We Don't Have to Like It Even If It May Be Right

For fans of the Baltimore Orioles, for those or us who have lived and died with the Birds since the first time we saw Brooks Robinson glove a hard shot at third base, last Thursday's free-agent draft came as a mortal blow. Expected, yes, but deadly nevertheless.

I didn't even check the paper to see who got who. All that matters is that three of the six players who are the core of the Orioles--Reggie Jackson, Wayne Garland, and Bobby Grich--are now free to sign with any of a dozen teams able to spend more money than the Birds.

The problem with talking about the free-agent draft is that in your heart, you know the players are right. Baseball is a business and you've got to let a talented ballplayer get what he's worth from whomever will give it to him.

There's no reason to think the sport as a whole won't be able to adjust, but that's not much consolation to the poorer teams. The Orioles operate under the tightest budget in the major leagues, but still need to make the playoffs to do more than break even. They're doomed because they have never, and will never, draw more than 1.2 million fans.

From 1969 to 1971, the Birds fielded three future Hall-of-Famers and a host of other colorful stars, won more games in three years than any other team in history, and never had more than 1.2 million people plough through the turnstiles.

I guess you could say, then, that the team deserves its fate, but that doesn't mean anything to those of us who have gone to games, and besides, a lot of the fault lies outside the city.

Baltimore and Boston have the same number of people in their metropolitan areas, but the Red Sox are the only baseball team in New England and draw fans from a five-state area. Crabtown has Philadelphia and plush new Veterans' Stadium to the north, and Washington, D. C. to the south. The Senators may have moved to Texas, but their ex-fans have been too busy burning Bob Short in effigy and waiting for Congress to do something to cast their toward the Chesapeake Bay.

And people on the Eastern Shore of Maryland are too busy soaking tourists, raising chickens--the Eastern Shore is Frank Perdue's stomping ground--and insisting that they be made the 51st state to pay any attention to the Orioles.

Lastly, the Orioles suffer the fate of sharing a football-minded town with the Colts. The two teams both arrived in the city in the early 50s, but the gridders were the first to enjoy success. By 1958, Johnny Unitas had taken them to the top and made them the victors of The Greatest Game Ever Played, and Baltimore was famous for its rabid football fans.

So, profiting from neither mass support nor an owner rich enough to make player-collecting a hobby, the Orioles shape up as the losers of the new order. Jim Palmer may continue his reign as the best pitcher in baseball, Lee May may drive in 150 runs, and Mark Belanger may keep winning Golden Gloves for the next 20 years, but without Jackson, Garland, and especially, the incomparable Grich, the Orioles are a.500 team at the very best.

The sad thing is that this new state of affairs, brought about by a conception of what is "right," runs counter to the American ideal of getting ahead on talent and hard work alone.

The Orioles stayed among baseball's powers for years--they've averaged over 90 wins for the last 18 seasons--by putting together a skilled farm system that produced major-leaguers by the dozen. They once turned out four Minor League Players of the Year in seven seasons, and seemed capable of robbing a National League team blind in a trade whenever they wanted--Quick, name the players the Orioles gave up to get Frank Robinson, Mike Cuellar, Pat Dobson, Tommy Davis, Lee May, Ken Singleton, or Mike Toprez.

And now none of that matters. How many stars will the Orioles be able to attract from elsewhere, and how many of their home-grown products will they be able to hold onto once the rest of the baseball world catches sight of them?

Other teams have suffered through worse droughts than the one that looms in the Orioles' future--the Montreal Expos are worse now than when they started, but the fans always knew whose fault it was, and properly thought of the team's current management team as a bunch of chumps.

But what does a rooter do when there is no one to blame, when he knows the team has no choice but to plod along? My hunch is he doesn't stick around for long to watch. And thus the Orioles' plight becomes a matter of survival, not of success.

It's like rooting for Northwestern in the Big 10. The Wildcats lost their 15th straight game on Saturday before the smallest crowd in their modern history, and they don't have the resources to match Ohio State, Notre Dame, or Michigan in the Midwest recruiting wars. There's just no light at the end of their tunnel, and there's no light at the end of the one in Baltimore either.

One of the best things about sports is that there are so many of them. Why, just the other day I saw this pro football team from Baltimore with a young quarterback--do I see Unitas again?--who seems like he can get a touchdown anytime he wants.

Yes, somewhere, somehow, I know I'll find another team to live and die with...Look at Jones throw that ball! God, you've got to love those Colts.