I’ve been a fan of the Washington Nationals since they began in 2005. The Nats built themselves up to be a World Series winner in 2019, but afterwards suffered a precipitous collapse and for the last three years have been on a long-term rebuilding campaign. They are probably two years away from being competitive, if things go right.
There are several Nats fan discussion groups I look at fairly regularly. Every year the Nats take a chance on an inexpensive reclamation project, hoping he can be useful trade bait at mid-season. The most intense disagreements in these discussions tend to be about whether to hang on to this guy, if he’s having a good year, or instead trade him while his value is high in return for younger prospects.
This year’s example is Jesse Winker, a once-promising 30 year old outfielder who went through some down years and the Nats got on a cheap one-year contract. No big loss if he didn’t deliver, but big upside if he regained his old form. Which he surprisingly did. Winker is not a star but became a solid performer in the first half of the season—11HR, 45 RBI, a .254 average, and amazingly 14 steals (Winker had never stolen more than 1 base in any previous season).
On July 27 Winker was traded away to the hated Mets for a young pitcher. Cue the bitter comments. We found a diamond in the rough, why not keep him? He’s good for the youngsters. We don’t have anyone better coming along for at least a few years.
On the other hand: this year is likely a fluke, he won’t repeat it. We have other outfielders in the minors and he would just be blocking them. He would cost a lot more after this year. We are looking 2-3 years ahead, not this year or next year. Anyone who argues for keeping him doesn’t understand the genius of Mike Rizzo.
At issue in a way is, what is the purpose of baseball? How do we judge whether a team, or an organization, is a success?
One straightforward way is to say, baseball is a competitive sport and the purpose of sports is to win. A good professional baseball organization tries to win games and titles and the World Series. This is the only real metric. Individual players, field managers and coaches, and front office personnel need to focus on winning.
OK, but even this seemingly clear definition is ambiguous. Unless you are the Yankees or Dodgers, no team has the resources to try and win every year. Teams go through ups and downs. Suppose you have a realistic plan, given the available money, to allow your team to have a serious chance of winning only every 10 years. At best you might get all the stars to align for one or two World Series appearances and a few more winning seasons, before your talented rookies reach free agency and your expensive free agents get old and fade away. So there will be many seasons with no chance to compete for a title, where in fact you might be better off not winning if it means a higher draft pick.
Why should people come and watch during those lean years? Why should fans care? The organization had better figure this out, or it won’t have anyone buying tickets or watching on television for much of its existence.
Sure, a small number of aficionados delight in the rebuilding process. They love watching the strategic decisions, the gambles on young rookies, the progress in the low minors, the unexpected breakouts by overlooked prospects, the pieces hopefully being assembled bit by bit. The Nationals fans populating chatrooms over the last three years are good examples. I like that stuff myself.
But most fans aren’t like that. What do they want? Of course they want to see their team win and be in the thick of a pennant race. But they also want some players to watch and identify with, year after year. They want colorful characters. They want stories of success and heartache. They want to see traditions established and maintained.
When I was young there were two teams, one in the American and one in the National League, that never won: the Red Sox and the Cubs. Everyone knew they were hapless and always would be. Nevertheless these were two of the most successful and well-known franchises in all of sport. Successful at filling seats and successful at creating fervent and die-hard supporters. They made themselves part of the daily lives and identities of neighborhoods and cities and whole regions. Without winning.
In today’s data-driven game, it is easy to imagine a tough-minded front office saying, yeah, that Ted Williams/Ernie Banks is a great player, but we’ve run the numbers and we’d be better off trading him for some youngsters and good draft picks. (Williams might have ended up in pinstripes, mentoring Micky Mantle—perish the thought). Maybe that would be right, if winning is the only thing. But if your goal is to entertain, to build a long-lasting relationship with your fans and your community, keeping them was a wise choice.
OK, Jesse Winker is no Ted Williams. But former National Juan Soto, maybe he was. After being a key part of their championship team, the Nats traded him in 2022 for a haul of young players after making him a big but not overwhelming offer. Today only one player from the 2019 World Series team is still with the Nationals.
Coaches, managers, general managers—their job is to win games. But baseball presidents and owners have a slightly different job. They are in the entertainment business. They are in the business of sustaining an institution for the long haul. They need to keep fans enthusiastic and engaged during the bad years as well as the good ones.
And players—what is their job? Do they want only to win, to be on winning teams? Or to make the most money? Or are they also, at least some of them, looking to be the next Ernie Banks or Carl Yastrzemski, beloved heroes, the face of the team; guys who everyone in town recognizes and talks about and admires, who thrill youngsters and then stick around long enough to thrill their kids?
Not too many examples of the best players choosing that route. Free agency and high-priced agents and the ungodly amounts of money top players can get, make this unlikely.
But there is a second tier of players who can still play this role, I think. For the Nationals, it was Ryan Zimmerman, a very good 3rd baseman who suffered injuries that kept him from being a great player (and probably kept him from being bought up by richer teams). Ryan played his whole career with the Nats, coming on board shortly after they came to DC in 2005 (he finished a close second in the Rookie of the Year voting in 2006) and playing long enough to help win the World Series in 2019. He was a quiet gamer, uncomplaining, who performed at a high level when the Nats were a terrible team, and in his latter years worked hard to contribute and often came through in the clutch. He became beloved in a way I think no other National ever has.
Ryan had some down years when it wasn’t clear he could retain a starting job. He had a shoulder injury that made it impossible to throw from third to first. But letting him go would, I think, have been unthinkable. It would have alienated the fans and been seen as cruel and unfeeling. The Nats kept him on the team while he moved to 1B, and were rewarded in 2017 when he had perhaps the best offensive season of his career and made the All-Star team. By 2019 he was reduced to being an occasional starter and pinch-hitter, but in the World Series he had several huge hits. Nothing made me happier than seeing Ryan on the bus being cheered during the 2019 victory parade.
So what should a savvy club do? Does it gear everything for those infrequent magical moments when everything clicks into place? Or does it need to (also) maintain a certain level of performance and star power, even if it’s not likely to win it all—but without breaking the bank for one big name. Everyone would love to have the the next Mike Trout. But Trouts are very expensive and might not be enough—the Angels haven’t won even with Trout. Maybe the right question, for the Nats, for every team, should be: who is the next Ryan Zimmerman?
Meanwhile, I will be watching how Winker does with the Mets.