Major League Baseball Might Not Need A Commissioner

Rob ManfredPhoto byGovernor Tom Wolf

By Bill Pruden

The February announcement by Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred that he would be stepping down at the end of his contract in January 2029 has given the baseball world ample time to contemplate his successor. While his 2029 departure may not be soon enough for his critics, it has already sparked a lot of talk and speculation, including on these pages, about his record and what life after Manfred may look like. It also offers an opportunity to ruminate on the very nature of the job itself, and in turn to consider who might best follow in the footsteps of those who have occupied the office since its creation just over a century ago.

The fun, of course, comes from speculating on possible successors. Certainly, Theo Epstein will be on many a prospect list. Yet would serving as Commissioner enhance the reputation of the man who has already broken two curses and shaved over half an hour off the length of the average MLB game with last year’s rule changes?

Maybe Kim Ng could break another glass ceiling, but given the difficulties she had getting a single owner to finally hire her as general manager, only to have him make clear after three seasons how he really felt, it is hard to imagine that she could get the necessary three quarters of the game’s ownership to agree to such an appointment.

Or perhaps Bob Costas, whose love of the game is unrivaled and who has long been a singularly articulate voice on the sports scene, giving him a presence and credibility that would allow him to lead the game as it seeks to reclaim its primacy in the increasingly complex and crowded global sports world. Of course, such renown might threaten the owners. The possibilities are many and varied.

But before we look to the future, it might be wise to look back and take a quick look at some of those who have previously held the post. If we turn back the clock and consider the men – to date, only men – who have held the post, we discover an interesting collection of individuals who have left a varied and wide-ranging set of accomplishments and memories.

The job was created in the aftermath of the infamous Black Sox scandal as baseball sought to redeem itself in the eyes of the American people while also seeking to ensure that such a thing would never happen again. To do that, the owners turned to federal judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, whose first major decision, handing down a lifetime ban on the accused White Sox players days after a jury found them not guilty, pleased the owners, although the lack of any hearing or pretense of due process reminded some of the more legally attuned observers of the judge’s high rate of reversal in the courts. But that was of no concern to the owners, who were happy with the way Landis’ leadership sparked the game’s revival. Of course, the emergence of Babe Ruth as the New York Yankees’ superstar didn’t hurt.

For the next 25 years, Landis presided over the game as it flourished, keeping profits up and controversies down. Landis even got the presidential seal of approval when Franklin Roosevelt urged the judge to keep baseball going during World War II, arguing it was good for the nation’s morale in those difficult times.

That being said, the judge’s heavy-handed performance begs the question: what does the top job really entail? What skills must a person possess to succeed as Commissioner, and how does one define success?

Some might argue that an ability to ignore reality, especially if it runs counter to the interests of the owners, can be a valuable skill. From Landis’ refusal to consider abolishing the color line and allowing the integration of Major League Baseball, to Bowie Kuhn’s coatless refusal to acknowledge the wintery weather conditions in late October World Series night games, to Peter Ueberroth turning a blind eye to the owners’ collusion that was a central part of his tenure, or Hall of Famer Bud Selig’s equally woeful lack of a timely, substantive response to the steroid epidemic that fueled the fan-friendly, but ethically stained home run binge of the late 20th century, a central rule of MLB leadership seems to be, “Don’t anger the owners.”

Fay Vincent certainly came to understand that when, despite smoothly and effectively stepping into the void left by the sudden death of Bart Giamatti and then navigating the calamitous earthquake in the midst of the 1989 World Series earthquake, he was still shown the door in 1992. While he officially resigned, an act he said was “in the best interests of baseball,” it was clear he had alienated the owners on a range of issues.

In the end, it was less any single matter than his attitude and approach for heresy, though it may have been, Vincent actually believed, in the words of one writer, “that the game is bigger than one person and he [was] not afraid to take a controversial stance and stick with it" even if it was against public opinion. The writer added, in perhaps the most telling observation, that the one-time Chairman of Columbia Pictures and Vice President of Coca-Cola “didn't see himself as a lackey whose job it was to massage the owner’s egos and do their bidding." Given that view and the fact that he was succeeded by owner Bud Selig, who for over five years was the “Acting Commissioner” while chairing the Major League Baseball Executive Committee, is it any wonder that Vincent titled the memoir of his years in baseball The Last Commissioner?

Of course, Vincent might have learned from Happy Chandler, who suffered a similar fate in the early 1950s. After overseeing the integration of MLB – a mixed blessing in the eyes of the owners – and fending off attacks on the reserve clause and raids from the upstart Mexican League, he used the money he got from selling the radio broadcast rights to the World Series to establish a pension fund for the players. Still, he was unable to garner the support necessary to achieve a contract extension.

In typical fashion, when the end came, there was no formal explanation for the failure to renew Chandler’s contract, but it did not surprise observers. Indeed, the clear restraints on the Commissioner’s authority may have been why FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, a long-time baseball fan, reportedly turned down an offer to succeed Chandler.

Instead, Chandler was succeeded by Ford Frick, a one-time PR flack who eagerly supported the owners’ lucrative expansion efforts and only stuck his neck out when his old friend Babe Ruth’s single-season home run record was threatened. While Frick technically never said there would be an asterisk next to Roger Maris’ record, the debate put the word into circulation in a way that delighted vocabulary aficionados, while effectively diminishing Maris’s accomplishment.

So, what does all this, not to mention the rest of the office’s history, tell us? Not a whole lot. But it would not be a reach to conclude that in the end, for all practical purposes, it is the owners’ game and always has been. From the long-time reserve clause that left the players at best, in Curt Flood’s words, “well-paid slaves,” to rules that allow owners to ignore the public trust that their teams represent, while keeping the profits for themselves rather than using them to reward the fans from the communities whose name is emblazoned on their uniforms, power has always rested in the hands of the owners.

Indeed, title and history aside, the real question may be, does MLB even need a Commissioner?

Bill Pruden is a high school history and government teacher who has been a baseball fan for over six decades. He has been writing about baseball — primarily through SABR sponsored platforms, but also in some historical works — for about a decade. His email address is: courtwatchernc@aol.com.