March 30, 2026
It is hardly a secret that I am no fan of the billionaires who own Philadelphia’s pro sports franchises. The truth is, I can barely stomach really rich people in any profession because they inevitably lose touch with reality.
Surrounded by sycophants, these elitists tend to believe they have superpowers, even when all evidence suggests otherwise. Our city has had three championship parades in the past 43 years. In other words, our owners are winning more battles in their stock portfolios than on the scoreboard.
That’s why I describe our elusive billionaires like this:
Eagles owner Jeff Lurie is a decent man and a successful owner, but also a pompous blowhard who is available to fans only when the situation most benefits him.
Sixers owner Joshua Harris is a hedge-fund carpetbagger who has won zero championships with three different franchises (also the Devils and Commanders) and has no regard whatever for the fans.
Flyers owner Comcast Spectacor has personified the corporatization of professional sports, with no connection to its shrinking fan base. The most common answer to who owns the Flyers is . . . . who?
Usually, I end the onslaught when I get to Phillies owner John Middleton because he has been accessible to fans, free with his money and committed to winning. No owner has been more sensitive to the people who love his team than John.
Until now.
What Middleton quietly engineered before Citizens Bank Park opened for the new season last week was so misguided, so devoid of a basic appreciation of the fans, that it’s still hard for to fathom how he made such a cruel decision.
In case you missed it, the Phillies quietly sold the naming rights to Harry the Ks, a dining area in the left field stands honoring legendary broadcaster Harry Kalas, to Ghost Energy. The deal ended the 21-year history of a popular meeting spot that also served as a constant reminder of how much Kalas meant to the fans.
Middleton must know this, but I will offer him a reminder anyway. The most important name in the Phillies universe will never be Mike Schmidt or Steve Carlton or Jimmy Rollins or any of the stars who have graced the red pinstripes over the years.
The most popular person in the Phillies family – in all of Philadelphia sports, really – is Harry Kalas. It’s not even close. Who else would remain such an important presence, with his infectious version of High Hopes still playing on the big screen after every win?
Harry was more than the voice of the team; he embodied the spirit of the city. I saw this every time I appeared in public with him. He was gracious to fans, generous to fellow media people and charismatic enough to warm the temperature in every room he entered.
To this day, 17 years after his passing, fans still love to parrot his “It’s outta here!” when a Phillie hits a home run. His partnership with Richie Ashburn will always be the standard for broadcast chemistry that every other booth will aspire to match.
We did lots of polls in my last decade at WIP, trying to measure the ebbs and flows of popularity among sports figures. Kalas finished first every time, regardless of the opposition. His name has transcended time.
In the most discriminating sports city in America, Harry Kalas is the one sports figure who has drawn blanket approval. Philadelphia loved, loves and will always love him.
Middleton obviously forgot all of this when he took the money from Ghost Energy. Then he opened his mouth and made it worse. He said honoring Kalas with High Hopes and the statue outside Citizens Bank Park would be enough to keep the broadcaster’s memory alive.
“I mean, it’s not like we’re not honoring his legacy,” the billionaire said. “It’s not like we’re not going to honor his legacy in the future.”
Curiously, Middleton said he has no plans to sell the rights to Ashburn Alley. For now, maybe. But how long before the owner gets an offer he can’t refuse? We already know what he cares more about. Phillies heroes be damned. God bless the almighty dollar.
Kalas’ widow, Eileen, was justifiably upset when she heard the news about Harry the Ks, and not because she will stop receiving the $20,000 a year honorarium for the naming rights after this season. No, she was livid for the right reason – because Middleton placed a paycheck above the memory of her husband.
“Taking away that sign takes away everything he did for the city,” she told the Inquirer. “I think they betrayed Harry. It’s not about me. It’s about what they’re doing to Harry. I think they betrayed him for everything he did for them.”
Amen to that. Harry died in the press box in Washington at the start of the 2009 season, but he has lived on it the hearts and minds of every fan who swooned at his melodious voice or crossed his jaunty path. Taking away anything that reminds us of him is more than greedy; it is an affront to the DNA of our loyal city.
Shame on John Middleton. If he doesn’t revoke this heartless decision and reinstate Harry Kalas’ name in left field immediately, I will have no choice but to revise my description of him.
Phillies owner John Middleton is a billionaire owner who once had a bond with the fans, but then sold his reputation for a few more bucks, betraying the great Harry Kalas in the process.
Do the right thing, John.
And don’t ever again disrespect the most important Phillie of them all, Harry Kalas.
Well, another baseball season has begun. I wish I could welcome it back with the same anticipation I felt 20 years ago, or 30, or 40. . . .
Breaking news. Baseball is broken. And now I can prove it.
Last week, in keeping with his bizarre offseason, Bryce Harper said something that perfectly captured the skewed priorities of the sport in this absurd new age of analytics.
The fact that no one picked up on it, as far as I can tell, only underscores how far baseball has fallen. Before the first pitch of a new season, the Phillies first baseman announced a primary goal for 2026.
“If I can walk 140, 150 times this year,” he said, “then I think I’ll be right where I want to be.”
Harper is currently in the eighth season of a 13-year contract paying him a guaranteed $330 million. When he signed, the concept was that the superstar would lead the Phils to multiple championships by swinging that piece of wood in his hands and hitting the ball beyond the fence.
At no point during his introductory news conference on the top of the dugout in Clearwater did anyone mention the thrills he would provide by tossing aside his bat and jogging down to first base.
Bryce Harper is not paid to walk.
He is paid to hit.
And yet, even just eight years seasons after that epic signing, baseball is evolving more than ever into a glorified game of catch. Strikeouts are at an all-time high. So are walks. Anyone who thinks this is a good new direction for the sport is either too young or too stupid to know better.
Now, to be fair, Harper was using walks as an indicator of when he is, in his words, “dialed in,” meaning he is swinging only at the best pitches to hit. But can you remember the last time a star player announced his goal for walks?
Me neither.
Normally, a slugger like Harper would say he’s aiming for 40 or even 50 homers in a season, especially after an un-elite 2025 in which he slugged only 27.
But there’s a reason why the Phillies have an analytics department approaching 40 nerds and counting – always counting. They even have separate divisions now – foundational research and applied biomechanics, predictive modeling and software engineering.
It’s official. Baseball is a game of paralysis by analysis.
How many pitches did the starter throw? How many pitches did the batter see? How many seconds elapsed between pitches? How many challenges have the teams used to contest calls by the umpires? How many dorks does it take to ruin a sport?
Starting with the Moneyball era, the value of walks has grown exponentially, at the expense of the original premise of the game – which is to hit the ball with the bat and then run.
Now, not hitting the ball is OK, too, as long as you walk. And striking out is more acceptable than ever because it’s preferable, say, to hitting into a double play. As for running, well, that simple act has become optional, too. Running hard increases the chance of injury, so players do so at their own peril.
This dramatic change in priorities is supportable by numbers, I suppose, but it doesn’t account for how unwatchable the game has become. It’s common now for 10 batters or more to strike out in a game – for each team – thereby denying the fans a chance to see the fielders display their athleticism and the batters showcase their speed.
I’ll say it in simpler terms. The game stinks to watch now, especially through the slog of a 162-game schedule.
So why does Generation Z seem to be enjoying the sport even more than X and Y? It’s really not complicated. Baseball has become the perfect sport to experience with a cellphone in hand, a built-in distraction during the many long downtimes.
Kids love cellphones, way more than baseball. So do young adults. They know nothing else. They have no connection with 1951, when Richie Ashburn – long before his legendary work in the broadcast booth – had 712 plate appearances and struck out a mere 37 times.
Kyle Schwarber will make it to 37 around Mother’s Day. Harper will get there before Memorial Day.
Ashburn whiffed 48 times in his worst season for K’s as a Phillie, but he also managed to bat .350 during that 1958 season. Last year, the only Phillie to top the .300 mark (.304) was Trea Turner, but he also struck out an ungodly 107 times.
No, I’m not falling into the same trap as the stat nerds with all of these numbers. I’m simply offering a comparison between a game that was fun to watch and one that isn’t.
Before you chastise me, let me do it for you. I am a grumpy old man. I am living in the past. More people are watching baseball now than ever. Blah, blah, blah.
OK, maybe you’re right. So prove it by settling in for a Phillies game this week with no cellphone within reach. Try to watch an entire game with nothing else to occupy your mind.
Can you do it?
Hell, no. I’m sure you would never even try it.
Case closed.