Outside Oberlin

Things to Do in Denver When Your Career is Dying

There is something to be said for longevity.

Once upon a time, professional sports franchises throughout the land enjoyed an era of stability. Robin Yount terrorized the base paths in Milwaukee, Tim Raines ruled the diamond in Montreal and the National Hockey League still had teams in Winnipeg and Quebec. Indeed, the sports landscape was a kinder, gentler place where fans felt secure. They felt comfortable rooting not just for the uniforms, but also for the players who wore them. And why not? Back then, it was common for star athletes to spend their entire careers with the same team, and loyalty could not be so easily purchased with big signing bonuses and lucrative free agent contracts. And the mark of a great player was not measured by the size of his wallet or the number of rings on his fingers; it was his desire, his talent and his ability to withstand the test of time.

Perhaps that stability was an illusion, and it is conceivable that revisionist historians like myself are all too eager to embrace the past when faced with the bitter realities of the present. But those glory days seemed real enough.

How things have changed. These days, it is all too rare for any athlete to spend his career with the same franchise, much less the superstars who serve as ambassadors for their organizations and come first in the hearts of fans. Instead, players drift aimlessly from team to team, driven by their agents, their unions and their own desire for fame and instant fortune. Every brash young rookie wants a fatter paycheck than the next, and some even extend their empires beyond the realm of sports by landing undeserved contracts with record companies and Hollywood film studios. Meanwhile, the rich veterans just keep getting richer, all the while fighting each other for a chance to win that all-important championship ring. It's no longer acceptable for a star athlete to distinguish himself with his conduct and his ability to compete in every game. During an age defined by the win-now mentality promoted by the media, players must validate themselves and their professional careers with rings, trophies and other trivial prizes. It's a superficial way to judge the worth of an individual, and it neglects the fact that even the greatest of champions - Michael Jordan, for instance - had to rely on the strengths of his teammates. But that's the way it is in the new era of professional sports, an era of disloyalty, greed and instant gratification.

It would be easy to blame the current direction of professional sports on free-agent mercenaries (David Cone, Deion Sanders), bloodthirsty agents (Scott Boras, Drew Rosenhaus) and the general managers who encourage them by handing out bloated contracts and driving cash-strapped teams out of the market for top talent. But as easy as it would be to point the finger at the current crop of pampered athletes and irresponsible executives, it would also be unfair. Parasites like Cone, Boras and New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner did not create the system; they merely manipulate it to suit their own avaricious needs. No, the seeds of destruction that have transformed pro sporting events into lifeless business meetings were planted years ago. In baseball, they were planted in 1973, when the advent of free agency effectively guaranteed that big-market teams in places like New York and Los Angeles would always remain competitive, while teams in smaller markets would helplessly fall by the wayside. (Incidentally, the most successful teams since that fateful year have been the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox.) In basketball, the path to ruin was paved by the infamous "Larry Bird exception," a clause that allowed teams to exceed their salary caps to re-sign their own free agents. Both policies ultimately resulted in work stoppages, and though the NBA has already begun to pick up the pieces, Major League Baseball is once again heading for an inevitable disaster when their current labor agreement expires.

Hockey is a different beast. During the last decade, the folks in charge of the NHL have done everything within their power to increase the financial viability of their sport, and their efforts have produced a lucrative television contract with FOX, steadily increasing ratings and more revenue. But those efforts have also produced higher ticket prices, escalating salaries and a rapidly-expanding league in which talent is running thin. Sadly, it seems that hockey is quickly being ushered into the new era.

Raymond Bourque, who might be one of the greatest defensemen ever to lace up a pair of skates, is a product of the golden era. In 21 years with the Boston Bruins, he was a model employee, keeping his mouth shut when times were tough and performing with unrivalled intensity and precision every night. During that time, he scored 395 goals and notched 1,111 assists, winning the hearts of the Boston faithful. It seemed certain that he would finish his storied career in a Bruins uniform, despite the fact that his team was never quite good enough to win the Stanley Cup. They came close in 1988 and 1990, but the Bruins never spent enough money to surround the star defenseman with top-rated talent and media analysts annually wondered whether Bourque would ever capture the ring he deserved so much. Even so, Bourque never took cheap shots at his employers, nor did he ever vent his frustration in the back pages of the Boston tabloids.

So during the final week of February, when Bourque requested a trade that would send him to a legitimate contender for the Cup, it was a shock. This was not some brazen rookie in search of money, nor was this a cynical mercenary in pursuit of another profitable playoff run. This was Ray Bourque, a Boston hero who had a chance to spend his entire career in the same uniform, just like Ted Williams and Larry Bird before him. But on March 6, Bourque's wish was granted, and he was sent to the Colorado Avalanche in exchange for Brian Rolston and a few prospects.

It's too bad that Bourque was so disillusioned with the Bruins after two decades of faithful service, and his decision to request a trade reflects poorly on the team, its management and its absentee owner, Jeremy Jacobs. But one has to wonder what motivated that decision. Was Bourque so determined because he believed that the only way to validate his career was to win the Cup with a bunch of strangers in Denver? Did he fall prey to the media hype that has trivialized the accomplishments of the individual in this new era of sports? If so, it's a tragedy. But it's also a very fitting sign of the times.