The crack of the bat and the roar of the (dwindling) crowd is now accompanied by the smell of burning hair as Major League Baseball admits attendance dipped from year-ago levels.
A 1.4% fall is hardly seismic but in business, if you aren't growing you're said to be dying. A cursory look at the numbers would seem to say that MLB has yet to reach room temperature but is showing signs of something less than abundant life.
An ESPN article tells of Florida attendance woes, pointing out the fact the turnstiles league-wide are down for a fourth straight year. Sure, numbers don't lie but don't let what's happening in Miami and Tampa tell the big league story. Sure, they draw flies. Fact is, neither city should have a franchise. Tampa Bay's issues are summed up nicely here and many of the same woes apply down Alligator Alley in Miami.
Perhaps the best take on what's happening in the seats comes from a baseball person who seldom if ever sits in one–a Tigers beat-writer who hit a game eyes-wide-open back in April, starting his Easter Sunday at Comerica with one set of notions and leaving amid a new reality. “Instead of bemoaning the shrinking crowds,” columnist Evan Woodbery writes, “perhaps we should marvel that there are still thousands and thousands of people willing to pay a premium price and endure all sorts of inconveniences to come to games.” There are ticket prices (high, even for the lowly-attended, early-season game he went to), distractions that keep folks from paying attention to what's happening on the field (that includes your cellphone), and the vast array of entertainment options competing for our leisure dollars.Â
In the 50's and 60's, MLB games were seen once at week (unless you lived in a big city): Saturday afternoons gave a lot of us our only glimpse at ball. Otherwise, we followed on radio or via newspaper box scores. Local TV rights brought games into homes nightly. HD made it jump off the screen and surround sound makes it feel as if you're there, minus the $10 beer and the bathroom lines. Fans are STILL into baseball, at least in cases where franchises are in legacy towns or when expansion put clubs in game-hungry communities. We just aren't as compelled to watch in person, where a brisk nine inning game can more often than not turn into a four-hour slog we feel compelled to stay for because we paid so much to be there. You can always find something else if you're getting bored at home.
“Maybe one day,” Woodbery says, “we'll view stadiums as expensive television studios and the idea that thousands of people once spent gobs of money to watch a game in person will seem quaint–or even absurd.” Tampa already closed off its upper deck at the Trop, in part to avoid the embarrassment that comes when so many acres of empty seats flash on out-of-town screens (the team will say it's to provide a more intimate experience–yeah, sure).Â
There's no lack of love for the national pastime, certainly not around here where it's now okay to wear your Brewers togs to Sunday Mass without getting a sideways glance, just as it is proper to do so any Packers Sunday. Games are on in every bar–on multiple screens–and the fans you share a stool with are not just conversant but more often than not rabid if not encyclopedic about the team.Â
They just maybe aren't in the seats as often.Â
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