I’m going to reprint a paragraph from a recent Internet article about a major-league team, but I’ll remove all references to the team. You guess which team it’s about.
“At the same time, it’s important that [THE GENERAL MANAGER] not treat 2008 as a rebuilding year. [TEAM] attendance has always been extremely sensitive to team quality, and some fans are going to be turned off when they see [NAME OF STAR(S)] sent packing. The [TEAM] will probably be indulged one year of disappointing performance, but another one and you’re creating a lot of downward momentum. Moreover, the [TEAM] have a half-dozen thirtysomethings signed to long-term contracts, so it’s not like the roster can be gutted entirely. So that means that [THE GM]’s best characteristic--his aggressiveness--needs to win out over his stubbornness. A radical makeover is not required, but the [TEAM] need to take a careful look at 2007 and recognize that much of it is of their own making.”
Hint: it’s not the Giants. But it could be, couldn’t it? The point is this: We all piss and moan about Giant management’s refusal to tear down this crumbling edifice of a ballteam and start anew, but it’s doesn’t always work that way. I am among the chief pissers and moaners. But I also acknowledge the bind they’re in: the fear of losing fan base for an extended period of time, as indeed happened in Cleveland when Mark Shapiro realized it was futile to try to extend the team’s 1990s Lofton-Thome-Vizquel-Manny glory years. As indeed might happen to the mystery team described above if it forces fickle fans to endure a few fallow years.
You and I are in somewhat of an uber-fan bubble. At least I am. Trapped in my obsession with the Giants, a few bad years of Fresno North won’t dissuade me from buying season tickets. What about you? Would you support the team through a tear-down?
What? You hesitate? It’s OK to say no. This is not the loyalty tribunal; I’m too old and wise to force others to sign on to my particular mania, as if the world would be happier if only more of us were rabid Giants fans.
Or better yet, rabid baseball fans. With lots of disposable income. The sad truth is, few of us are. It’s not just the cell-phone-talkin’, brie-and-cheese-eatin’, club-box-sittin’ corporate yucksters at Mays Field; those people are everywhere, I tell you. Everywhere. Put a crap team on the field for a few years at Yankee Stadium, Dodger Stadium, Safeco or Turner Field, and you’ll see the celebs and politicians and blingheads and hedge fund managers melt away, leaving the hard-core 20,000 on an Tuesday night against the Nationals.
Thanks to weather patterns and audience sophistication (hell, even I pass up a ballgame every so often for the theater), that core might be — will be — much smaller at Mays Field, which is why Pee-Mags & Co. develop facial tics when they hear the word “re-build.”
That’s why I more or less endorse the idea of doing the fake rebuild; if a few years tickling the underbelly of .500 can substitute for a complete overhaul, then Godspeed ye merry managing partners. It’s not what I want, but for the casual other half that fills the stadium to near-capacity, it’s better than 100 losses two or three years in a row. It may not work, this base appeasement of the short-attention-span masses. But the way the pitching staff has come together in the Stealth Rebuild has kept a small candle of hope alight in my hardening heart.
Then again, as my former college roommate used to say: “You know what really burns my ass?” What? we’d ask, and he would hold out his hand two feet above the ground. “A flame about this high.”
I'm guessing the team in the quote is the Yankees.
I'd love for the team the rebuild, but the young pitching talent isn't going to lead the league in runs scored, or driven in. Unless of course, Lowry and Sanchez are batting for you. Position talent is tough to find, I have to believe we can get rid of pieces that aren't working now to get some of that talent.