The Atlantic League of professional baseball has, since its inception in 1998, made the owners of its teams great sums of money. Fans flock to the gates, cities bend over backward to accomodate new teams, and there is virtually no competition to draw away fans. Despite this auspicious arrangement, those who actually make the teams run, and who are the sole reason for their existance (namely the players, staff, and fans of the team) are each treated like second class citizens every step of the way.

The average Atlantic League player makes somewhere around $1200 a month, receives little in the way of benefits and insurance and is out of a job at the end of the season. In addition, the vast majority are forced to live away from their homes and families for half the year, travel the northeast on busses that would be condemned as unfit to transport inmates, and generally get the short end of the stick. While in the home ballpark, these players, who already spend up to 12 hours a day honing their craft, and asked to sign countless autographs before, during and after the game, participate in numerous fantasy events where the team profits greatly, and watch their used equipment sold for a profit in half a dozen team shops around the league. In exchange, these players receive meals that are often inedible, shower in areas invested with bugs and worms, and generally exist in a a world consumed with 10 years worth of filth. All this for the hope of one day returning to the promised land that is Major League Baseball.

Meanwhile, the staff of a minor league baseball team is treated little better. The backbone of any club are the interns. These are usually unpaid, and bear burdens ranging from picking up garbage and weeds to shuttling around players and their girlfriends. All this for the dream of one day landing a full time job in the sports industry...a job where they will work twice as much and be paid half as much as their peers with similar experience, but who chose a non-sports career. For a six game homestand, the bulk of the front office staff effectively works the equivilant of two weeks in the non-baseball world, again at roughly half the pay. Many have been know to sleep at the stadium to save time, and many, like those on the field rarely see their family and friends. Suffice to say, a baseball front office often becomes very isolated from the rest of the world.

Finally the fans, the one who all of this slave labor is for. The fans, who are subjected to parking fees, food prices equivalent to those found in the major leagues, and an ever shifting pool of players, each one an unknown quantity, as likely to get into a shouting match with a young child as they are to actually sign the proffered baseball card. And to add insult to injury, the most devout, the season ticket holders are annually subjected to a hike in ticket prices, while nothing is offered to justify those price increases save some murmurs about increasing costs and operating expenses.

Baseball is and will always be one of the greatest games in America and indeed in the world. It is has become a staple thoughout the Western Hemisphere and is making inroads in locations from China to South Africa. Despite unprecedented growth and boundless opportunities, all is clearly not well. There is something rotten in the baseball universe, at the American Northeast, the heart and soul of baseball for generations is at the core of this festering sore.

Learn more about this author, Michael Caton.
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