"Baseball is the most unchanging thing in our society - an island of stability in an unstable world, an island of sanity in an insane world." Former Chicago White Sox owner Bill Veeck's comments, quite applicable in 1981, represented the notion that baseball not only was excused from congressional scrutiny via anti-trust exemption, but also was shielded by the insidious erosion of ethics in Corporate America.

Now, seemingly all evidence now points to the contrary. What a difference a score makes!

Ask fans who revered their teams throughout the 1980s (and certainly even earlier) what made Major League Baseball so special. The commonly articulated response: "I could come to the ballpark on any given day and feel assured that the same nine guys would take the field." Indeed, baseball had cultivated an elusive ingredient of staunchness and permanency.

The most profound change in MLB is arguably the derivative of labor negotiations. Consider the residual effects of free agency simply as it pertains to a franchise's public relations. Perhaps, the novelty of bringing in new faces can enhance a club's publicity. However, the inexorable decline of fans' allegiance leaves an impression that consumers favor substance over camouflage.

In business terms, there is no substitute for brand equity.

Free agency, which has also contributed to impulsive trades, clearly detracts from a franchise's cadence and continuity. Higher turnover leads to greater skepticism. As players rotate faster than Yogi Berra and Billy Martin invariably did as managers for George Steinbrenner, baseball fans have received more reasons to disparage the anarchy on the field.

Analysts may attempt to ascertain the internal mechanism driving most franchises to the brink of pandemonium. It is a fruitless quest. The problem stems from a lack of such an organic engine - proactive public relations - within the organization. In the absence of genuine public approval, companies will typically resort to reactive decision-making.

Few franchises even attempt to quantify the potential shortfall of revenue from losing popular ballplayers. Relinquishing fan favorites who perform well is an opportunity cost, while disposing those who perform poorly is a sunk cost. In both cases, many club executives respond to this condition with damage control, rather than damage prevention. If team presidents, who exercise final approval of most transactions, discuss with their general managers the long-term effects of moving human capital on a case-by-case basis, then perhaps the media and fans would be less cynical when recalling executives' erratic decision baseball sam levinson .

The bottom line is that owners will continue to compete for players at market value. The game and business of baseball, much like any corporate industry, is composed of winners and losers. MLB, by emulating Corporate America, has neither failed nor succeeded in its preparations for the 21st century. More noticeably, the invincible league has assured its constituency that baseball will not rest passively on that island of sanity. Whether its Microsoft Corp. or General Electric Co., chief officers recognize that their colleagues should be hungrier than their consumers in order to be profitable. Is insanity knocking on the Park Avenue doorstep of Major League Baseball?

Proactive public relations may not be enough to remedy this predicament. Franchises inevitably allow free agency to dictate instability over consistency in order to win. Some baseball executives equate winning, on and off the field, with paying big salaries for big talent. But even Bill Veeck admitted, "Sometimes the best deals are the ones you don't make."