This past week, as the New York Mets stealthily snatched up free agent Carlos Correa (physical pending), Red Sox fans could be excused for feeling as though they were living in some alternate universe.
While Mets owner Steve Cohen swooped in and gave Correa a 12-year, $315-million deal hours after his agreement with the San Francisco Giants was nullified by the Giants' concerns with Correa's medicals, the Red Sox were strangely quiet, despite the fact that, for now, the team does not have a plan in place to replace the loss of its own shortstop, Xander Bogaerts.
It wasn't that long ago, after all, that the Red Sox behaved more like the Mets do now, when the team was seemingly -- and legitimately -- "in" on every conceivable free agent on the market, regardless of price. Alex Rodriguez is suddenly available? The Red Sox were willing to deconstruct their own roster and trade away their two best players in order to find a fit. A star pitcher from Japan is there for the highest bidder? The Red Sox would not be deterred from being his most aggressive suitor for Daisuke Matsuzaka.
And now? Now, the Red Sox proceed with the utmost caution, determined to exercise financial prudence, intent on finding inefficiencies in the marketplace, resolute in refusing to join the list of teams willing to offer 11-, 12- and 13-year-long deals for the most prized free agents.
This winter, while a spending spree has swept the sport in the wake of a new CBA and a return to pre-pandemic normalcy, the Sox have acted like a mid-market team -- securing mostly complementary roster pieces with only the occasional foray into nine-figure deals.
It's not hard at all to imagine a decade or so ago, the Red Sox doing what the Mets just did -- seizing an opportunity to grab a star player at something of a discount -- Correa ultimately wound up with one fewer year and $35 million less than what the Giants offered -- and pouncing.
No more.
After Cohen's strike, much was written about how, by showing a willingness to do whatever it takes to put the best product on the field without regard to the cost shamed many of the small-market owners. Teams like Kansas City, Pittsburgh and Tampa Bay continually spent well under $100 million despite receiving tens of millions in revenue sharing, national media rights fees and, this year at least, a $30 million lump sum as the final payout from MLB's sell-off of its digital operation to Disney.
Those handouts alone could total close to $100 million --before a single ticket is sold, before any local sponsorship deal is sealed, before a dollar of local media rights is collected. And yes, the Royals, Pirates and Rays -- among others -- should be shamed for their cries of poverty and their reluctance to invest in a winning product for their fan bases.
But actually, Cohen's uber-aggressive power play reflects most poorly on the Red Sox, who play in a Top 10 media market, enjoy untold profits from their own regional sports network and charge, by some measure, the most expensive tickets in the industry.
For now at least, the Red Sox payroll for 2023 sits under $200 million, and while that number will undoubtedly grow in the coming weeks, it's hard to see how it will get very close to the $232 million which represents the first rung of the CBT threshold. Simply put, there's no free agent remaining to warrant a sizable investment. It could be argued that the remaining free agent most deserving of a big salary is pitcher Nathan Eovaldi, with whom the Sox have spent the last few months engaged in talks that have, to date, led nowhere.
Sure, theoretically, the Red Sox could still pull off a trade that sees them take on a big salary. But none appears to be in the offing.
Meanwhile, Cohen basks in the adulation of a fan base that relishes its newfound ability to compete with not just the cross-town Yankees, but really, any organization in the game.
"We needed one more thing,'' said Cohen to the New York Post in the immediate aftermath of landing Correa, "and this is it....In the end, what's the difference? If you're trying to make a move, make the move.''
It needs to be pointed out that under present ownership, the Red Sox have won four championships and reached the ALCS three other times. Winning -- or at the very least, playing for a pennant seven times in the last 20 years is an enviable track record indeed, one no other team can match this century. To suggest that the Red Sox owners have been unwilling to pay the price over the course of their tenure is simply false. And they not only have the receipts, but the trophies to show for their investment.
Meanwhile, for all his spending, Cohen's Mets haven't yet gotten out of the Division Series. One-hundred-and-one-win regular seasons are fine, but they can't compare to championship parades. So for all his largesse, Cohen still has some winning to do.
It's also important to note, however, that Red Sox ownership has enjoyed a tremendous return on their original investment of $700 million. By most valuations, the Red Sox could now fetch at least $3.5 billion were they to be put up for sale. The NBA's Phoenix Suns, hardly a legacy franchise, were sold for $4 billion this past week; imagine what a flagship franchise like the Red Sox could be worth, especially when they come with their own ballpark and an 80 percent stake in a wildly profitable RSN.
In another eight or nine years, we may look back on the Correa signing -- and Cohen's staggering $816 million spending spree this offseason - as an expensive stunt that failed to produce its desired result: a World Series win.
But it most assuredly will not be judged as a lack of interest.
And for now at least, "disinterest'' seems to best describe Red Sox ownership.
It's perfectly fine that Fenway Sports Group is involved in other pursuits like Liverpool, the Pittsburgh Penguins and Roush Racing. John Henry, Tom Werner and their investors are businessmen first. Nor should they be regarded with suspicion because they're said to be in the market for the Washington Commanders or an NBA expansion franchise. Though Henry and Werner are plenty philanthropic, they're capitalists first. Fine.
At the same time, when it appears that other elements of the FSG investment portfolio have become, shall we say prioritized, it might be time to re-assess.
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When media cite Henry's unwillingness to take questions from reporters and his general invisibility on the scene, some fans tend to regard such criticism as self-involved, an example of media caterwauling.
"Henry doesn't owe you anything!'' is a typical response from his defenders, and that's largely true. While it would be nice to have Henry's public thoughts on any number of topics related to the Red Sox, he's under no obligation to do so.
I will point out that such a stance seems at odds with Henry's belief -- articulated in his own bio in the team's media guide -- that owning the Red Sox comes with some responsibilities, not the least of which is the organization being a "public trust.'' But let's put that aside for the time being.
The real issue may be symbolic, but as this winter has demonstrated, the involvement and public profile of an owner can be essential to a club's success.
* When the New York Yankees were in danger of potentially losing Aaron Judge to the San Francisco Giants, owner Hal Steinbrenner, vacationing in Italy, stepped into the negotiations at the 11th hour and ensured Judge's return.
* When negotiations with free agent infielder Trea Turner appeared to have reached a stalemate, Dave Dombrowski turned to Phillies owner John Middleton, who, after speaking with his president of baseball operations, declared that he wasn't about to lose a coveted player over a measly $15 million, thus greenlighting the $300 million bid that sealed the deal for Turner.
* When Correa became suddenly available, Cohen, on vacation with his family in Hawaii, injected himself directly into the talks with agent Scott Boras, and in a few hours time, got things done.
Wouldn't Henry's involvement in the negotiations for Bogaerts been useful. And yes, I'm aware that Henry met multiple times with Bogaerts in the final weeks of the season -- I reported it originally.
But with a player like Bogaerts, a member of the organization since he was 16, the longest-tenured player on the roster, you're telling me that the involvement of Henry, somewhere along the way, couldn't have moved the needle in retaining Bogaerts? Perhaps Henry would have been unwise to intercede and try to top the 11-year, $280-million proposal from the Padres. Most in the industry regarded the winning bid as a significant overpay.
Still, Henry could have played a role in November, before the bidding entered the stratosphere. Or even in early December, before the Padres, eager for someone/anyone to take their money, emerged and the numbers got silly.
Players ultimately want to feel wanted. A personal appeal from the person signing the checks qualifies. It signals to the player in question that, beyond the stratospheric numbers being thrown around, he matters and that the principal owner recognizes that fact. Being the face of the franchise, as Bogaerts was until recently, should count for something and that should be reflected in a club's pursuit.
There's a fine line when it comes to owners injecting themselves into the day-to-day operations of a franchise. Jerry Jones is perhaps the most obvious example of an owner who, because of his ego, is too involved, right down to personnel matters and roster management. No one wants an owner's hand to be too heavy. The Cowboys have gone almost 30 years between titles, in no small part because Jones is often more meddlesome than helpful.
And at some point, owners have to trust the people they've hired to do their jobs. Locally, that means Chaim Bloom gets to call the shots on trades, waiver claims, Rule 5 picks, coaching staff hires, and a thousand other tasks -- some mundane, some critically important.
But as this winter has proven, when there's a star player's future on the line, when a player is facing a career crossroads decision, it sure helps to have an owner engaged, present and involved.
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The unmistakable trend in the game is mega-length contracts. Turner and Bogaerts got 11 years. Correa and Mookie Betts got a dozen. Julio Rodriguez got 13 and Fernando Tatis Jr. got 14.
The longer deals provide security for the players, while the teams get to spread out the financial burden to ease their CBT liability. It's a trend that isn't going away any time soon.
The Red Sox, meanwhile, haven't given a deal of longer than five years (Trevor Story and Masataka Yoshida) since Bloom took over in October of 2019. Perhaps that will change if the team successfully extends Rafael Devers between now and next November, but for now, that must be considered a distinct longshot, for obvious reasons.
If the Red Sox aren't willing to commit to those sorts of contracts in the near future -- to Devers or any other target -- it's hard to envision them becoming real players for top-end talent. More and more, those sorts of deals will become the standard.
And here's what would worry me most if I were a Red Sox fan: that Bloom either doesn't recognize the value of star players, or worse, doesn't prioritize them.
When Bloom was hired away from the Rays, I asked him about this very issue. Having worked for Tampa Bay for the previous 15 years, a team unwilling or incapable of being in the hunt for top stars, I worried that the same aversion to big deals would travel to Boston with Bloom. Having learned to assemble a roster with an emphasis on efficiency and getting the most bang for your buck, would Bloom demonstrate the same philosophy even with the luxury of a much bigger budget?
It wasn't an unreasonable concern. In Tampa, players routinely came and went, with one eye glued to the bottom line at all times. Every personnel decision became a matter of, first and foremost, economic value. Star power, fan attachment and personal appeal took a back seat to maximizing every penny of the payroll.
Bloom assured me that he understood the difference in the two markets, and that the Red Sox had been one of the game's dominant franchises expressly because of some of its stars -- Pedro Martinez, Manny Ramirez, David Ortiz, Chris Sale and others.
But his tenure and actions have, to date, suggested otherwise. He seems to view the roster as a collection of interchangeable parts, where having three players at $10 million is just as valuable as having one being paid $30 million.
Such thinking, however, doesn't take into account the fan experience. When players are regarded as little more than chess pieces, an important component goes missing. Fans want to identify with a star or two. Ramirez, Martinez, Ortiz, Nomar Garciaparra, Mookie Betts, Bogaerts and Devers all qualify.
Fans buy jerseys and posters. They develop a relationship with these players, if only from a distance. They mean something.
The Red Sox' brand is a powerful one, owing to the team's long history and just as long a list of individuals associated with the organization. For decades, the lack of championships was at least somewhat offset by the identification with franchise icons like Ted Williams and Carl Yastrzemski.
To forfeit that over a refusal to meet the current market demands would seem foolhardy, never mind unnecessary.
With the departure of Betts and Bogaerts, Red Sox fans feel alienated from their team. And if Devers leaves, too, prepare for the bottom to drop out on fan support.
That estrangement could result in far worse than declining attendance and TV ratings, but something far worse -- apathy.