TBO.com Sports

Strike? You May Not Care, But This Umpire Does

By JOE HENDERSON

Published: Apr 20, 2006

Minor-league baseball umpires have been on strike since the season began. If you know this, you should consider getting out more often. Top secret information in Washington is better known than the fact these guys aren't going to work until they get a new deal.

People haven't noticed because the games haven't stopped. And even if they did notice, they probably wouldn't care. The leagues have been getting by with replacements - high school and college guys mostly - while the regular umps make their case for a livable wage by staying off the job.

But these are real people, with real futures and careers in the balance. Brandon's Mike Estabrook is one of the 220 minor-league umps caught up in this thing.

He has been a professional umpire for eight years, and he's not getting rich. He made $13,900 last season, his first full year in Triple-A, so he has to work at a friend's electrical company in the offseason to make enough money for things like food. But Estabrook does it because once this game gets into your blood, at whatever level, it won't let you go.

"When we signed up for this, we knew we weren't going to get rich," he said. "We knew we wouldn't be making a ton of money. We knew we'd be living out of a suitcase. We knew we would have long drives - that's part of it. But this … wow, I don't know."

If we could bottle and market labor stories as an aid to the sleep-impaired, I'd have a fair chance of retiring as a millionaire. It's bad enough when they involve players and cause the cancellation of games, but when the labor dispute involves umpires and no games are being interrupted, well, play ball and pass the peanuts.

Put it this way: There was one of those quickie polls about the impact of the strike on the Association of Minor League Umpires Web site. More than 60 percent of the voters chose "No One Will Even Care."

Mike Estabrook cares.

Pinching Pennies

Estabrook, an earnest and likeable young man, got hooked on umpiring while in school. It was a good way to pick up a few bucks, and he showed a knack for getting the call right. Encouraged to see how far he could go with this, he spent $3,000 in 1999 to enroll in the Harry Wendelstedt umpiring school. Many pro umps get their start there.

Estabrook graduated tops in his class. Only about 20 of the 300 or so students get offered jobs in professional baseball. He was one of those guys.

Being an effective umpire takes more than just calling balls and strikes. The higher the level of play, the more critical it is for the umpire to understand the flow of a game and his place. He must work with his crew to be in position, to get the call right. Careers can hinge on the outcome of decisions an umpire must make in a split-second.

Big-league umps make a nice living, with salaries ranging from $90,000 to $350,000 a year. It takes many years and much skill to get there, however, and the road is filled with one-star hotels, hot-dog wrappers and mosquito-infested ballparks where the crowd numbers in the dozens.

Even in the Triple-A International League, which Estabrook reached last year, it's a Spartan life. Umpires receive $25 a day for food and laundry - try making that last very long during life on the road. They also have to drive between assignments, which can involve a trip of several hundred miles after a night game, arriving in the new city with the rising sun to a breakfast of Egg McMuffins. By the way, during contract negotiations the umps were initially offered an extra dollar each day for their per-diem - enough to get an apple pie with their Big Mac.

"They feel it's an apprenticeship for us, but we look at it as a chance to make the big leagues," Estabrook said.

Since some minor-league clubs are essentially hand-to-mouth operations, you can imagine how hard the nickels get squeezed on matters like this. Management can take the hard line because it has public disinterest on its side. People don't go to minor-league games to see the umpire. Often, they don't even go for the games.

"Part of the deal with our end of the business is that our venues are a little more family-oriented," said Pat O'Conner, a top administrator at the minor-league offices in St. Petersburg. "We sell the sizzle instead of the game. We have parties 70 times a summer and we happen to play a baseball game around that.

"Certainly we hope to get an agreement and get those guys back to work, but to be honest the umpiring in many cases has been as good or better than it was before. I'm not going to kid you and say it has been better in every instance, but generally it has been at least as good."

To which Estabrook replies, "They're scabs."

Wait It Out

When the group on the other side of the table takes that kind of stance, it is unlikely Estabrook will be behind home plate any time soon. It's doubly frustrating because he is so close to making it to the big leagues. He has risen steadily through the minors and this spring got to work some major-league exhibition games.

The dropout rate for umps is high, though. If an umpire doesn't show sufficient skill and potential after three years at Triple-A, he is essentially fired. Baseball doesn't want career minor-league umps.

"This definitely makes you feel uneasy," he said.

But just as definitely, few people care.

Pickets have popped up at a few parks around the country, but little has been written or said about this - and likely won't be. It's not a sexy issue for a lot of people. Estabrook and his friends have no choice but to wait for an agreement so they can get back to work.

He stays busy - his friend with the electrical business let him stay on - but there is an empty feeling when the night comes.

"I just want to work," he said. "We all just want to work."