Selig Must Investigate 'Quittsburgh' Mess

The other night in Pittsburgh, where the city really is named after William Pitt and not its pits-of-the-world baseball franchise, a phenom named Andrew McCutchen hit three home runs. He joined a trio of titanic names in Pirates history -- Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell and Ralph Kiner -- among those who have achieved the feat. It's the sort of drop-dead brilliance envisioned when they summoned the dreadlocked stud from the minors in June.

"He's got tremendous bat speed and the ability to drive the ball," said his manager, John Russell.

"He's a great athlete," raved Washington manager Jim Riggleman, who was victimized by McCutchen in an 11-6 loss. "You've read about him for a year or two, and now he's here and he's going to be a force to deal with."

"He's a special breed, one of the most special talents I've seen since I've been in the game," said Washington outfielder Nyjer Morgan, McCutchen's former teammate and close friend. "For a kid that young to have bat speed like that and patience at the dish, there's something there that the Pirates will be enjoying for a long time."

"He's ridiculous," Pirates reliever Evan Meek said. "And you know what? He's just going to get better and better."

Yet rather than quiver in anticipation, fans of this ballclub -- assuming any are left -- sit paralyzed in fear. Because when it comes time to reward McCutchen with a contract commensurate to his abilities and numbers, or when it's clear the Pirates still can't win even with his everyday presence, won't management coldly turn around and trade him away? Just as the Pirates did with Morgan, Jason Bay, Nate McLouth, Jack Wilson, Freddy Sanchez, Adam LaRoche, Ian Snell, Xavier Nady, Jose Bautista, Ronny Paulino, John Grabow and, dating back to earlier this decade, the likes of Aramis Ramirez, Jason Schmidt and Brian Giles?If Clemente were alive, he'd want his statue removed from the premises.

They aren't operating a major-league franchise in western Pennsylvania. They're running the Quittsburgh Pirates, a perpetual surrender shop, a feeder system for legit teams, a bush-league train wreck in a waterfront ballpark much too beautiful for such a vicious, endless cycle of consumer fraud. It's hard to believe a city that demands and receives excellence from its other two pro organizations, the Super Bowl champion Steelers and Stanley Cup champion Penguins, has been subjected to what will be a 17th consecutive losing season by the Pirates -- the longest such futility run in MLB history. But that's the sad reality of baseball in a town that won two World Series in the '70s, gave us the "We Are Family" fun bunch and enjoyed success with Jim Leyland and the pre-steroids Barry Bonds before downshifting into quit mode. If Clemente were alive, he'd want his statue removed from the premises.

The general manager of this fiasco is Neal Huntington, who was hired late in the 2007 season from the Cleveland organization -- which, by the way, has traded away back-to-back reigning Cy Young Award winners in successive summers (Cliff Lee and C.C. Sabathia) and is the American League's version of Quittsburgh. His plan is to rebuild a bad farm system, but in the process, he has traded off a group of respectable, and, in some cases, quality major-leaguers. Bay, McLouth and Morgan would comprise one of the best outfields in the game if still together. Wilson and Sanchez were huge fan favorites and best friends who worked well as a double-play combination. Snell was a 14-game winner at one point. Yes, Pittsburgh is a smaller-market club. But so, for instance, is Minnesota, which at least milks its best homegrown players and remains highly competitive until they leave for monster money (Johan Santana, Torii Hunter). Huntington is dumping his best players prematurely, without any thought of offering long-term contracts. Hence, the fear that today's young stud -- McCutchen -- becomes tomorrow's McLouth.

"We don't feel like we've broken up the '27 Yankees," Huntington said. "It's not like we've taken something on the rise and tore it down."

But how would he know if he doesn't give it all a chance, if he refuses to augment talent with more talent, if he dumps all but four of the 25 players he inherited in 2007? Owner Robert Nutting was supposed to be an upgrade from the Kevin McClatchy era, but despite being helped by revenue-sharing from major-market ballclubs, he sits atop a franchise that has cut $21 million in payroll from an absurdly low $50.8 million since opening day. Nutting runs a newspaper chain, not a good business position in 2009. Nutting also runs a ski resort in Pennsylvania, not exactly Vail or Park City. If the guy can't run a major-league franchise without an annual fire sale, he should sell the team to someone who wants to win the right way.

And who is the man to deliver that news? Our Mr. Magoo commissioner, of course. Bud Selig is slow to the switch on everything, from the steroids crisis to the slow demise of a sport that isn't turning on younger fans. But he owes it to the people of Pittsburgh -- and the competitive integrity of his sport -- to investigate the Pirates and force the sale of the club if necessary. There is precedent, not that Bud ever follows it. In 1976, Charlie O. Finley, crackpot owner of the Oakland Athletics, tried dumping three of his stars -- Rollie Fingers and Joe Rudi to the Red Sox, Vida Blue to the Yankees -- in one swoop. This came after he let Catfish Hunter flee in free agency, which effectively proclaimed the end of a dynasty that included three straight World Series titles. So commissioner Bowie Kuhn responded by utilizing the "best interests of the game" clause and voiding the deals. And the courts backed him when Finley attempted a restraint-of-trade lawsuit.

No, these Pirates aren't exactly those A's. But integrity is integrity. Know how the fire sale impacts the National League pennant race? The Pirates still have nine games left against the Chicago Cubs, seven against the Los Angeles Dodgers and six against the St. Louis Cardinals. If they were a respectable team, they could be a factor as a spoiler. No chance of that now. It's no wonder the Pirates have the third-lowest attendance in the majors, despite playing in a wonderful, top-three ballpark. And it's no wonder some players couldn't help but spouting off against management before leaving.

"There ain't a guy in here who ain't pissed off about it," LaRoche said after McLouth was traded to Atlanta. "They might be trying to hide it or whatever, but hey, you get a guy's loved by everybody, not just in this clubhouse but in the community, who does everything you could want a guy to do, a perfect guy to be a leader. It's kind of like being with your platoon in a battle, and guys keep dropping around you. You keep hanging on, hanging on, and you've got to figure: How much longer till you sink?"

"I'm beyond tired of such moves," said Wilson, who later apologized for the comments before being traded to Seattle. "It's tough for the guys who have been here and seen these trades happen and absolutely do nothing. I've seen these trades two or three times a year and we still haven't had a winning season."

It's no longer his problem, but the sickness remains. When Wilson shed tears the day he was traded, Pirates fans surely wanted to join him. There is no present. There is no future. So why have a team in Pittsburgh if there is no hope?

"We know these moves are going to be incredibly unpopular," Huntington said after the Wilson and Sanchez deals. "But this is how we're going to rebuild this franchise. We're trying to create a winner. We have no interest in getting to .500 once and then losing for five years."

"People might wonder what we're doing, but if you keep looking at all the names we're getting and all the premier talent we're getting, it's going to equate to a very solid, very good ballclub in Pittsburgh," Russell said. "We have big names all over the diamond. That's where we're headed."

Until everyone wakes up some summer day and sees one of those names, Andrew McCutchen, traded for two or three prospects. That will be the day when baseball in Pittsburgh dies, assuming it hasn't already.