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Sunday, July 14, 2002

First, some history:

I was raised in a union family, have fond memories of Teamsters' picnics and fonder memories of my family's standard of living spiraling upward when my dad's workplace -- he was a route manager at The Pittsburgh Press -- became unionized.

When I was in my 20s, I was a teacher, without tenure, in the Pittsburgh Public Schools system. I twice walked picket lines of the Pittsburgh Federation of Teachers, once for nothing more than the right to have a collective bargaining election. I was bitter but quiet when colleagues crossed my picket line, but yelled, "Scab" when replacement teachers did the same.

Although the striking teachers were a distinct minority, we won those strikes, I like to think, because were had right on our side. To this day, I take pride in the fact that in some small way they helped lead the way for improved teacher salaries in the region.

I belong to a union now, one of three of which I have been a member. Although I am not active in my current union, I still feel passionate about workers' rights.

Not by design, I became a part-time labor writer in the early 1970s, when strikes, boycotts and lockouts became part of baseball's lexicon when I was covering the Pirates. In my heart, if not on the printed page, I usually sided with the players. It was no fault of theirs that union leadership was several times smarter than baseball's and was able to carve out a collective bargaining agreement that was astonishingly lopsided.

But enough already.

More than 25 years after arbitrator Peter Seitz forever changed the game by striking down the reserve clause and ushering in the era of free agency, the pendulum has swung way too far. All power to either side is never good. It wasn't good when the owners treated the players as chattel and it's no good today when the union treats not just the owners, but the game so callously.

The cavalier treatment of fans, in the stands and those watching on television, at the All-Star Game is partly a result of the overwhelming power the Major League Baseball Players Association wields.

It is understandable that the foremost concern of Donald Fehr, the head of the union, should be his membership. But he must also have a concern for the industry that employs his members and he seemingly has none. Many of us are too familiar with such an attitude, which prevailed during the decline of the steel industry and the demise of The Pittsburgh Press.

It's possible, as the union suggests, that the owners are cooking their books and the sport is not in its early death throes, as Commissioner Bud Selig would have us believe. It is, for example, hard to believe that the Pirates, with gross revenues of more than $100 million, lost money last year.

But the exact nature of the owners' profit-and-loss statements is but a small point in the big picture and one Fehr shouldn't be hiding behind.

The baseball industry is in trouble. It is impossible to deny that. One need only look at the public disgust for the sport, the declining attendance, the falling television ratings and the vast disparity between large and small markets to understand the troubles baseball has. Fehr, however, claims to see almost none of this.

But even if Fehr has no concern for the industry or the fans, he should have a concern for his all members. Too many of them are working in what are -- relatively speaking -- deplorable conditions.

Maybe Fehr should take a walk through the Pirates' clubhouse on a daily basis and see the mostly joyless players prepare for a day's work. It's probably much the same in another dozen or so clubhouses.

This is no plea for sympathy for "workers" whose average salary is more than $2 million per season. It is to point out that Fehr's rejection of baseball's ills is hurting his union members.

I spent a lot of time in winning clubhouses when I was the Pirates beat writer and I know what a joy that can be. I know how much fun it was in that clubhouse, how much the players looked forward to coming to work, how they bonded through their pregame rituals of teasing and taunting.

The Pirates and so many other teams have almost no chance to experience that because Fehr won't let the sport up off the floor. He won't agree to changes that must be made to give every member of his union a chance to share in not just the financial riches that baseball gives its workers but in the emotional riches it also offers.

Just look at what a sensible relationship between workers and employers has done for the NFL. Not only has this relationship helped to make football the most popular sport in the country, it has enabled virtually every franchise -- and every fan of that team and every player on that team -- to be able to feel the joy of being competitive.

In the NFL, Green Bay, Nashville and Jacksonville -- cities that couldn't even consider fielding a Major League Baseball franchise -- are on even footing with opponents from New York, Chicago and Dallas.

Baseball must take steps in that direction. Fehr must reject a strike and step forward to make progress and not insist on the status quo, which is slowly killing the sport.

If he does, he'll certainly lose his spot in union lore behind legendary Marvin Miller as a brilliantly skilled but uncompromising negotiator. But he'll gain a niche in the lore of the game as a reasonable compromiser -- as a true labor leader -- who helped save a sport he otherwise could have destroyed.

Bob Smizik can be reached at bsmizik@post-gazette.com.