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Currently 85 players,** including Boston Red Sox Outfielder Fred Lynn, last year's American League Rookie of the Year and Most Valuable Player, and a host of other stars, are taking advantage of this situation. They stand to become free agents this October, unless they change their minds and settle with their current clubs. The Players' Association, baseball's equivalent of a trade union, is willing to accept a modified reserve clause in the future. Spring training, however, began 18 days late this year essentially because the association and the owners could not agree on what form the new clause would take. Kuhn eventually ordered the owners to open up their camps, but there is still no agreement. Whatever new contract is worked out, players hereafter will be able to attain independence after a given number of years in the game. In a rare burst of candor, Kuhn says of the old reserve clause: "Modifications were overdue."
The consequence of this wrangling is turmoil in the higher salary brackets. Early this month, outspoken Outfielder Reggie Jackson (TIME cover, June 3, 1974) was traded to the Baltimore Orioles by the penny-pinching owner of the Oakland A's, Charlie Finley, who argues that "too many stupid owners are willing to pay astronomical salaries." To the Orioles' dismay, Jackson, who averaged 31 homers and 91 runs batted in during his eight years with the A's, has so far refused to report to his new ball club. He says he will not come until they compensate him for having to leave his Western business interests and until they begin to show more respect for his sensibilities.
When Tom Seaver's contract talks began, the New York Mets first insulted the man known as their "franchise" by threatening to trade him. That is no way to comfort a three-time winner of the Cy Young Award, which goes to the best pitcher in each league. Then they signed Seaver to a three-year contract worth an estimated $690,000, but which includes incentive clauses of dubious legality.
Nor is the confusion just among players and owners. Leagues are fighting too. Both the National and American are claiming the right to a Toronto franchise in 1977, while teamless Washington, D.C., is being scorned by day and embraced by night. In sum, baseball is way up in the air, and all parties are circling under it hollering "I got it, I got it," perhaps with misplaced confidence.
Underlying much that is happening is a new sense of competition. Owners have always spoken highly of competition, but what they had in mind was team-against-team on the field. They never bestirred themselves greatly to compete with other amusements for the entertainment dollar, and they did not have to compete very strenuously with the players for the baseball dollar. When Pittsburgh Outfielder Willie Stargell bats against Seaver, "it's like two big rocks grinding together," says Stargell.
In the past when a player faced an owner across the bargaining table, the owner was in a position to be a rock and the player could either sign his contract or go dig rocks. "Joe DiMaggio would never have played out his option," say traditionalists. But they are wrong.