The death of Mark Fydrich brings to mind simpler times in the world of professional sports.
When Fydrich embarked on his very brief major-league career in 1976 and was stunningly successful, he caught the tradition-rich sport somewhat off guard. He had a quirky nickname (“the Bird”) and peculiar habits on the field, which have been well-documented (talking to the ball, spending time on his hands and knees re-working the mound, running to congratulate teammates on the field of play…). And while he put off some people, he radiated a boyish enthusiasm which made him popular well beyond his injury-shortened big-league career. He evidently led a simple, hard-working life as an adult. Media reports tell of neighbours who recall him as just another guy, a truly nice man who never played the “I was a somebody” card.
Why was he so popular, then and now? Well, we need only look at the way sports–and athletes–have evolved over the past 30 years to understand some of the reasons why.
Athletes now, while still playing for ‘the love of the game’, are unbelievably well-compensated. Injuries are attentively treated, rehabilitation is precise to ensure an athlete does not return before they are one-hundred per cent fit. (This is not to say that athletes today don’t play with injuries–football and hockey players prove that point regularly.) But it is to say that modern medicine and methods of training and education are simply superior, thankfully, to what was in place 30 years ago.
That said, we also often see athletes as corporations unto themselves. They are media-wary, image-conscious (see Alex Rodriguez), and often surly when the media probes too much. Not that this never occurred in generations past, but it seems ever-more the case these days. Athletes now are in tremendous physical condition (baseball being the exception, in some cases). They come to training camp in shape, not to get in shape.
Things are just very different. Sports is very much, as is often said, a business.
When Fydrich came on the scene, he was the classic wide-eyed rookie. Happily, despite his brief career (he could never duplicate his 1976 season after he hurt his arm in 1977), by all accounts he was a contended individual who was a good guy to the end. He was seen as engaging and joy-filled in his 50’s, much as he was in his 20’s as a ‘star’.
How much would Fydrich be ‘worth’ these days, in crass economic terms? Hard to say, but talent-wise it would likely start at 15 million a year. In terms of what he would mean to baseball in terms of goodwill off the field (no need for performance enhancers, an engaging, extroverted and genuinely friendly personality) the sky would be the limit.
This doesn’t even touch what he would earn as a corporate spokesperson.
In the 70’s, baseball was in a bit of a slide, as I recall. Because of the courage of Curt Flood, and after him the impact of union boss Marvin Miller and the court cases leading to player free agency, the game was changing. The game was popular, but football–both college and professional–was clearly surpassing baseball in terms of overall popularity.
Fans were still coming out to the ballparks, but buying tickets to a game was not hard. In Detroit, if I remember correctly, the Tigers might draw 10,000 or so to a game, depending on the opposition. That season that Fydrich joined them and created a storm, 50,000 would show up to watch him in action. Every time. Non-baseball fans went. He was that much of an attraction, a curiosity, a star, a draw. He must have made the Tigers a ton on the “bottom line” that season, as he was likely drawing a rookie salary of ridiculously small proportions compared with the modern day.
I didn’t know Fydrich and never had the opportunity to interview him in the years I was involved in sports broadcasting. Looking back, I wish I had. Un-rehearsed and natural, likeable and delightful in good times and bad, he was unlike most of what had followed.
Today, we tend to knock that naturalness out of our young athletes. Make them corporate, dull, rehearsed. It is easy to understand, as the media have a long history of falling very quickly in–and out of–love with young “stars”.
Fydrich leaves a mark, as good people do. Not, perhaps, because he was a baseball ‘star’, but because he never played that part.
