Locked Out and Let Down: A Heartbroken Braves Fan Makes the Case for a Cap
My last post here was August 4th. In my defense, I started a new job in September, and my brain has had 47 tabs open ever since. One of them is playing music. I still can't find which one.
But some things are worth breaking a blogging drought for. My Braves getting bounced by the Dodgers is one of them. Baseball possibly ghosting us next spring is the other.
So grab your emotional support beverage and let's unpack.
I Was There. Twice. Please Clap.
Tuesday night, my husband, my kids, and I were at Truist Park for Game 3. We were completely surrounded by Dodgers fans. In our house. In our seats. Losing that game, then shuffling out to the parking lot next to a sea of Dodger blue high fiving each other, was the cherry on top of a very bitter sundae.
Wednesday night, my husband, my sister, and I went back for Game 4. Make or break. Season on the line.
It broke.
The Dodgers won 4 to 1 and punched their ticket to a third straight NLCS. And the part that keeps me up at night (besides my children)? We had chances. So many chances.
Michael Harris II and Ozzie Albies came to play. Harris scored our only run and ripped two doubles like a man with zero plans to go home in October. Ozzie doubled late and kept the pressure on. Those two kept opening the door.
The rest of the lineup just stood there like this was a Little League game and the score didn't matter. Participation trophies for everyone.
Ronald Acuña Jr., Matt Olson, and Drake Baldwin, the bats we lean on all year, picked the worst possible week to enter their quiet era. From the second inning through the fifth, we didn't record a single hit. Not one. Two errors handed LA a free run like a party favor, and one of them deserves its own documentary. The night before, Mauricio Dubón made one of the hardest catches you'll ever see. On Wednesday, he dropped the easiest catch of the century. The irony is not lost on me. Alanis Morissette could never. And here's the stat living rent free in my head all winter: the Dodgers' go ahead single in the seventh was their first hit with runners in scoring position this entire postseason.
Their. First. One. We lost to a team that couldn't hit with runners on base until we politely let them.
Oh, and Shohei Ohtani? One of the highest paid players in the entire sport? My family and I call him The Robot, because yeah, he's that good. On Wednesday, The Robot was running on low battery. He didn't even show up to play. His big contribution was a walk and a lap around the bases courtesy of our own defense. So the Dodgers sent us home without their best player doing much of anything. Let that marinate.
This was the same Braves team that won five of six against the Dodgers during the regular season. We owned them all summer. October said "new phone, who dis."
The Freddie in the Room
I have to say it. Freddie Freeman is a traitor.
Freddie Freeman is also a class act.
For context: I named my cat Freddie in 2020. After him. My cat is still here, loyal as ever. The other Freddie packed up for Los Angeles. So yeah, the hurt runs that deep.
Both things are true, and I will hold them in tension forever, the way only a Braves fan can. Watching him in Dodger blue at Truist feels like your favorite teacher leaving to work at the fancy private school across town. Better pay. Shinier facilities. A parking lot full of Teslas. You get it. You still take it personally. I'm happy for him. I'm fine. This is fine.
Which brings me to the budget.
The Billion Dollar Problem
The Dodgers owe over a billion dollars in deferred contract money. Deferred. As in "we'll Venmo you in 2040." They just made their 14th straight postseason and are chasing a third straight World Series title. Meanwhile, the last small market team to win it all was the Kansas City Royals. In 2015. Back when we were all still saying "on fleek" with a straight face.
So I'm saying it with my whole chest: I'm Team Salary Cap.
Owners are expected to push for a cap, paired with a salary floor, in the next collective bargaining agreement. The players' union has fought a cap for decades, and honestly? I get it. Caps can shrink guaranteed money and turn players into competitors for slices of the same pie. Nobody wants less pie.
But a cap with a floor does two things I love. It stops one franchise from buying the entire toy store. And it forces cheap owners to actually spend money on their rosters instead of on whatever cheap owners buy. Boats, probably. Fans in Atlanta, Kansas City, and Pittsburgh deserve to walk into October believing, not bracing.
Right now, the Dodgers aren't beating the league. They're outspending it. That's not a dynasty. That's a subscription service.
Mark Your Calendar: December 2nd
The current CBA expires December 1st. A lockout is widely expected to start the very next day, which is a fun little holiday gift for all of us. Betting markets gave about a 5% chance of a new deal landing before the deadline. That's not a negotiation. That's a countdown.
We've been here before. The last lockout lasted 99 days and ended March 10, 2022. Opening Day got pushed back a week, but we still got all 162 games.
This one looks uglier. Opening Day 2027 is scheduled for March 24th. Some insiders think we lose most of spring training and start a few weeks late. Others predict no baseball until June or July. And a few are whispering the thing nobody wants to hear: no 2027 season at all.
The last time a work stoppage wiped out regular season games was 1994. Fun fact: that's the year I was born. Baseball took one look at newborn me and said "you know what? Let's cancel the World Series." Rude. I've spent my entire life getting over it, and I would really prefer not to start the healing journey from scratch.
What I Want From This Winter
Get it done. Fix the competitive balance problem. Protect the players who make this game worth watching. And give my kids a reason to wear their Braves gear in April instead of folding it into a drawer next to my hopes and dreams.
I'll be heartbroken until spring. I'd just like spring to actually show up.
Chop on. ⚾️