From the time Babe Ruth explained a paycheck greater than the president’s by saying he had had a better year, the race had raged to find an unjustifiable record baseball contract.
That race is over, because an injured, 29-year-old with six years of big-league experience, a .274 career batting average and exactly zero playoff appearances just grabbed $700 million from the Dodgers.
Seven hundred of them. Seven. Numbing, is what it was. So numbing, apparently, that the masses apparently forgot to be outraged.
So Shohei Ohtani is a great player; OK, he’s the best in the world at the moment. One reason is that in addition to being a special hitter he can be a No. 1 starting pitcher. But he has some kind of elbow carry-on that will keep him out of the rotation for at least a season, and he rarely is used in the field. So the Dodgers just added a blemished player who just hit over .300 for the first time and committed to him until he was 39.
Among the rationalizations was that he deferred some of the cash in order for the Dodgers to back-door some salary restrictions. Even higher on that list was the claim that, with Ohtani, the Dodgers will move so much swag in Japan and other places to add at least $700 million to the value of their brand.
But if Ohtani is that valuable as a brand manager, why wasn’t his former team somehow elevated to iconic sports status for the past six years instead of being just the Los Angeles California Angels of Anaheim or some such tongue-twister?
Not including the mini-season of 2020 — and in that season, they won the whole thing — the Dodgers have averaged 105 wins in the six years Ohtani has worked across the street. Are they going to average 107 now? OK, figure their TV ratings to triple, advertising to follow and for ticket prices, parking fees and Dodger Dog prices to rise. But know that expectations will rise, too. And a contract that cannot be dismissed with a witty political zing is not going to guarantee that they ever are met.
• Because he wasn’t literally caught on film uttering one peep about it, Bryce Harper is technically safe from cross-examination on the matter. But apparently someone in his business posse let it leak that he would like a pay bump and an extension of his $330,000,000 to lifetime status.
Knock it off, B-Harp. You are already signed until you are 39. If you want to play as a quadragenarian for some expansion outfit in Nashville — oddly enough, your new hometown — why should the Phillies care? Think about it: By then, Andrew Painter will be ready to pitch. So there.
• Jimmy Rollins, Chase Utley and Ryan Howard are on the Hall of Fame ballot. If they don’t mind being included in a joint that has been soiled by the addition of Scott Rolen, may they all be elected.
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Stunned, I am, that self-driving cars have been recalled for some flaws.
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The curve has passed, and the 76ers are so far behind it that they are dizzy.
Such was the truth revealed last week when the Washington Wizards and Capitals began to plot a move to relocate from a clumsy, inaccessible arena on a crowded street to a more sensible location just outside of the downtown area.
They tried the urban-planning thing since 1997 to some success, but after 26 years, the novelty has crumbled and common sense has made a comeback. Yet there are the Sixers, a quarter century behind the idea, plotting a big-box monstrosity on Market Street in the misguided belief that, overnight, Philadelphia sports fans will have the urge to take SEPTA home from games in the middle of the night.
Given the geography of the area, the Sixers cannot move to any suburb and risk losing millions of fans from South Jersey. So if they insist on a new building, they will need a central location close to highways (and, OK, for those so inclined, a SEPTA terminal), with plenty of parking.
Just thinking out loud: Wonder if Broad and Pattison would ever work as a site for sports arenas?
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Among the reasons I never miss a New Year’s Eve on Times Square is that I can spend $75 to take a selfie with a guy in a filthy Superman costume.
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Not that they don’t all eventually get fired — cripes, even Bill Belichick is on a boiling chair — but it must be great to be an NFL head coach.
Where else in sports can the guy who is supposed to be responsible for the on-field product count on at least two years of fan-whining about the assistants before it’s his turn to take the heat?
Not once in the last three seasons have the Eagles lost a game without Jonathan Gannon, Shane Steichen, Brian Johnson or — quite clearly in the last week, Sean Desai — going on public trial for incompetence.
It’s a beautiful thing — and an NFL head-coaching perk better than Preferred Stadium Parking Spot No. 1.
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Show of hands: Anybody get parade grand marshals?
Contact Jack McCaffery at jmccaffery@delcotimes.com.
