You would like to believe that, in a state with a notoriously poor reputation for the aptitude of their professional baseball teams, the emergence of not one, but two quality teams would catch the state up in a baseball furor. Bandwagon-ers and fair-weather fans, (is there such a thing in that sunny state?) would swarm the stadiums to experience the forgotten pleasure of a winning team in their very own backyard. Sadly, that is not the case. Now, granted, not all the news out of Florida has been good. But the dual accomplishments of the Marlins and the Devil Rays deserve some attention from someone, right?
Judging by the attendance at what promised to be quite an exciting game, with world-burner Brandon Webb going for his 10th straight win, Florida doesn't agree. At right, you see a go-ahead home run heading into the seats, launched by Cody Ross, he of a strange grimace and a .184 batting average. There are precisely six people in this frame. One is Diamondbacks left fielder Eric Byrnes. Two of them are very, very lonely, (and probably unconscious, given the demographic,) fans sitting contently (dangerously?) still as the ball soars towards them. The other three are overly enthusiastic sprinters determined on beating the rest of the stadium to Ross' 30th home run ball. Not exactly the excitement that the NL East leading team had probably hoped to generate. Indeed, the game's total attendance was an astounding 11,227 persons. All this for a matchup that featured two of the better hitting teams in the league, as well as one of the premier pitchers of our time. In terms of revenue, this is disastrous for the owners. But you can't help but envy those true fans that get to truly enjoy the game in peace, right?
I know Dolphin Stadium isn't the ideal venue to watch a baseball game. I know it was a school night. To be fair, lets consider an interleague matchup on a Saturday afternoon. That should garner some attention, right? Does 16,214 work for you? Now, the Marlins sold out opening day, as nearly every baseball team in the country manages to do. I will give them that. Come day two, against the same New York Metropolitans team, they managed to pack the house with 15,117 loyal fans. Florida Marlins tickets appear to be an inelastic good, with demand staying steady regardless of record or excitement.
The Rays are not doing much better. Strangely, MLB experimented with sending the Rays to Disney's Wide World of Sports in the hopes of... popularizing the team. From April 22-24, the Rays faced off against the Toronto Blue Jays in the Magic Kingdom. Perhaps confused by the change of venue, perhaps annoyed by the blatant commercialism being shoved down their throats, attendance was in the 8,000's.
In 2005, Kevin and I frequented Comerica Park throughout the season. At this point, as many may recall, the Tigers were not known to be a good team. They were only secretly good. We knew the ushers, because it isn't too hard to spot a regular in a crowd of 5,000. This was fun stuff. Most of the other fans were just like us -- skipping work, or judiciously using their vacation days, to watch a bad team play ball because they liked the sport. And then, when the Tigers 'got good' the following year, it was as we feared -- the park was swamped with people who had no idea what they were watching. The signs were familiar. Cheers erupted at inappropriate times, for two reasons. Firstly -- and this happens in any city where people are new to the game -- every ball that left the infield was a home run that just died out before it got to the wall, and the crowd responded as such. As a former outfielder myself, I am always fascinated by the lay-person's inability to judge a fly ball. Secondly -- and I suspect this to be unique to Detroit -- people were actually watching the Pistons game on the TVs hanging from the upper deck. The bandwagoners had come to a Tiger's game, because that's what everyone was doing. And when they got there, they had to watch the Pistons game, because that's what everyone else was doing. It was a creepy orgy of conformity. For Kevin and myself, the value of the experience had certainly declined.
So in a way, Florida's true baseball fans are the lucky ones. Not only do they get to enjoy the thrill of a good team in their midst, but they get to do so without the underwhelming crowds that usually accompany such success. Unfortunately, economics doesn't reward such consumerism. The real fans don't pay any more to enjoy the game than anyone else. In fact, I would posit that they pay less, because they don't get sucked into the costly parking traps or the $28 pizzas. (In Detroit, this is vertical integration at its finest. The owner of the Tigers also owns Little Caesar's, which supplies the only filling food in the stadium. The Ilitchs' also own the Red Wings and are, thusly, a very wealthy couple).
Does the value of the ballpark experience decrease when a team begins to improve? Would you rather experience a game with a few like-minded fellows, or be surrounded by people that are surprisingly unaware of what's happening in front of them?
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