Major League Controversies--Professional Baseball Enters a New Era

From an optimistic point of view, sports can serve many functions, including turning international attentions away from conflict and onto the athletic field, as for example with World Cup soccer. Certainly major athletic events like the Olympics or American NBA basketball can rivet viewers worldwide. That is why battles for broadcast rights to such events have become a subject of international importance.

Live TV broadcasting is largely responsible for the great attention major sports events get. Through the TV screen people around the wide world can share in "the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat." The popularity of these broadcasts has, in turn, led to a dramatic increase in the amounts broadcasters are willing to pay for the rights to show these events. These rights are now an object of intense competition for media companies.

Although Taiwan's first professional sport--baseball--is but six years old, the television broadcast battle is already on. Though income from bidding for TV rights is a bright spot for pro baseball (which has never had a very sound structure), the entry of broadcasting money into the game also raises many variables that could affect the future of the sport.

There was little confidence when the first game of the Chinese Professional Baseball League (CPBL) was played back in 1990. People scoffed, "What happens when there are more players than spectators?" Thankfully, these early worries never materialized. Today, the CPBL has already weathered six seasons, and the seventh will begin on March 19.

In the first six years, there were a total of more than eight million visits to the ballpark. Although there has been a slight dip in attendance the past couple of years, the average game still draws 5,700 fans, and that doesn't include the many people who watch on TV. It would be no exaggeration to say that pro baseball is the most popular spectator event in Taiwan's history.

A financial dugout

After six years of tribulations, professional baseball is today closely linked to commerce. When "Mr. Baseball," Li Chu-ming of the Brother Ele-phants, wields his splendid splinter, the audience has little choice but to take in the I-Mei Foods logo (a shining red crown) emblazoned across his uniform.

Omnipresent advertising has become an integral part of pro ball. Fans with an eye for detail will note the presence of I-Mei Foods, Kodak Film, China Automobile Company, and San Miguel Beer on the uniforms of the Brother Elephants, the most popular team. Their uniforms look like they are sewn out of a collection of corporate logos. Yet Elephant fans don't seem to care.

The people who do care are those who operate the Elephants franchise. Uniform advertisements alone can bring in more than NT$10 million per year. After deductions for production of the ads and public relations, the team keeps 40% of what's left; according to team owners, the players get the remaining 60% in the form of year-end bonuses.

Of course, teams' corporate sponsors are always crying poverty to the media. (Teams in Taiwan are associated with firms, rather than cities.) For example, Kuo Jiun-nan, general manager of the President Lions, says that annual outlays (for players' salaries, equipment, field maintenance, and administrative expenses) total NT$120 million. After operating revenues are deducted, the team takes a loss of NT$70 million per year.

It has always seemed as if the sponsors have been pouring their money into a bottomless pit, without any idea of when they might get it back. As Kuo says, "If a team like the Giants in Japan takes 20 years to recoup their investment, what about us? It may take even longer." Yet, with these words barely aired, the income derived from the recent sale of broadcast rights appears likely to fill in this pit no later than the year after next.

An industry or a sport?

The "baseball industry" refers to the balance sheets of the teams. Sponsors get revenues from sales of tickets and memorabilia (like players' cards or autographed baseballs), advertising on uniforms and billboards at games, and television royalties. With these revenues they must cover team costs, including the field and facilities, players' salaries, equipment, and training.

The bidding for the rights to televise baseball brought the topic of the "baseball industry" out of the sports pages and into news pages and the realm of general discussion. It may not be able to compete with hot topics like the presidential election or sexual harassment, but NT$1.5 billion is not chicken feed. So people are interested in figuring out exactly what is going on.

The story goes back to last August. In public bidding for broadcast rights, a cable TV company, Hohsin Communications, won the rights to broadcast games from the 8th, 9th, and 10th CPBL seasons for the astounding figure of NT$1.5 billion.

In the US and Japan, nations with many decades of professional baseball behind them, TV royalties are the most important source of team revenues. But in Taiwan, with pro baseball just getting on its feet, no one thought it would happen this way.

The three main broadcast stations in Taiwan never thought of baseball as being a popular program, and they showed little interest in the fledgling league. Indeed, at first the CPBL had to pay the stations to show taped games, and it was only after some time had passed that the league felt secure enough to ask for payments for broadcasts. Even then, the charge was a purely symbolic NT$3000 per game, with the hope that the three stations would cooperate and broadcast more hardball.

Cable TV makes its pitch

It was only in seasons three and four that things really began to look up. Attendance grew from about 5,000 to over 6,000 per game. The league expanded from four to six teams. And the number of games played annually ballooned from 180 to nearly 300. Though still operating at a loss, the league could be optimistic about the market. It was at that point that Chiu Fu-sheng, chairman of ERA International, entered the picture. (ERA, a communications company, owns TVIS, the cable all-sports station over which the CPBL is broadcast.)

Chiu put up NT$90 million to do live broadcasts of selected games in seasons 5-7. He also purchased high-magnification cameras and invested in technology and personnel.

When the three broadcast stations were doing the games, the cameras were such that you often couldn't find the ball, so that you could hear the announcer talking about where the ball was going but not see it on the screen. Since the arrival of TVIS and their high-magnification cameras, you can now see every detail, even which players haven't shaved themselves cleanly for the game. Fans can clearly pick out how pitchers throw knuckleballs and curves. "With the help of analysis, multiple angles, explanations, and instant replay, fans can get a deeper understanding of the game," says United Daily News reporter Lin Yi-chun.

As the CPBL has struggled to develop an audience, there is little doubt that TVIS broadcasts have had a positive function in promoting the game. But they also have a down side: Part of the audience chooses to stay home to watch the games on the tube, affecting attendance. Yet it is the broadcasters, like TVIS, who absorb all the spin-off profits from broadcasting, like advertising and cable TV fees.

Playing hardball

That is the main reason why, when the system of selling broadcast rights was changed from negotiation to public auction last August, several companies (including Hohsin, Rebar, and ERA) all jumped into the contest. "They all hoped that a professional baseball channel, without any moral or political entanglements, can be their trump card," says Daniel Tu, secretary-general of the CPBL.

At that time, the teams that made up the league thought that it was unlikely that the amount of money they were getting from ERA (NT$90 million for seasons 5-7) would jump to much more than NT$300-400 million. Little did anyone expect that, aside from Hohsin's winning bid of NT$1.5 billion, the second, third, and fourth place finishers would tender offers of NT$1.2 billion, NT$900 million, and NT$800 million. People were flabbergasted when the bids were opened.

Is pro baseball really that attractive? Is it worth such a large investment by a cable TV company?

"This is truly a unique product of unique times," says Sam Wen, general manager of the China Times Eagles. The bidders did not set their sights on the baseball games themselves as much as on sales to downstream operators (the cable companies who provide services directly to viewers). "Perhaps in the future the company that bought the broadcast rights for baseball will combine its baseball cable channel in a package deal with other cable channels that are more expensive and harder to sell," suggests Sun Hsiu-huei, an associate professor in the Department of Advertising at National Chengchih University.

The clientele that the downstream operators sell to are of course the people who watch cable TV every day. Thus some people suspected that, when the NT$1.5 billion broadcast deal had been done, cable TV charges would increase rapidly.

As for the teams, how will they put the NT$1.5 billion to use? Will they improve fields and facilities? Increase player salaries? Develop "second tier" teams to cultivate new talent? Everyone is waiting expectantly to see what the answer is.

A league of their own

Commerce, like sports, is about competition. Still, it was completely unexpected that one of the losers in the public tender, ERA, would get together with the Sampo Giants (an "amateur" team that has long sought in vain to be allowed to join the CPBL) to organize their own professional baseball grouping. Called "Taiwan Major League Professional Baseball" (the TML), it looks like it will be the second pro circuit.

From an outsider's point of view, the establishment of a competing league looks like a "family feud." Why should it excite so much outside interest, with huge reports in the media? Many people can't figure out what is so important about all this.

But those who understand the background to the establishment of pro ball in Taiwan know that this is no small matter.

The CPBL has its own unique history. Six years ago, Hong Ton-son, president of the Brother Hotel, sought out businesses to sponsor baseball teams. For him, the goal of "giving kids who love to play baseball a chance to do it for a living" was more important than business considerations.

Two of Hong's biggest assets at that time were the large group of athletes who had played outstandingly in international competitions (especially in youth baseball) in the 1970s, and a basic audience of baseball-lovers. Yet baseball insiders then were perfectly aware that in terms of a supply of quality players and playing sites, both essential to the baseball industry, compared to other countries with years of professional baseball experience, like the US, Japan, and Korea, "we're way behind," says Lin Min- cheng, a professor of physical education at Taipei Physical Education College.

For the good of the game?

When pro baseball first "opened for business," the CPBL, which set the rules of the game, made it a point to limit the number of teams. They hoped to keep the number at six, until attendance grew to 80% of capacity, after which other teams would be allowed in. "The goal was to insure that every game would be of a certain quality. Given the shortage of outstanding players, the CPBL wanted to make sure that non-elite players did not enter the league and cause the quality of games to be uneven. That would make fans lose their taste for the game," explains Chen Hung-yen, chairman of the Department of Physical Education at Fujen Catholic University.

But as the league slowly took off, and ticket sales and fan numbers grew (as did social reflections of the game, such as advertising featuring baseball), many businesses began to scheme for a piece of the baseball pie. The limit on the number of teams became a rule that "outsiders" hoped to break, and there arose constant calls for "changing the regulations to open up entry to a seventh team."

Facing the self-satisfied leaders of the CPBL, Sampo was furious about its inability to get into the circuit. Thus it began to talk up the idea of forming the so-called "Pan-Asia" professional baseball circuit with teams from Korea and Japan. Being banned from playing at home, Sampo hoped to play against teams from other nations. Before this situation was clarified, the ERA group--having lost the CPBL bid to Hohsin but who, chairman Chiu Fu-sheng feels, has made great contributions to baseball in seasons 5-7--unexpectedly struck out with its proposal for a new league.

Jilted lovers

Sampo and ERA--"two jilted lovers on the rebound," as one figure from the sports world describes them--began to organize Taiwan's second professional baseball league at the end of last year, which is to say the TML. Joey Chen, executive of the TML Organizing Committee, says that the league has already signed up 50 or 60 players, and is preparing to begin play in 1998 with four teams. The TML has found an area of more than 20 hectares in Wantan, Pingtung County, that it wants to turn into a training field and a baseball theme park.

If the plan comes to fruition, in two years Taiwan's fans, like those in the US and Japan, will have two leagues to watch, with a total in Taiwan of at least ten teams. (And there may be an eleventh as well, since it now appears that the CPBL will allow Hohsin to not only broadcast the games but also to sponsor a new team in the league.)

Can Taiwan really support two leagues with so many teams? Compare Taiwan with Japan, with a much larger population and a more highly developed baseball culture (for example, there are at least 4000 high school teams in Japan, vs. about 50 in Taiwan). Baseball had been played in Japan for 14 years before they reached the current two league format, with a Pacific League and a Central League.

The standoff between the two leagues can be described with a metaphor from the competitive world of commercial theater.

The original pro league can be likened to a drama company which struggles hard to establish its name. Over the years, the patrons' tastes are slowly developed, and the actors hone their skills, as both sides work through how to make the best partners in performance. In these years, the troupe's manager and the drama instructors are also just groping their way through and learning as they go along, trying to figure out how to attract more theater-goers.

Unexpectedly a competing theater of a similar nature suddenly establishes itself, causing the manager, instructors, actors, and even patrons to stare in stupefaction. What is most perplexing to everyone is, with only so many actors to go around, where does the new troupe expect to get its performers? With so few venues, how can both troupes be accommodated as they fight for bookings? The boss worries most about the audience: Are there really that many theater-goers?

A cont(r)act sport

The greatest concerns among baseball insiders are: How can the new league and the old league be prevented from engaging in cut-throat competition? What will happen to Taiwan's baseball environment if practices like hiring players away from the other league become common?

On thing beyond doubt is that the TML is already moving aggressively to sign players. For example, under their high-salary policy, new players freshly graduated from the ranks of amateur baseball are being signed for an average of more than NT$100,000 per month.

The thing that most excites players is the "new contract," a major improvement over the unreasonable contracts given to CPBL players.

The TML argues that the current CPBL agreements are "lifetime contracts" with no expiration date. Unless the employers are foolish enough to violate some specific provision of the contract, players can never become free agents, but must play all their career for that one team. On the other hand, however, if the player is "unable to perform in his job" (injury, loss of skills, and so on) or is caught doing something inappropriate (like gambling), then the team can void the contract.

The standard TML player contract is for five years. After five years, players are free to sign with any other team. Although it is stipulated that in cases where a TML team counteroffer matches that of a competing offer, the TML team may exercise the first right to extend the player's contract, this is still a more appropriate resolution to the problem of players being treated as property.

Moreover, the TML contract includes provisions for player injuries, subsidies to families, player pensions, profit-sharing for rights to publish player photos and other memorabilia, and so on, conditions which are rather superior to the CPBL.

Can the TML pull it off?

The problem is, can the TML really pull all this off? People from the baseball world say that the prerequisite is fans paying admission; only then will the teams have money to operate. If the games are low-grade, and there are no fans and poor attendance, "they won't even be able to pay base salaries, never mind all those benefits," warns Chen Hung-yen. But the stimulus provided by TML is definitely having a positive impact for all pro players. Kuo Jiun-nan of President's front office admits that the "lifetime contract" system is unreasonable, and should be adjusted.

In addition, the new league is attracting a number of players unable to find a spot in the existing league, or who--unhappy with their roles in the CPBL--have received permission to leave their teams. "The two leagues have not yet faced off against each other, so it is hard to say right now who is winning and who is losing," says one sports world figure.

As far as the fans go, with two leagues operating competitively, says Joey Chen, "just look at the question from another point of view--people will have more choice."

However this may be, the intensity of activity being shown by the TML is adding great uncertainties to the baseball environment. For example, one thing many people find dubious about the TML is the way they are recruiting players. They are even going for amateur players under 23 years of age. This may make it difficult for lower level baseball to survive.

Last year Sampo, the founding team of the TML, signed six players from Fujen Catholic University, and also netted five amateur players under 23 away from the China Times Eagles amateur team. (There is a separate China Times Eagles professional team.) These actions created quite a controversy.

According to the agreement reached six years ago between the Ministry of Education and the CPBL, the teams tacitly accepted a restriction against recruiting players under 23 or still in school. It was hoped that these young players could pick up more seasoning playing amateur ball, and also that there would be a reserve of amateur players to represent the ROC in international competitions like the Asian Cup.

Bush league recruiting

From the educational viewpoint, besides the fact that amateur ball takes less time away from academics than the big leagues, there is of course a need to restrict the influence of professional teams from coming on-campus. "Just think, if there were a pro player on campus, how would that affect study? Not only would he himself be hurt academically, he would set a bad example, and interfere with the other students' learning," argues Chen Hung-yen.

In the end, Sampo's recruiting efforts ended with the contracts being withdrawn. Because of the incident, Fujen University created a new rule that "students in the Physical Education department cannot play on professional teams." But Sampo's action has set off waves in another direction: CPBL secretary-general Daniel Tu says that his league's teams are no longer willing to observe the restriction against signing players under 23.

The fact is, even if pro squads don't recruit under-23s, amateur teams are already being hollowed out. Because of the future promised by pro ball, "anybody on an amateur team who shows even a little promise will be signed away immediately," says Lin Chiang, secretary-general of the ROC Amateur Baseball Association. Thus amateur teams, which are funded to the tune of NT$30-40 million a year, develop players for years only to see them lured away. The Taiwan Power Company team has the dubious record of having 45 of its players going to "the bigs." "To put it baldly, the amateur teams are spending money just to develop players for the pro teams," says Lin.

In February the Amateur Baseball Federation invited the powers-that-be in amateur and professional hardball to discuss the future of baseball in Taiwan at a "National Baseball Affairs Conference." Sadly, when the Association tried to give an award to the amateur Cooperative Bank of Taiwan team for its decades of contributions to baseball on the island, the Bank responded, in a very embarrassing moment for everyone, that "we can't accept this, because we are dissolving the team."

Double-play to end the game?

After the NT$1.5 billion deal was done for TV rights, most everyone thought the future of baseball looked bright. But with the formation of the TML, some people fear that Taiwan's baseball environment will go right down the tubes amidst "a mutual race to the death," as Chen Hung-yen puts it.

The two leagues have not yet begun to compete directly, and it is impossible to predict what the outcome will be. But attendance at pro baseball games, which had risen steadily for the first three years, had already begun to slide in the fourth season of the CPBL. And now while everyone is fighting to sign players, there is little willingness to develop future talent, to figure out how to broaden the audience, or to respond to the urgent need to upgrade the fields and facilities. Never mind worries that fans will despise games played by diluted talent--fans are already getting impatient with the bickering and battles over "face."

Professional baseball is facing a full count. Will the game stay alive? Whether baseball can just be baseball again is up to those now in the game.

Winners get cheers, while losers get.... On the baseball field, performance determines everything. （photo by Hsueh Chi-kuang）

On lunar New Year's Eve, the newly formed Taiwan Major League announced its new director and assistant director. （photo by Hsueh Chi-kuang）

The battle for broad casting rights has brought new variables into the pro baseball environment.

At the Pingtung practice site, young fans clutching baseball cards wait for the players to take a break to give out autographs.

There is a definite clientele for baseball paraphernalia, so don't under estimate its attractiveness. （photo by Hsueh Chi-Kuang）

Participation in commercial activities arranged by the teams is a contra ctual responsibility for pro players in Taiwan.

In the fourth year of CPBL play, the league expanded from four to six te ams, and attendance was averaging over 6000 per game. The future looked bright. （photo by Hsueh Chi-kuang）

How's the game going? One look at the manager's face tells all. （photo by Huang Li-li）

Despite having won last year's league title, the President Lions' dare n ot slack off in spring training.

Foreign players bring skill and professionalism to the league, attracting more fans. This is another way in which business enters the game.

Corporations see the commercialization of baseball games as the best hop e for the future. Japan's Seibu Lions team is seen as an exemplar. （photo by Cheng Yuan-ching）

Fans are the driving force pushing forward the baseball industry. （photo by Hsueh Chi-kuang）