Maybe we should just be friends

Although Valentine’s Day has come and gone, I can’t stop thinking about my first love. The escapade started way back in 1984 before I knew what love really was. We’ve shared some of the greatest moments imaginable. We’ve also lasted through tumultuous times. But, in every strong relationship there comes a time when you have to judge whether you’re going in the right direction.

I don’t want to end my love affair with baseball. However, I will request a few changes for the upcoming season.

Change the way you coddle whiny, egocentric multi-millionaires. Change the way the homerun derby overshadows the midsummer classic. And most of all, change the financial burden that you have selfishly bestowed upon the people who are most important to you: the fans.

Forget about the NCAA tournament. We’ve already got February Madness going on in Florida and Arizona. Four of the most recognizable names in the sport are doing their best to force baseball’s popularity to sink faster than a Hideo Nomo forkball. Barry Bonds, Frank Thomas, Gary Sheffield and Sammy Sosa are doing their collective best to alienate the small contingent of baseball fans that aren’t already fed up with today’s crop of crybabies. We should have seen this coming. These guys have been steamed all winter long over the megadeals signed by Alex Rodriguez, Manny Ramirez and Derek Jeter.

The Big Jerk … err … Hurt, Frank Thomas decided to saunter into White Sox camp on Tuesday, the last possible day to report. He’s been complaining all week that he deserves to be in the upper echelon of baseball salaries.

“I’m not asking to be the richest man in the game,” Thomas said. “I just want to be in the top 20. To be in the top 50, that’s embarrassing.”

I feel for Frank, I really do. He’s stuck making $9 million this year and now he wants his contract restructured because he’s coming off a monster season. Can you imagine what Thomas would have done if the White Sox demanded their money back after his pathetic 1999 campaign? He would have laughed harder than the Comiskey faithful who have witnessed his attempt to play first base. Speaking of first base, Thomas’ mitt still hasn’t awoken from hibernation. You see, Thomas is a DH (as in: does half), so why should he make as much as someone who plays the field for nine innings?

Then there’s Barry Bonds. Take a wild guess what he’s unhappy about. His $10.3 million this season just isn’t going to cut it. Mr. September is 36 years old and has proven year in and year out, to the tune of zero World Series appearances, that he can’t perform in the postseason. Just ask Dusty Baker or Jim Leyland.

Brian Sabean and Jerry Reinsdorf, I implore you not to give in to these ridiculous demands. Players with private jets and merchandising tents are just the beginning. If you do, it will send the wrong message to the fans and to the players who really aren’t all about the money, like Turk Wendell, who offered to play the 2003 season for free. This could be disastrous in a year when another possible work stoppage looms.

But Shaun, I don’t care how much these players make. It doesn’t affect me one iota as long as Manny is cranking the ball onto Landsdowne Street. This is the part where I contemplate letting my first love go. This is the part that takes away my boyish glee in late March. The sad reality is that it isn’t the owners who pay for outrageous salaries. It isn’t the general manager or the corporate sponsors. It’s Joe Baseball Fan. You know him. He’s the guy who’s sitting quietly in the grandstand scoring the game. The smell of pine tar puts him into an unexplainable ecstasy. He’s being taken advantage of. He’s the one who has to deal with ticket prices soaring ad infinitum.

It was only four years ago that I would pay 15 bucks for the field level seats at Shea Stadium. That very same seat is now $43. And I, being a fool in love, have never allowed money to be any object.

Here’s a quick quiz: which team won the All Star game last year? The bastardization of the All Star Game is a real problem. Interleague play has diminished the novelty and excitement associated with the game’s biggest stars playing on the same field. I propose that baseball take a page out of the NHL’s book and adopt a new All Star Game format. If the Olympics are any indication, then a USA against the World format would really spice things up.

Think about how much intensity there would be with national pride on the line. Everett against Pedro. Mussina against Bernie Williams. The possibilities are intriguing — or are at least worthy of watching past the third inning.

They say you shouldn’t try to change a loved one. But in this case, change is the only thing that will keep the romance afloat. If baseball can just clean itself up a little bit, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to fall even deeper in love.