By ALLEN R. SANDERSON
As
the baseball season gets underway, one can hope that sports in the
future will be better than in its immediate past. Over the last couple
of years sports news spilled into the business sections and gossip
columns; several college coaches and players behaved very badly; the
sad, drawn-out saga of cyclist Lance Armstrong finally concluded; three
high-profile players from the steroids era—Clemens, Bonds, and Sosa—
appeared on the Hall of Fame ballot for the first time and whiffed; the
New Orleans Saints were apparently anything but, and currently violence
and injuries threaten the NFL’s seemingly unbridled popularity.
In basketball and ice hockey the leagues locked out their players; the
NFL doubled-down and locked out its officials as well. (In these labor
disputes there is nothing in economic theory that says the players or
the owners deserve the money; the same holds for the Chicago Teachers
Union v. the Board of Education. Whenever the number of pigs exceeds the
number of troughs, it comes down to which entity is more effective in
the exercise of its monopoly power.)
Will the Cubs rise
from the ashes and make Chicago proud? Not anytime soon, other than for
the laws of probability, which this franchise seems hell-bent on
repealing. In Oakland, the A’s Billy Beane of Moneyball fame
was—allegedly—able to win by exploiting some disequilibria in personnel
decisions and on-field strategies. But in sports and other economic
walks of life in the 21st century, information is simply more readily
available to everyone, and thus those opportunities are harder to find.
The baseball market is already very efficient; if it becomes perfectly
efficient, then Theo Epstein and his vision are toast, albeit very
expensive toast. In the regular season team payroll—because presumably
that team will have acquired the best players—and luck, including
injuries, will determine who finishes first. (In the playoffs, the
structure of the competition changes, chance looms larger, and thus the
best team is less likely to prevail.)
Speaking of efficient
markets, consider Wrigleyville. In the past, rooftop owners on Waveland
and Sheffield exploited disequilibrium. Then the Cubs, providers of
this free-riding, came to an agreement with these local landlords: fork
over some fraction of your largesse or we put up an opaque screen.
“Rooftops, the Sequel” is now showing.
But an accommodation
is harder to effectuate with the city and other Cubs-Wrigleyville
intersections. First, it’s not clear who the free-riders are—the
commercial establishments on Clark, whose cash registers runneth over
when the Cubs are at home? Mayor Emanuel’s kitty? Or the Cubs, who
benefit substantially from the vibrant neighborhood that draws locals
and tourists to the ballpark (unlike the White Sox and Bridgeport, where
there are no synergistic spoils to fight over)?
There is
no easy, financially painless fix, though there are possible mechanisms
to return to the Ricketts family some portion of these Cubs-generated
revenues. Anchor stores in suburban malls pay lower rent than specialty
stores because they – Nordstrom’s, Sears, Macy’s—provide benefits to
Williams-Sonoma, Brookstone, and Old Navy. Perhaps the Cubs could cut a
similar deal with the sports bars and City Hall.
Furthermore, the Cubs do produce a significant economic impact because
of the sizable number of out-of-area wallets they attract. Thus there is
a legitimate justification for some public subventions, as well as
relaxing the stranglehold local pols have on the owners and ballpark.
By contrast, the Bears, Blackhawks, Bulls, and White Sox play in front
of overwhelmingly local fans; as a result they simply recycle spending
within Chicago. (With a strike or lockout, the aggregate economic impact
is approximately zero: diehard fans and some contiguous specialty
businesses lose, but malls, restaurants, movie theaters, and therapists
benefit,)
The Chicago marathon is the only other local
athletic activity with a measurable impact, though quite modest because
it is limited to one weekend a year. Being the host city for a Super
Bowl or other big-ticket sporting event could also inject some new
revenues into the economy, but the shortsighted, ill-advised renovation
of Soldier Field by the Bears and the Daley administration effectively
doomed—as opposed to domed—that possibility.
Finally, why
does bottled water cost so much at games? The obvious answer is because
of monopoly power. Yet I suspect it’s to nudge fans toward more
expensive beer and sodas. If water were, say, $2, a price still far
above its cost, fans might opt for that thirst quencher. Here or in
Kansas, games are not just confined to the field or floor anymore.