Comments on: Companies need a place to spend their marketing dollars, and Barry Bonds aint it http://www.beyondmadisonavenue.com/2006/03/companies-need-a-place-to-spend-their-marketing-dollars-and-barry-bonds-aint-it/ Mon, 06 Oct 2008 20:14:07 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.6.2 By: J.D. http://www.beyondmadisonavenue.com/2006/03/companies-need-a-place-to-spend-their-marketing-dollars-and-barry-bonds-aint-it/#comment-822 J.D. Thu, 30 Mar 2006 12:43:00 +0000 http://70.98.54.35/~beyondma/?p=370#comment-822 I think I've got the solution for MLB. They need to send all of their marketing executives back down to the minors. I mean that seriously. While teams in the majors can't seem to fill a stadium, most minor league teams (at least here in the South) appear to be doing well. The reason? It's the anti-Barry Bonds. In the minors, there aren't megastars. Oh sure, there are future ones, and every once in a while, a fan might get to see Mark Prior pitching 17 strikeouts in his last game before the Cubs threw him into the MLB spotlight, but for the most part, minor league baseball is all about the game and all about the fan. There's just something about the relationship between regional fans and their double-A or triple-A teams. And there's something about being at the park. Number one, the prices are exponentially smaller. Number two, quite often the host stadium takes more of an interest in the fans than a bigger ballpark would allow. I think this whole Barry Bonds fiasco is just going to prove that baseball is not about superstars. Before the current era of superstar driven baseball, it was the team that engendered the love and drew the fans. It was the spunky second baseman that came to play everyday, the shortstop who would play hurt if he had to, the right fielder who showed up to the stadium in a beat-up truck rather than a limo, and the hitter that could hit it low or bunt into a sacrifice, rather than trying to pull the ball out of the park every at-bat. It was the ace pitcher who would sign autographs gladly before each game and shake hands after. It was the player who lifted weights and didn't juice. It's the home team taking the field, accompanied by three foot Little Leaguers who look up at their heroes while the National Anthem is being played. But most of all, it was about the fans, the peanuts, and the cracker jacks, not caring if they ever went back home, because they were at a place where they could be one with the world's most perfect game, their cares and worries gone for a couple of hours while men in uniform played a game symbolic of what made our country great. I still sort of get that when I go see the Memphis Redbirds, the Chattanooga Lookouts, the Birmingham Barons, or the West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx. There are some things wrong, but it's the closest I can get. I think I’ve got the solution for MLB. They need to send all of their marketing executives back down to the minors.

I mean that seriously. While teams in the majors can’t seem to fill a stadium, most minor league teams (at least here in the South) appear to be doing well.

The reason? It’s the anti-Barry Bonds. In the minors, there aren’t megastars. Oh sure, there are future ones, and every once in a while, a fan might get to see Mark Prior pitching 17 strikeouts in his last game before the Cubs threw him into the MLB spotlight, but for the most part, minor league baseball is all about the game and all about the fan.

There’s just something about the relationship between regional fans and their double-A or triple-A teams. And there’s something about being at the park. Number one, the prices are exponentially smaller. Number two, quite often the host stadium takes more of an interest in the fans than a bigger ballpark would allow.

I think this whole Barry Bonds fiasco is just going to prove that baseball is not about superstars. Before the current era of superstar driven baseball, it was the team that engendered the love and drew the fans. It was the spunky second baseman that came to play everyday, the shortstop who would play hurt if he had to, the right fielder who showed up to the stadium in a beat-up truck rather than a limo, and the hitter that could hit it low or bunt into a sacrifice, rather than trying to pull the ball out of the park every at-bat. It was the ace pitcher who would sign autographs gladly before each game and shake hands after. It was the player who lifted weights and didn’t juice. It’s the home team taking the field, accompanied by three foot Little Leaguers who look up at their heroes while the National Anthem is being played. But most of all, it was about the fans, the peanuts, and the cracker jacks, not caring if they ever went back home, because they were at a place where they could be one with the world’s most perfect game, their cares and worries gone for a couple of hours while men in uniform played a game symbolic of what made our country great.

I still sort of get that when I go see the Memphis Redbirds, the Chattanooga Lookouts, the Birmingham Barons, or the West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx. There are some things wrong, but it’s the closest I can get.

]]>