THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, August 12, 1994 TAG: 9408120730
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Bob Molinaro
DATELINE: BALTIMORE LENGTH: Medium: 82 lines
When a large, dark cloud, accompanied by ominous claps of thunder, settled over Oriole Park minutes before the start of Thursday's game, everyone agreed that this was a weather development with Biblical implications.
Rain and gloom created the proper setting for the final night of baseball before the anticipated players' strike.
``It feels like the last game of the season,'' said Jim Poole, Orioles pitcher and assistant player representative. ``I have to admit, if we play tomorrow, it will seem a little strange, like opening day.''
Before persistent downpours played havoc with the game between the Orioles and Boston Red Sox, Baltimore manager Johnny Oates was asked what he'd do without baseball.
``The Boy Scout that I am, I'm prepared,'' he said. ``If there's no baseball tomorrow, I'm going to take my wife to dinner for our 27th wedding anniversary.''
Mrs. Oates can count on that dinner. Wednesday, Poole and Orioles player representative and Cy Young candidate Mike Mussina were part of a group that met in New York with management negotiator Richard Ravitch.
``Ravitch,'' said Mussina, ``sounds like he's trying to sell cars.''
Added Poole: ``Mr. Ravitch gave the same speech I heard him give in March of 1993.''
A lot of bitter speechmaking from both sides has led to nothing more than what people expected - and feared.
``This,'' Orioles owner Peter Angelos said Thursday, ``is typical of the labor-management disputes that occur in every industry.''
There's the rub. To the owners and players, baseball is an industry. For the fans, it's a sport.
Even as one of baseball's more entertaining seasons is about to be fractured, the owners can't even agree on what they want and need. They are united only in their arrogance. And in their distrust of the players.
``Revenue sharing,'' said maverick Angelos, going against the management grain, ``is a form of a baseball club welfare system.''
Although you'd never know it listening to the rhetoric, others share in the revenue generated by baseball.
``This is my main source of income,'' Roger Shiflett said as he stood in front of his peanut stand outside the park.
Shiflett sells bags of nuts for $1. ``Costs ya $3 inside!'' he barks through a bullhorn.
When baseball closes down, so does Shiflett's peanut business.
``I think it's a rich man's game,'' he said. ``We can't make money unless the big guys are up there swinging the bats.''
Inside Camden Yards, Mussina was asked what he'd say to the vendors and $6-an-hour ushers a strike will put out of a job.
``I'm really sorry that it's come to this,'' he said.
The thing about apologies is, you are free to believe them or not. But, then, the players ``are entertainers and we deserve to get whatever we're worth just like any entertainers,'' Mussina said.
It will never happen, but just once it would be nice to hear players admit that what they get for playing a child's game actually qualifies as overpayment.
``We're the best 800 at this job,'' Mussina went on. ``I'm sure the top 800 lawyers and doctors are making as much money as some of us are.''
Reasonable people have been known to go along with the elitist carping of baseball's 800 Club. Don't try it, though, in the company of a school teacher or scientist.
Selfishness is what has driven baseball to the edge. Greed is a quality shared by both sides.
``There's no trust between us,'' Mussina said.
This sounds like the makings of a long, ugly strike.
``I plan to drive home Saturday,'' said Mussina, who lives in Montoursville, Pa. ``I have a lot to do. ``I haven't been home in the summertime in five years.''
Mussina allowed as how the labor dispute has been tough on the players. With a sigh, he said, ``It really beats down our morale.''
Their morale? ILLUSTRATION: ASSOCIATED PRESS color photo
A young fan shows his feeling on the strike Thursday.
by CNB