Let’s Go Back to Eight-Team Leagues

This article was originally published in SABR’s The National Pastime, Spring 1985 (Vol. 4, No. 1).

 

At their 1983 winter meetings the major leagues instructed their long-range planning committee to consider the feasibility of expanding the National and American leagues to sixteen teams each. I believe the committee should recommend such an expansion, and moreover it should recommend that the National and American leagues be dissolved, to be replaced by four regional eight-team leagues.

The National and American leagues have long since outlived their usefulness. They are, in fact, detrimental to the game. As long as they exist, no sensible realignment of teams can be effected. And, only through such realignment—and expansion to thirty-two teams—can baseball regain undisputed supremacy in professional sports.

Before discussing realignment and expansion, however, it would be useful to review the transition of the National and American leagues from vital forces to their present meaningless states. Once things were different. Very different.

The American League was formed in 1901 as a rival to the National League, then in its twenty-sixth year. It soon had franchises in five of the National League’s seven cities. Thereafter it was war, a nasty, bitter war for survival in which anything went. The resulting wounds were deep, the scars long-lasting. Though peace came with the 1903 season, the National League still regarded the upstart with scorn—so much so that in 1904 there was no World Series. The National League’s New York Giants refused to play the American’s Boston Pilgrims, surprise victors of the previous year’s Series. Disingenuously, the Giants proclaimed themselves champions of the only major league: What could they gain through postseason play?

Although peace did not bring good fellowship, it did bring a great asset to the game: league fan loyalty. It was deeply ingrained by the war and was passed thereafter from parent to child. A fan was a National Leaguer or an American Leaguer—if his team didn’t win the pennant, there was always the hope that his league could win the Series. It’s inconceivable, for example, that a true Giant fan would ever have rooted for the New York Yankees in a World Series, even against the loathsome Dodgers.

Continental expansion, which brought the pillage of all but one of the two-league cities (Boston, Philadelphia, St. Louis, and New York—only Chicago remained) just about killed league loyalty. Fans in one-league cities have no feel for the other league. Little attention, let alone passion, is given to it. And, how could it be otherwise? There is no longer animosity between the leagues. Even churlishness is rare. The leagues are, in effect, business partners who put on a display of mock-combativeness at the All Star game and the World Series.

Contrast Connie Mack’s approach to the 1933 All Star game with Whitey Herzog’s to the 1983 game. Mack was there to win. He wanted to humiliate his old antagonist, John McGraw, the National League’s manager. He told his squad that if some did not play, it was unimportant so long as the American League won. Among those who rode Mack’s bench all day were future Hall of Famers Bill Dickey and Jimmie Foxx. His future colleague at Cooperstown, Earl Averill, was luckier. He got to pinch hit. But the American Leaguers won.

In 1983 Herzog’s pregame position toward victory was, “Who cares?” His National League team reflected its leader’s indifference, being battered, 13-3—whereupon Herzog announced to one and all that he was glad the American League had won! John McGraw, Barney Dreyfuss, and Charlie Ebbets must have spun in their graves. Unfortunately for baseball, however, the American League’s victory had little emotional impact on the game’s fans. If the leagues didn’t care who won, why should the fans?

Even if interleague rivalry is a thing of the past, would tradition warrant retaining the two leagues? Hardly. The Organized Baseball Establishment has given the back of its hand to tradition at every opportunity. What happened to tradition when such hallowed franchises as the Brooklyn Dodgers, Boston Braves (a charter National League member), and Philadelphia Athletics were callously up-rooted when greater profits beckoned elsewhere? Where was tradition when greed produced the 162-game schedule that would surely (and did) destroy the game’s records? Where was tradition when the American League corrupted the game with the designated hitter? (“The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day.”-Casey at the Bat [emphasis added].) Tradition has long since been laid to rest. It’s no grounds for keeping the two leagues.

The National and American Leagues should be replaced by four regional, eight-team leagues. Since a major purpose of the realignment would be to create fan loyalty—though to a region, not to a league—and thereby develop new, real fans, each league would be named for the region in which its teams were situated. Thus the Northeast, Midwest, Southern, and Western leagues, composed of these teams:

• Northeast: Toronto Blue jays, Montreal Expos, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, New York Mets, Philadelphia Phillies, Baltimore Orioles and (new) a team from Washington, Northern New jersey, or Buffalo.
• Midwest: Pittsburgh Pirates, Cincinnati Reds, Cleveland Indians, Detroit Tigers, Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox, Milwaukee Brewers, and Minnesota Twins.
• Southern: Atlanta Braves, Houston Astros, Texas Rangers, Kansas City Royals, St. Louis Cardinals and (new) three teams from among Tampa, New Orleans, Miami, Memphis, and Birmingham.
• Western: San Diego Padres, California Angels, Los Angeles Dodgers, San Francisco Giants, Oakland Athletics, Seattle Mariners and (new) two teams from among Vancouver, Phoenix, Portland, and Denver.

Each league would play a balanced 154-game schedule, i.e., twenty-two games against each other team, eleven at home, eleven away. Once again there would be true pennant races. No longer would contenders meet for the last time in midsummer. No longer would there be unbalanced (and hence unfair) schedules; the best team would win on its merits. There would be no divisions, no split seasons, no Shaughnessy playoffs or any other bush practices. just an old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness pennant race, the kind that used to grip the whole country, that was talked about into the winter. The winner would advance to postseason play; the losers would go home. To contend that baseball could not survive commercially if twenty-eight of thirty-two teams (87.5 percent) do not make the playoffs is nonsense. From 1903 through 1960 fourteen of sixteen teams (87.5 percent) did not make the World Series. Baseball got along very nicely financially with, it should be noted, nowhere near the television and radio income now received.

As is the case today, there would be three postseason series. Realignment, however, would admit only true champions into championship play. No longer would there be a ludicrous League Championship Series pitting one team against another it had beaten eleven out of twelve times during the regular season. To enhance the chances of the better team winning, all postseason series would be on a best-of-seven-games basis.

First-round matchups would be constant: Northeast vs. Midwest and Southern vs. Western. These pairings would maximize the possibility that at least one warm weather city would host the World Series. In any event, they would eliminate such present potential World Series climatic horrors as, among others, Chicago vs. Toronto and Milwaukee vs. Montreal. (Were these teams to meet in the first round under the suggested realignment, the shorter regular season would increase the chance of comfortable weather over what it would be if the teams met in a World Series as now constituted.)

With four regional leagues and no gimmicks for deciding the winners, baseball would have bona fide champions competing for the game’s ultimate crown. No other professional sport, with its wild-card teams or everyone-into-the-pool playoffs, could make that claim. (Nor can baseball now: The divisional setup permits mediocre teams to reach the World Series. Remember 1973? The New York Mets won the National League East with a disgraceful .509 mark. They caught a good Cincinnati Reds team looking the other way and stumbled into the Series.)

It would be easier for several reasons to stock new teams now than it was during prior expansions. First, the players’ right to free agency won in 1976 would annually give to the six expansion teams the opportunity to sign some of the game’s greatest stars. Second, the Caribbean area now sends more players to the major leagues than it formerly did, and it will continue to grow as a player source. Last, the United States population is quite adequate to support a slightly smaller increase of teams now, from twenty-six to thirty-two (23 percent) than occurred in 1961-62, from sixteen to twenty (25 percent). In 1983 the United States population was estimated at 234.2 million, or about 9 million per team. Expansion to thirty-two teams would reduce the per team number to 7.3 million. That’s a decrease of about 19 percent per team. Sounds bad? Not really. It is insignificant when baseball’s golden age (1920-1941) is considered. In 1920 the United States population was 105.7 million, or about 7.7 million per team. That’s 5 percent more than the 7.3 million per team realignment would bring. Few fans would complain if major league play were miraculously to achieve 95 percent of the golden age’s standard. One must conclude that a well-managed, well-financed expansion franchise could reasonably expect to become competitive quite quickly.

A 154-game schedule would be economically feasible. Two attributes of the regional leagues would more than offset the revenue loss of eight games: natural rivalries and reduced travel expenses.

There’s no doubt that the New York Yankees are a tremendous attraction. Their mystique lures customers to the ballpark regardless of how the Yankees are doing. But they alone have that mystique. Other teams draw exceptional crowds only because of their current success. The Cincinnati Reds of the mid-1970s had fans everywhere flocking to see them. The Cincinnati Reds of 1982-84 were not even an average attraction. If the Seattle Mariners were burning up the Western League, they would draw as many customers in San Diego as did the Big Red Machine. League leaders, whoever they are, will do about equally well.

So, the Yankees excepted, no club would lose any customers because it no longer played some long-time rival. Instead, they would gain. The attendance drawn by the natural rivalries created by the regional leagues would be eye-popping. In 1955, for example, the New York Giants drew 25 percent of the Brooklyn Dodgers’ home attendance. The Dodgers produced 42 percent of the Giants’ home gate. It is not unreasonable to predict that such regional natural rivals as the Dodgers and the Angels or the White Sox and the Cubs, to name but two of many, would do as well. The probabilities are that they would do even better—and with no travel expense. It would be lunacy if teams like the Angels and White Sox were to deny themselves such a source of revenue simply to retain the Yankees on their schedules.

That regional league teams would have drastically reduced travel expenses is easily shown:

Team	Present total miles to league cities	Realigned total miles	Reduction
Cubs	11,629	1,906	83.60%
Dodgers	21,447	3,766	82.40%
Yankees	16,320	1,596	90.20%

The actual percentage of decrease would, of course, depend on a team’s schedule. Let’s then compare a 1983 Yankee west-coast road trip from New York and back with the longest trip they would have in the Northeast League, assuming Washington were the eighth team. From August 26 through September 4 the Yankees played in Anaheim, Oakland, and Seattle in that order. They traveled 13,769 miles. If instead they had gone to Montreal, Washington, and Toronto, they would have traveled 1,902 miles. Assuming two such west coast swings (27,538 miles) and three Northeast treks (5,706 miles), the reduction in miles traveled would be 79.3 percent. More logical Northeast scheduling—Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia (360 miles)—would produce a three-trip total of 1,080 miles, a reduction of 96.1 percent.

Both players and fans would benefit from compact regional schedules. There would be virtually no travel wear-and-tear on the players. No longer would teams have to span the country for their next game. No more red-eye specials. Careers could be lengthened since tired players are more susceptible to injury. The fans would also benefit, for no longer would they pay good money to see a physically drained team.

A further advantage to the fan is that with only seven other teams to consider—each of which he could see eleven times—he would again know all the players in the league. Visiting players would again become the enemy. They would no longer be occasional visitors who were virtual strangers. Their quirks would be well known. Familiarity would breed contempt for the visiting teams—otherwise known as a healthy rooting interest in the hometown boys.

As a result, major league television rights (which all teams would share equally) would become more valuable. Audiences would be larger be- cause each region would receive telecasts of only its league’s games. The viewers would know the players. No longer would viewers be saddled with meaningless games of teams in other leagues. Each game would have a bearing on the pennant race about which the viewer was concerned.

And the games would be televised at reasonable times: no longer would the west coast have to watch games in midmornings, nor the east coast watch games that ended at two A.M. or later. The greatest time difference between cities in any league would be one hour. An added benefit would be better press coverage: One’s morning paper would carry a full story on the previous night’s game.

Television would pay more for the All Star game since it would be regarded as Connie Mack viewed that of 1933. Each league would go all out to win, for victory in any interleague competition would figure to put more customers in that league’s stands. There would be three All Star games, but only two dates would be needed. Since two All Star games were played in 1959-62, there’s precedent for this. Initial pairings would rotate since weather is not a factor in midsummer. The championship game would go to the league that had not most recently hosted it.

Compact regional leagues with their natural rivalries would create new fans. Real fans. When postseason (and, to a lesser degree, All Star) play began, casual fans—and even non-fans, to whom the National and American Leagues now mean nothing—would take notice. It would be their city’s team (or their region’s) against the world. Interest in baseball would reach new peaks. Television audiences would set records. Inevitably some of these people would become interested enough to pay their way into future games. They would become real fans.

The structural changes required by realignment would, for the most part, only repeat what had been done on occasion before. Those that were novel would be easily handled by any experienced lawyer. Whatever the legal costs, these would be recouped many times over in a short period. Realignment and expansion would propel baseball into the most prosperous era the game has ever seen. The long-range planning committee should act quickly to bring it about.