BERNIE NUNEZ/NEWSMAKERS Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter will stay in New York because of his seven-year, $118 million contract.

ELItorial

What team is that again?

If sports had a theme song, it would be Simon and Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson." This classic probably won't be featured on the next edition of Jock Jams, but it does touch on a disturbing trend in modern sports when it asks, "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?" The whereabouts of the Yankee great is not literally the issue here—but the whereabouts of other sports figures is. Today, it's hard for fans to keep track of their favorite athletes, who frequently shuttle between teams in search of more lucrative contracts. Recently, economics has also fueled the migration of several franchises, including the St. Louis Rams and the Tennessee Titans, the two teams that will appear in the Super Bowl on Sun., Jan. 30.

Someone who does not actively follow football will probably not be familiar with the Titans, and understandably so. The Titans have been located in Tennessee for only three seasons, and within those seasons, they have changed stadiums three times. Like the Rams, who were previously based in Los Angeles, and the Cleveland Browns before them, the Titans were lured from one location to another by so-called "sweetheart" deals—promises of better facilities or increased fan attendance made by cities hoping to garner profits from a professional franchise.

A mercenary spirit has also infected many individual players. Decades ago, when a player signed with a particular team, he could expect to remain with that organization for most, if not all, of his career. Since professional sports leagues began to permit free agency in the early 1970s, however, players have rarely hesitated to change allegiance and work for a club that offers a better contract. Today, it is becoming increasingly difficult to find an athlete who remains with a particular team for his entire career. The Yankees' Derek Jeter will probably be an exception, but he is anchored in New York less by loyalty to the city than by one of the highest salaries in Major League Baseball.

The frequent player migrations caused by the advent of free agency have been exacerbated by the salary cap, which requires athletes to move—even against their will—if their team cannot support their paycheck. Jerry Rice, after a long career with San Francisco, will most likely be pawned to another team because the 49ers can no longer afford to pay his hefty salary.

These continual player turnovers have undeniably altered the dynamic of professional sports over the past few decades, often in positive ways. For one, the constant flux in rosters prevents the formation of dynasties and gives hope to teams at the bottom of league standings.

At the same time, however, the frequent relocations have made spectating a confusing enterprise. Even die-hard fans have difficulty following itinerant players. Less committed spectators probably can't remember which teams are in which cities.

Moreover, when players are traded as readily as baseball cards, fans begin to question why they align themselves with particular franchises. Why, indeed, do they call themselves Knicks or Bulls or Hornets fans when, within a few years, half the players on those teams will be wearing a different jersey?

Case in point: Game Six of the Rangers-Devils series in the 1994 Stanley Cup playoffs. After more than 60 minutes of intense hockey, the Rangers finally broke a deadlock with New Jersey when Stephane Matteau netted a goal in overtime. While nearly every Rangers fan hailed him as a hero, many were nevertheless wondering who, exactly, he was. Matteau was hardly a fixture on the New York squad—he had been on the roster for only a few months, having been acquired from the Blackhawks in the middle of the '93-'94 season. Rangers fans were cheering, then, for a player who was little better than a mercenary soldier, ready and willing to depart from his former franchise to gain a spot on a New York squad that could offer him greater compensation.

It's somewhat unfair to condemn Matteau and others like him as "mercenaries." Athletes are businessmen as much as Wall Street investors are, and they have every right to move to a location where they can demand a higher salary—any entrepreneur would do the same. From a fan's perspective, however, it seems that players and franchises have too little regard for the audiences that buy their tickets, wear their merchandise, and remain loyal through even the most dismal of seasons. No one can deny that players should follow where the money leads them, but they should treat fans with the same degree of loyalty that audiences offer to their favorite athletes.

Back to Sports...