Pirates show we know little of owners -- except they're rich
With the release of the books of the Pittsburgh Pirates, arguably the most pathetic professional franchise of our times, we have been given a golden opportunity to learn a number of things about sports ownership, starting with this:
We know a hell of a lot less about how it works than we thought, thereby validating Mark Cuban's assertion that on some subjects, the stupidest people in any room tend to be the media. Or, in this case, stupider than, say, an army of business reporters.
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| Despite all the years of bumbling on the field, the Pirates still turned a profit recently. (Getty Images) |
And with the travails of the Los Angeles Dodgers, we have learned that asking an owner about the state of his marriage is no longer an inappropriate question.
Toward that end, it seems like the time to either wait for the Associated Press and deadspin.com to publish more leaked documents about franchise finances, or demand that the books be opened for every team that ever has, is currently, or ever plans to ask for public money for any project.
In other words, all of them. Yes, even Green Bay.
We'll get nowhere here, of course, because the Pirates only opened their books because of the AP leak that showed they've distributed $35 million, give or take, to their shareholders in 2007, 2008 and 2009 while trotting out a product that would sear Roberto Clemente's corneas. Owner Bob Nutting and club president Frank Coonelly went to the extraordinary step of calling a press conference to explain the books, which went almost a few inches toward cooling the anger in Pittsburgh.
As a result, they won't be doing that again. In fact, you may bet your own good money on Major League Baseball sending out a directive ordering clubs not to do any dog-and-pony shows about their own finances, and to do a better job of guarding them from prying eyes and leaking hands. It is the story that scares owners in ways that performance-enhancing-drug and crooked-officials stories cannot approach.
But you, the taxpayer, are entitled to the books (in fact, all three sets of them -- the ones they will show if they have to, the ones they turn over to the IRS every April, and the ones that actually explain where the money goes), because you are almost certainly subsidizing your local team in one way or another. That makes you a de facto shareholder, only without perks like dividends, free tickets, or even a discount on that brat-and-beer health food combo.
And if, as most courts in the nation would find, you actually aren't entitled to see the books, then you are entitled to vote cheerfully against that next stadium bond issue, tax abatement or other slimy racket that puts their hands in your pockets.
Between the leaks of the Pirates', Mariners', Rays', Marlins' and Angels' financials, and the drips and drops of Dodger internals from the magnificently bloody McCourt divorce, we are getting at least a better look of how the system really works, and how it takes an extraordinary amount of misfeasance/malfeasance to lose real money owning a team. Not that profits are bad, mind you, but lying about not making any profits while having your hand out for public money is bad. Even the concurrent dodge, "We just want to stay competitive," is exposed here as the whopping lie it is.
And the only way to have all the information you as a current or potential contributor to some team's well-being is to see the books and let them be examined by what they call forensic accountants. You know, guys who can spot where money is being stashed while those doing their stashing wail and gnash their teeth about how hard it is for a billionaire to get by these days.
Just watching Nutting and Coonelly grind nervously and defensively through their press conference, and waiting with drooly anticipation for the next revelation in the ongoing series, "Disorder In McCourt." is worth the knowledge it produced, but more is needed. And while there are still 116 other franchises whose operators breathe sighs of relief that their business isn't out on the street, there are also 116 operators who don't mind getting their share of yours.
So, time for opening the books has finally come. It seems like a minimal enough requirement, plus it has the added advantage of turning them purple with rage, and frankly, they don't get enough of those moments in their days. With the kind of money they already have, and the levels at which they are raking in new dough, having to show their work is hardly an unreasonable demand.
That is, unless you enjoy feeling like a complete sucker every time you throw down a 20 and get three bottled waters in return, or watching your property taxes rise to make sure the concourse has marble sinks to go with the platinum urinals while your neighborhood school is firing 11 teachers. And if you do, well, may you have your wallet lifted every day for a month while you reconsider your opinion.
