An Opening Day Reminder to Reds Ownership

It's an heirloom you're dealing with

Unrequited passion

I had this brief text exchange Wednesday with a media pal who was down at Pretty Good:

He: “Was just in the Pirates clubhouse. Not a bunch of household names on your beloved MPWS.’’

(For youse newcomers, that’s short for My Pirates Who Suck.)

I: “I’m off the SS Nutting. I root for ‘em to L.’’

He: “Then it should be an awesome year.’’

I: “I’m hoping.’’

Do you think MLB has a wicked sense of humor or simply a keen appreciation for hardball irony?

Scheduling the Reds to open the baseball season with the Pirates, I mean. Are there two teams more representative of what ails the game than these two? Oakland, for sure. The Nationals, maybe, but at least the Nats have won a trophy since the George H.W. Bush administration.

The Pirates are 0-for-44 years. The Reds are Empty-for-33. Each is offering a semblance of effort. Neither is close to proving it knows what it’s doing. Here’s one big difference:

Pittsburgh has abandoned its baseball passion. Cincinnati has only a few toes out the turnstiles. The Pirates to Pittsburgh are a curiosity, like an old scrapbook or photos in an album. Their fans will re-visit the faded newspaper clippings and the photos from the lake, but just for a little while. There’s football to be played and hockey to be served up.

If that’s starting to sound like you, well. . .

Lately, the Reds have not been kind to their greatest assets, tradition and goodwill. Ancillary stuff is still very good: The Community Fund, the ballpark amenities. Those who make it to Pretty Good are usually glad they did. Except for, you know, the losing part.

More than almost any other baseball place not named Boston or St. Louis, Cincinnati takes its Reds personally. This isn’t some anonymous outpost squatting bestride a freeway (Arlington, TX, say; Oakland, CA) where baseball is rumorous and vague. This is the Queen City, where baseball has been king since 1869.

I know ownership understands this. Bob Castellini went to Crosley when he was a kid. In what seems like another lifetime, The Big Man boldly expressed his desire to return trophies to the riverfront. We believed him, because that’s what Reds fans do, what they’ve always done.

He hasn’t succeeded. But for many seasons, we at least felt his aim was true. He was One of Us. He hired Dusty Baker, a big-time manager. He brought in his pal Walt Jocketty, who had rings. The payroll was slightly oversized for the market.

The execution — The Plan — was flawed, guided as much by fanly impulse as by rational game-planning. Then COVID hit, the bottom fell out financially and Castellini made the choice almost all baseball owners make:

When forced to decide between winning games and keeping his shareholders happy, he chose the latter.

I don’t blame him. Most of us would do the same. I am disappointed, though.

Consider the money those investors have made since they bought in with The Big Man all those years ago. A franchise Castellini’s ownership group bought for $270 million in January 2006 is now worth more than four times that. Not only that, the minority partners’ money has not been lost.; Castellini has said on numerous occasions that the Reds budget to break even.

I dunno ‘bout you, but if somebody told me I could quadruple my initial investment over 17 years, without fear of losing my shirt, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. And of course, the appreciation of the asset owes in large part to taxpayers funding the asset, ie the ballpark. Please, someone build me a house, then allow me to sell it whenever I like, for gobs of your money.

Buying a sports team comes with no hard and fast obligations to win with that sports team. MLB isn’t the Premier League. Bob Nutting, Pirates shameless owner, is no danger of being relegated.

But as I mentioned, baseball here isn’t like baseball most anywhere. This ownership group was entrusted with a $270 million heirloom. Have they been good stewards?

The parade starts at noon. It’s a wondrous thing, as vital a stitch in the local fabric as exists. A hundred and a half groups will take over the streets of downtown, celebrating a heritage unlike any other. Their hearts are in the right and good place.

The game is personal here and with that intimacy comes a request that ownership honor the gift it has been given. Maybe it’s time to do better than break even with the hearts entrusted to your care. It’s passed time.