Will Fans Support Int’l Expansion?

I'm an American sports fan.

I don't care about the Ottawa Senators. Then again, I never really cared about the Winnipeg Jets, either. I like to watch the Edmonton Oilers and the Calgary Flames, but only when they give me a reason to. If I could afford the ever-increasing price of live hockey games, I'd gladly pay to see Toronto or Montreal come to town, because of the prestige and the history and the memories associated with those sweaters.

The Vancouver Grizzlies were dead to me when the team was announced. Never cared. The Toronto Raptors were only on my radar screen when Vince Carter was making highlight reels; now that Chris Bosh is winning games, I guess I have to start paying attention again.

The Montreal Expos (R.I.P.) and Toronto Blue Jays mattered to me as division rivals to New York teams and for those games when their superstar pitchers were on the hill. The rest of the time, my indifference towards them was somewhere between that for the Brewers and the Devil Rays.

The point is that success, excitement, and esteem will always trump institutionalized xenophobia when it comes to "foreign" franchises in U.S. professional sports leagues. (I know the line is blurred in the NHL, but just go with it.) Take the Vancouver Canucks in the 1994 Stanley Cup Finals against the Rangers. With New York four wins away from breaking a decades-long "curse," you could have had Peter McNeeley in the other corner and there still would have been interest. But while the Canucks didn't have the prestige of other Canadian franchises, they sure as hell have a superstar that made you care in Pavel Bure. The result was a very memorable championship series, and not just for the Rangers' victory.

Give us a reason to care and that will erase any of our apathy for non-U.S. franchises.

This lesson needs to be taught again because we're slowly creeping towards internationalism in American professional sports. First came the players, now come the games: the NFL, NHL, and NBA will hold exhibition or regular season games in Europe or Asia next season. (Major League Baseball, a forerunner in that trend, appears to have taken a break from aggressive international marketing this season, with rumors of a game in China swirling for 2009.)

Next is expansion. David Stern has said repeatedly that expanding to Europe and Asia is something the NBA desires, and the league could have its all-star game overseas within the next five years. Mexico City and Toronto have been named by the NFL as two cities that could have expansion franchises within the next decade. San Juan, Puerto Rico was on the list of potential homes for the Montreal Expos; MLB just opened an office in China this year.

The NBA and NFL are perfectly built for expansion outside U.S. borders. The Raptors' appeal is typical for any international franchise in basketball — it all comes back to star power and success on the court. If Toronto grabs a high seed and makes a run in the postseason, it becomes a hotter ticket next year, at least among Eastern Conference rivals. Meanwhile, Bosh has become a marketable star for the franchise and for the league. "Come see Chris Bosh and the Toronto Raptors" is exactly what the NBA wants from a non-U.S. franchise (and what it never got in Vancouver).

The NFL, meanwhile, is blessed by its limited schedule. With only 16 games every regular season, there's simply no time for fan apathy to creep in. Sure, you're going to get jazzed for a division opponent or traditional rival than for the Mexico City Warriors; but you're still going to tailgate or watch it on Sunday from your local sports bar because every game means something in the league.

With baseball and hockey, the passion is much more territorial. I'm a Mets fan. I care about teams in my division, teams in the National League that might challenge us for postseason glory, traditional rivalries with teams like the Dodgers and Cubs, and of course beating the piss out of the Yankees in interleague play. I could live my entire life a happy man without ever seeing the Mets play the Seattle Mariners or the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. I just don't give a damn.

I think it would be the same way with the Mets and the Beijing Flying Stars (too bad "Reds" is already taken). With 162 games, unless there's a palpable appeal or a direct affect on my team's season, I just can't see myself getting up for those games.

In hockey, it's even worse, because I grew up with Patrick Division regular season games that all felt like life or death for my team. When the NHL goes back to a slightly more balanced schedule in a few years, and the Blue Jackets and Los Angeles Kings come skating back into New Jersey for games that are now going to the Flyers and Rangers ... man, this is why I've never gotten season tickets.

The Kings, however, are a great example for how to defeat that sort of apathy. When they were the silver-and-black Gretzky Kings, they were must-see-TV (not so much the Cammalleri Kings of today). The kind of hockey they played, the star power they had, and the success they found combined to make the Kings a hot ticket when they came to your town — even if your town was thousands of miles from theirs.

The real issue for these leagues as they move forward with international expansion — besides the logistical nightmares of travel and the logical nightmares of placing non-U.S. teams in the standings — is the star factor. Gretzky didn't exactly get traded to Hartford; if he had, would he have gone? Or would he have pulled the same kind of routine that Stevie Franchise pulled when Vancouver selected him in the NBA draft, claiming that God told him not to play in Canada? (In Wayne's case, maybe replace "God" with "Janet.")

Speaking of hockey, there's the Eric Lindros factor. What if a star athlete who is taken in a draft or traded to another nation's franchise has personal, political, or religious beliefs (or those of his mother) that are in contrast with that team's foreign ownership or country of origin?

The NBA and NFL farm systems exist in the NCAA, where players from around the U.S. play on teams located in the U.S. and are watched by fans in the U.S. Are the quarterback from Notre Dame, and more importantly his representation, going to be cool with seeing an All-American shipped off to CFL country?

They will be if his jersey sells.

In the end, money will speak loudly. The financial windfall for star athletes playing for American leagues in foreign cities can't be estimated, and not just because of the exchange rate. If an athlete can swallow his jingoistic pride and capture the imagination of non-U.S. fans, the potential for his celebrity is limitless. Or am I the only one curious about Tom Brady taking on the British tabloids?

There have been times in the last decade when I've decided that international expansion is the "Mission to Mars" of professional sports — a drum whose beat crescendos and then recedes every few years, depending on how the political winds are blowing. But with American media revenues having hit their apex for many of these leagues (or, in the NHL's case, have hardly been cultivated), how much longer will these organizations hold off from drilling on untapped foreign soil for fan dollars?

Once more, with feeling: in the end, money will speak loudly.

Greg Wyshynski is the Features Editor for SportsFan Magazine in Washington, DC, and the Senior Sports Editor for The Connection Newspapers of Northern Virginia. His book is "Glow Pucks and 10-Cent Beer: The 101 Worst Ideas in Sports History." His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].