured form of Fight Club, the line of scrimmage is the 2011 version of what’s always been a part of human history. Watching lineman crash into each other bears a striking resemblance to the 500 year old sport of sumo wrestling. When stripped to an even simpler form, lineman look more like big horn sheep fighting over a female.

To think of football (or sports in general) rationally is to admit it’s absurd. With everything we are learning about concussions and the effects of traumatic hits to the head, playing professional football is as logical as starting smoking when you’re 25. You’ll easily find yourself quoting Jerry Seinfeld in what will ultimately be a depressing conversation; “We chose instead to make little plastic hats so that we can continue our head crackin’ lifestyles.”

What is even more absurd than the fact that we play football is that the Dallas Cowboys are worth $1.8 billion and every seat in their monstrous over priced stadium (average $160 a seat) is sold out for every game.

Could it be that experiencing powerful, violent competition is as essential as sex or friendship? And the NFL is the most accessible outlet for these cravings of our suppressed alter-egos? ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd said America has an addiction to football. The owners can continue the lockout as long as they want because they know we’re coming back. The NFL is where we get our fix.

There are those who satisfy this part of themselves through other means. Skydivers, Wall Street executives, and entrepreneurs are all tapping into the same risk taking alter ego. For the average, “play it safe” citizen, though, these risks are simply not possible or too... risky.

Therefore, the base for our debilitating addiction to the NFL stems from a widespread inability to risk everything for glory. Whether its family, career, or phobias, a sense of self preservation or responsibility to another person drives someone from danger, yet the  inner Tyler Durden brings them to sit in the stands to see someone else put their health and well-being on the line to achieve greatness.

To be continued....

When in Rome...

In modern American culture, the NFL’s popularity dwarfs every other sport so badly it’s not even an intelligent debate. As ESPN’s Mike Greenberg put it, “It’s the most popular thing in American culture.” The Super Bowl is consistently the most watched event of the year, stadiums across the country are sold out almost every week, and even the most ardent haters of professional sports are up to date on the NFL.

But as the league fights with its players over how to divide the absurd $9 billion in annual revenue, a giant, pink elephant has pulled up a chair at the negotiating table.

Differing from other sports like baseball, soccer, and basketball, football is the perfect combination of strategy and brute strength. With this perfect balance, however, comes the dangers of being caught between elite athleticism and “tough guy” culture. The result is a game that kills its players.

As we scream at our HD, 3D, Double D, home theaters for bigger, more crushing hits, players are being ground like Big Mac patties and kicked to the curb in less than four years. What life awaits them? Hopelessness, to the tune of 78 percent who find themselves divorced, bankrupt or unemployed.

As bad as this sounds, it doesn’t come close to the crippled, post football lives hundreds of players are left to endure. In a 2008 article from Men’s Journal, Paul Solotaroff describes the miserable life of former Jacksonville Jaguar and Cincinnati Bengal Brian DeMarco, who lives in excruciating, constant pain from a broken back that was “doctored” with just a few shots of lidocaine.

“Although the house is cool, he is sweating profusely and can’t find a position, seated or prone, that doesn’t cause him grotesque pain. Every so often his huge body jerks in spasms from head-to-toe agony. The fits, when they come, turn him as white as the walls and send un-self-conscious tears down his cheeks. It’s DeMarco at thirty-five: dirt-poor, broken, and in a headfirst spiral, taking his wife and children down with him.”

Chicago Sun-Times writer Rick Telander described the life of Bears Hall of Famer Doug Atkins in his 2008 article, “Atkins: A Study of Pride and Pain”. Tucked away in the country roads surrounding Knoxville, TN is the man legendary Bears’ coach George Halas called the best defensive end of his time.??? Atkins, however, lives as a recluse and can barely move around his dilapidated home.

Telander writes, “The house has its curtains drawn. There are two old cars in the carport, one of them very old... There’s a wooden wheelchair ramp that looks weathered and unused leading to the front door. Two tiny American flags on the wall next to the carport. No lights on. No decorations.”

In February, fellow Bears great Dave Duerson shot himself in the chest with the intent of  donating his brain to science in order to identify the degenerative disease caused by his years of brutal hits on the field that was tearing his mind apart.

Former Philadelphia Eagle Andre Waters shot himself because of depression caused by “sustained brain damage from playing football.”

Former New England Patriot Ted Johnson suffers from crippling bouts of depression.

Hall of Famer Mike Webster died at age fifty, surviving on enough prescription drugs to make Walgreen’s jealous.

Chicago Bears great Jim McMahon has lost most of his memory due to football injuries.

Sadly, I could go on much longer than you’re willing to read.

In the wake of new, vigilant rules to prevent traumatic brain injuries, Sports Illustrated reported a new study from Purdue University claiming even minor hits can be just as traumatic to the brain as the crushing blows that light up the evening Sportscenter.

NFL players honestly need the money because their health is constantly on the line, regardless of their superstardom (ask Bo Jackson). At any moment, more so than any other major American athletic activity, a football player’s ability to function in life is at risk. They are already giving up later years of their lives in order to give the American public what it wants; conflict, violence, and triumph.

With this in mind, it begs the question; Is watching professional football the modern equivalent to watching gladiators of ancient Rome?

To which the follow up question is; Why do we watch?

Through a series of blogs, I will explore several themes found within the NFL and what they reflect about American culture, particularly among males.

It’s social commentary at it’s college town coffee shop finest.

Bruce is Not the Only One to Blame

When I was young, I loved Magic Johnson. I wasn’t a Lakers fan or the son of a Lakers fan. No one in my family went to Michigan State, and no one played basketball. My parents didn’t even watch the NBA. But for my birthday, my primary school friend Kyle gave me “Magic Johnson’s Double Jam”. It was a bedroom basketball goal with two nets, a timer, and a scoreboard. The goal of the game was to score more baskets in your net than your opponent, and Magic would tell you how great you were. It was as fun as it sounds.

As the third child with two older sisters, I spent most of my time by myself. My basketball goal became my path to NBA glory as I alternated between being Magic and Michael Jordan (the goals were yellow and red). I took countless game winning shots while my game clock counted down the seconds over and over and over. Magic’s smiling face watched from his spot on the backboard.

When the news broke that Magic was HIV positive, I tried to find a way to hold his image together. The idea he could have contracted this disease by running around on his wife was unthinkable. In my immaturity, I wanted him to be the victim of a tragic mistake, and I told my dad it must of have been from a blood transfusion. I had no idea what a transfusion was, but I had heard while watching the ESPY’s that this happened to tennis great Arthur Ashe and it seemed like a plausible way out of losing my hero. Heavy-hearted, my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said,

“Mark, he was cheating on his wife.”

On March 21, I had that same feeling. Bruce Pearl, who turned a football obsessed community into basketball junkies, was fired. He lied over a petty violation, committed more petty violations, and is now gone. After six years of the most inspiring and exciting athletics at Tennessee in decades, he’s gone. My wife and I sat scouring blogs and articles to find any way to make this a bad decision and make Pearl a victim. But despite UT’s pathetic display in handling the situation, it didn’t change Pearl’s mistakes. He was, just like Magic, guilty.

However, Pearl’s situation differs from Magic in that there is another individual with guilt written all over his face.

University of Tennessee Men’s Athletic Director Mike Hamilton

When a team struggles, look to the coach. But when the entire athletic department becomes a dumpster fire, look a little further up the food chain.

Mike Hamilton, by all accounts, is a fine and upstanding individual. He is an active member in the community and contributes a tremendous amount of time and resources to charitable work. This, however, makes you a good neighbor. Not a good AD.

Since taking over as AD in 2003, Hamilton has watched his football program (the pride of the university) collapse, the baseball team fall to the bottom of the conference, and his basketball coach show questionable ethics. All three programs are under NCAA investigation. All three coaches were Hamilton hires. A manager at Starbucks doesn’t get that many chances.

Starting with 1988, Tennessee football had won eight games or more fourteen years consecutively. They have failed to reach eight wins four times under Hamilton’s watch. During those same fourteen years, UT baseball was SEC tournament champions three times. Want to take a guess how many they have won with Hamilton?

To top it all, he also has the debacle of the last six months hanging over his head. ESPN radio host Doug Gotlieb described the Pearl punishment/firing as “mind-numbingly stupid”.

ESPN’s Pat Forde wrote, “If I were the president at Tennessee, the man in charge of an athletic department that has hemorraghed credibility at an alarming rate in recent years would need a Committee on Infractions miracle to keep his job.”

In response to Committee on Infractions chair Tom Yeager’s statement that firing Pearl would not necessarily equate to a less severe penalty, ESPN’s Andy Katz wrote, “...why go through a charade of a season? The school essentially left him and his staff hanging by terminating his contract.”

Sports Illustrated’s Stewart Mandel added, “Under his watch, one of the nation’s proudest athletics programs has deteriorated into one of its most shameful.”

Tennessee Chancellor Jimmy Cheek should have statements like these tapped to his bathroom mirror.

I don’t ever want to be one who advocates for a man to lose his job, regardless of the context. However, I can’t see how this series of disasters can continue. The home of General Neyland, Peyton Manning, and Pat Summit is being called shameful. The home of the first black quarterback in the SEC has become a place that sends “hostesses” to flirt (or worse) with recruits. The home of the “Ernie and Bernie Show” is now among the long list of universities who were caught trying to cheat. Can you imagine what Reggie White would have thought of Lane Kiffin?

It’s unrealistic to think Hamilton or any athletic director could have complete control over his programs. However, if attitude reflects leadership, then what does this debacle say of Hamilton?

In an act of desperation, Hamilton replaced Pearl with Missouri State’s Cuonzo Martin, who “is among the most promising coaches in the game.”

Translation: “I just hired someone you all have never heard of hoping there’ll be no expectations to disappoint.” Way to shoot for the stars, Mike.

Our heroes fall. That’s life. The Greek Tragedy archetype exists for a reason, and the story of Pearl at Tennessee fits the bill. The difference, though, is the downfall at UT was completely avoidable. His post on this Facebook page was heartbreaking.

“These were the best years of my life.”

Read Pat Forde’s article from 2008, describing Pearl’s rise to Tennessee. He was the anti-Lane Kiffin. He trudged his way to Knoxville by working with smaller schools for years, waiting for his turn at the top. Tennessee was everything he could have hoped for.

Pearl made dumb mistakes, though, and he should pay the price for them. However, he shouldn’t be trapped paying the debt of the entire department. This only made him a scapegoat.

Place blame where it’s due, Chancellor Cheek. Not where it’s easiest.

Who Will Police the Police?

Let’s do a little compare and contrast.

Jim Calhoun: Cited by the NCAA for failure to create an atmosphere of compliance. The NCAA Committee of Infractions is accusing Calhoun of recruiting a player, Nate Miles, who had contact with a team manager turned sports agent. First discovered in a 2009 Yahoo! Sports investigation (CITE!!), the agent, Josh Nochimson, allegedly provided lodging, transportation, meals and representation for Miles while UConn pursued him. Calhoun will be suspended three games in the 2011-2012 season, while the program will face scholarship reductions, recruiting restrictions, and a three year probation.

Bruce Pearl: Cited by the NCAA for “impermissible contact with student-athletes during an unofficial recruiting visit, for not being ethical about the matter, for failing to promote an atmosphere of compliance, and failing to monitor the activities of his assistant coaches.” (CITE). The official NCAA notification did not include punishments (which are expected to be handed down in June), but Pearl has already served an eight conference game suspension, a pay reduction of $1.5 million over multiple years, and a one year ban from off campus recruiting.

    Do these two descriptions look similar? In some ways they should. Lost in the NCAA rhetoric are two coaches who are feeling the heat after breaking rigid (and complicated) recruiting guidelines. Both are being chastised publicly and both either have or are going to face game suspensions. Pearl illegally hosted a recruit at his home instead of on campus, and Calhoun recruited a player who already had a relationship with a professional agent. And according to ESPN’s Doug Gotlieb (along with other sources), they both lied.

    When looking at their penalites, however, it’s as if the descriptions have been switched. Pearl, whose infraction is considered a secondary violation, is the one feeling the NCAA breathing down his neck with the threat of losing his position with Tennessee. (With the threat of a long term suspension, UT may be forced to ask Pearl to step down.) His initial dishonesty with NCAA officials is the core reason he is in this mess. Calhoun, on the other hand, committed the cardinal sin in collegiate coaching. By recruiting Nate Miles and encouraging his relationship with agent, Josh Nochimson, Calhoun introduced the kryptonite of college sports, money. Yet the UConn coach (who, again, alledged lied as well) is being punished with "timeout" compared to Pearl.

    ESPN’s Pat Forde wrote in his article “Coach’s Can’t Escape Accountability”, this decision by the NCAA is a stand against “protecting the coarch at all costs”.

“But the three game penalty is far more than a slap on the wrist,” Forde wrote.

    When looking at the Calhoun decision on its own, this rationale appears to be on the right track. When compared to Pearl, however, it’s as inconsistent as Tennessee’s regular season. ESPN reported the decision on Calhoun would have been more severe if Miles had actually played at UConn (He was dismissed after violating a restraining order.), but neither did the recruit Pearl hosted at his home. And where have the allegations pertaining to Calhoun’s dishonesty gone? Have they been ignored like the blatant pass being given to UConn?

“As the leader of Conneticut beasketball program and an ambassador of the university, the buck stops with me. No qualifications, no exceptions. I fully acknowledge that we, as a staff, made mistakes and would like to apologize,” Calhoun said.

Sound familiar? Bruce Pearl made a similar statement after he willingly admitted to his mistakes. Calhoun decided to wait until the NCAA gave him the necassary “motivation”. In his statement, Calhoun went on to say he would not comment on this issue further (a luxury he arrogantly demanded but will likely not receive).

    My annoyance, however, is not as much with Calhoun as it is with the Big Brother of collegian sports. At this point, the NCAA’s recent decisions are questionable enough to be points of discussion in college ethics classes for years. The lax ruling on the Cam Newton investigation raised plenty of eyebrows on its own, but the decision to allow the Ohio State players (who traded memorabilia for tattoos and money) to play in the Sugar Bowl, coupled with the stiff penalties given to Dez Bryant, A.J. Green, and North Carolina, has left the integrity of college athletics governing body with some dark stains. Their oligarchy approach leaves university athletic departments across the nation at the mercy of their unpredictable (and arguably corrupt) judgement.

    It’s difficult to determine the extent to which the NCAA is paying attention to these claims against them, but the rumblings are beginning.

“The secret but carefully orchestrated one day ineligibility of Auburn quarterback Cam Newton for violation of the recruiting amateurism rules once again demonstrates the corrupt culture of the NCAA.” The Bleacher Report

“Goldman Sachs has nothing on the NCAA.” The Kansas City Star

“In the end this is the same old story. College football’s power brokers write a bunch of lip service in an effort to maintain the sports’ ‘amateurism so they can continue to beat federal, state and local taxes. When you pay neither taxes nor the players there’s a lot more cash laying around to line your pockets.” Yahoo! Sports

    In another article from Forde, he called for Tennessee to fire athletic director Mike Hamilton, the man who “has hemorrhaged credibility at an alarming rate”. I would say the same for the NCAA, but who would I tell? The Committee of Infractions?

I guess I’ll pull a Jim Tressel; plead ignorance and pray it goes away.

Ego Money

Three years ago, I watched Albert Pujols hit a home run at Turner Field. It was a towering shot into the home bullpen, and it was the difference in the Cardinals win over Atlanta. Despite my disappointment in the Braves lose, I counted myself fortunate to have seen one of the greatest players of my (or any) generation hit one over the wall.

After the last month, however, I don’t think of that moment with as much fondness as I used to. Pujols has shown his true colors, and they aren’t Cardinals red. In asking for the richest contract in baseball history, the first baseman has announced his priorities to the world and let us all know his loyalties do not extend beyond his front door.

When broken down into the simplest terms, Pujols request is laughable. Salaries in professional sports have increased astronomically during my lifetime, fueled by an athlete’s “worth” to the team. If profits increase due to a player’s performance, then it’s only fitting to compensate this individual with a percentage of the income. This is the simple premise of value in terms a business investment. A high school economics class would find this elementary.

However, “market value” has worked its way into the professional sports debate. Pujols will earn $16 million this year, which is already the largest portion of a $90+ million payroll. Using market value as his legitimate reason, however, Pujols is demanding the Cardinals pay him more than all other players based on the assumption he is the best in the league and his salary should reflect that. The Cardinals payroll is expected to increase to $100-110 million, and Pujols is asking for $30 million based solely on a desire to have a wealthier contract than Alex Rodriguez (which has been continually lauded as a disastrous deal) and to dwarf the contract given to fellow National League first baseman Ryan Howard (which has also been lauded as a disastrous deal). Not once has he or anyone else attributed his reasons to an increase in revenue by the team. In fact, according the ESPN’s Keith Law in a February 11 interview, interest in the Cardinals is maxed out. Busch Stadium is consistently sold out and St. Louis is perennially known as the best baseball town in America. A dramatic increase in profits is not expected, and St. Louis is left to decide if Pujols is worth losing money.

I find it highly unlikely St. Louis will double their profits from last year the way Pujols is looking to almost double his. The Cardinals, if they signed the deal he wants, would need to find money from other areas of the organization in order to afford their first baseman. Unless the team plans to have the biggest bake sale ever, this money will come directly from the fans. Ticket, parking, and vendor prices will all begin looking more like Yankee Stadium than Busch Stadium. (Who’s ready for $12 Budwiesers?!) ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd once suggested cities might implement “keep our best players” taxes. He said it in jest, but is this the only way to keep narcisitic athletes from running to New York, Boston, or Los Angeles? Cardinals owner Bill Dewitt summed up this sentiment in his statement in the (February 17 New York Times; “We’re not the Yankees.”)

Again, when broken down into the simplest terms, Pujols is asking Cardinals fans to pay more to see him play in order to stroke his ego and assure him he’s the best. My fourth grade daughter is more mature than this.

This statement, however, isn’t nearly as shocking as the baseball analysts and fans who are standing in line to support Pujols rationale. The iconic Bob Knight (who is close friends with Cardinals Manager Tony La Russa) came on ESPN Radio’s Mike and Mike to give his praises to Pujols and supported his desire to have the wealthiest contract. ESPN’s Tim Kurkjian has said numerous times, “The Cardinals have to sign Albert Pujols.” And this is only the beginning of the drool fest that will begin at the end of the season, when other MLB owners will be more than happy to open their checkbooks to alleviate Pujols apparent struggles with self-esteem.

This melodrama is only a part of the crippling problem facing MLB owners today; Player contracts are out of whack. In Joe Posnanski’s February 16 column in Sports Illustrated, he profiles the devastating effects of some of baseball’s mega-deals. Barry Ztio to the Giants immediately comes to mind, along with Andruw Jones $18 million a year debacle with the Dodgers. (It still must make Atlanta’s Jon Scherholtz smile for letting him go.) But instead of learning the lessons from these mistakes, teams like the Nationals continue to give players like Jason Werth more money than any other team by an enormous margin.

Call a spade a spade. If you want to play for the highest dollar, then come out and say it. Don’t dance around the issue and claim you want to retire a Cardinal. It’s embarrassing. The man is an icon and is on pace to break more than a few batting records, but no one is irreplaceable. Even Beyonce knows this.