Baseball Comes Out the Winner

Who won?

Los Angeles won.

By a margin as giant as Eric Gagne’s goggles.

In a decision more clear than David Eckstein’s drive.

As the last idiot was throwing the last foul ball onto Edison Field late Thursday, this was a town of greedy players, abusive fans, wrecked hopes.

The moment Bud Selig announced a new labor agreement Friday morning, it became the greatest baseball town in America.

Twenty-eight games left. Two contending teams. A pennant race squared.

From the heights of baseball’s arrogance and insolence has fallen a month of magic. Directly onto our laps. Landing atop the Dodger Dog and Rally Monkey.

Who cares that this new agreement lasts for four years? For the Southland, it’s all about the next four weeks.

Two great stories, saved from extinction. Two special teams, rescued from themselves.

On Tuesday, Paul Lo Duca was apologizing for militant union remarks.

Today, he is the starting catcher on a Dodger team that could make the playoffs for the first time in six years.

On Thursday, Scott Schoeneweis was properly chiding strike-sick Angel fans for throwing junk onto the field, remarks for which he also apologized.

Today, he is the left-handed middle reliever on an Angel team that could make the playoffs for the first time in 16 years.

With mere signatures, officials transformed the dread of pickets to the promise of history.

The Dodgers and Angels, after all, could end up in the playoffs at the same time for the first time.

This fact has been pondered by many, but spoken by few.

You can shout about it now.

Our teams aren’t necessarily great, but they’re tough, and they’re fun, and you can talk about that too.

Looking forward to the Dodgers’ four-game home stand against the San Francisco Giants in the middle of September? It’s safe to buy tickets now.

Actually thinking about driving to Anaheim for one of those four games against the Oakland Athletics in a couple of weeks? Don’t worry, somebody will be there.

All this may sound like bubbling and babbling, except, if you’re like me, you’ve spent the last month afraid.

Afraid to invest in a season that might be a fraud. Afraid to embrace a team that might walk away. Afraid to pay attention to something that only makes you look foolish.

Shame on the owners and players for toying with our emotions.

But congratulations to baseball for beating them both.

Bud Selig and Don Fehr could have ruined all this, ruined what could be the best stretch of baseball in this town’s history. But for once, they didn’t.

For the first time in nine negotiations, they lost to a higher power.

Baseball may no longer be our national pastime, but it is still our national treasure. It is still worth compromise and concessions.

It is still worth saving.

That’s what the owners and players said Friday, even as they were trying to say something else entirely.

The players claimed they were willing to strike. They were not. They knew what it would do to a game that has so handsomely compensated them.

The owners claimed they were willing to let the season end on the spot. They were not. They knew the game could be vastly different when they returned.

Obviously, as with all things athletic, the bottom line wasn’t the sport, it was the money. But in this case, everyone was smart enough to realize, the game couldn’t take many more hits and still bleed the same green.

The players agreed to weed out their own dirty teammates with a random steroid testing clause.

Victory, baseball.

The players agreed to clean up the Latin American recruiting mess with a worldwide draft.

Victory, baseball.

The owners agreed that it was impossible to become the NFL overnight without dismantling sports’ strongest unions, so it didn’t try.

Victory, baseball.

Competitive balance won’t occur overnight--the Kansas City Royals will probably not win a world championship during the next four years--but this is a start.

More teams can bid for free agents. Great players might move to places that aren’t New York or Atlanta. October will never belong to everyone. But one day, more will share.

Victory, baseball.

All of which means: victory, Los Angeles.

Do you remember what a Dodger playoff victory felt like? It has been 14 years.

Do you remember what an Angel playoff series victory felt like? Liar.

From the dreariness of strike talks has emerged the realization that the Southland could soon experience both.

Victory, indeed.

For the next month, the only Fehr will be the one that Eric Gagne and Troy Percival strike in opposing hitters.

While the only Bud will be the one you toast in the stands.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com