Thirty-five years ago, so much was different.
The Oakland Athletics, who led the American League West by five games over the Kansas City Royals on Sept. 26, 1989, had a lineup featuring Mark McGwire, Rickey Henderson, Jose Canseco.
Dave Stewart, Mike Moore, Storm Davis, Bob Welch and Curt Young formed a rotation that won 81 games between them.
Despite playing half the season without superstar right fielder and designated hitter Jose Canseco, the A’s clubbed 127 home runs on their way to a 99-63 record, the best in the American League, and drew more than 2.5 million fans to the Oakland Alameda County Coliseum.
They breezed through the American League Championship Series, beating the Toronto Blue Jays 4-1 and swept their rival across San Francisco Bay, the San Francisco Giants, in a World Series most remembered for something that happened to the field and everyone and everything around it – the Loma Prieta Earthquake – than anything that happened on it.
It was a different time, before regional sports networks injected hundreds of millions of dollars into professional sports via television rights fees and before the 1994 strike.
Today, 35 years later, the A’s will play their final game in the Oakland Alameda County Coliseum. They’ll likely play the next three seasons in a Triple-A ballpark in Sacramento, before maybe moving to Las Vegas, should the financing for a new ballpark come together. It hasn’t yet.
Athletics owner John Fisher and Major League Baseball’s owners, along with Commissioner Rob Manfred, are the modern day equivalent to the robber barons of Gilded Age American society.
You don’t have to believe me. Look at the history for yourself.
They opposed, for years, any attempt by the players to unionize, and it took the Herculean efforts of Marvin Miller – the former president of the United Steelworkers – along with Oakland-raised Curt Flood sacrificing his career and Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally filing a grievance that was upheld by an independent arbitrator to free players from the reserve clause, which allowed Major League Baseball’s clubs to exclusively hold the rights to a player’s services in perpetuity.
In the same way that John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil held a monopoly on petroleum products, Major League Baseball’s owners hold a monopoly on their product – elite professional baseball as entertainment – and while economic monopolies are generally illegal in the United States, MLB’s monopoly was granted by the Supreme Court’s ruling in a 1922 case where the Federal Baseball Club of Baltimore sued the National League, with the court holding that baseball does not constitute interstate commerce and thus doesn’t fall under the purview of the Sherman Anti-Trust Act.
In 1972, when Curt Flood sued for free agency, the Supreme Court upheld the anti-trust exemption it had gifted baseball’s owners 50 years earlier, leaving it up to congress to revoke the exemption.
In the intervening 52 years, it hasn’t – and that has given free reign to malignant owners like Jeffrey Loria and John Fisher to pit city against city, citizens against local governments, and fans against ownership, holding markets hostage while demanding public funds to build newer, more extravagant stadiums to drive their private profit.
Since taking control of the A’s in 2005, Fisher has perpetually pursued a new stadium, playing Oakland against Fremont and San Jose in the Bay Area before settling on a stadium site at Howard Terminal near downtown Oakland, and then playing Oakland against Las Vegas when the city his franchise has called home since 1968 didn’t pony up enough public money.
He’s also cut spending on player payroll, taking an organization that creatively found new ways to analyze the game – so much so that a best-selling book about the organization was made into a film starring Brad Pitt that garnered six Academy Award nominations – and making them a middling franchise, reliant on prospects and borderline Major Leaguers to remain somewhat competitive, content to balance the books with revenue sharing checks from the other owners rather than gate receipts from Oaklanders who buy tickets.
And he can get away with it, largely sans scrutiny, because 102 years ago, the Supreme Court ordained that professional baseball is not interstate commerce.
