At first glance the 149-day lockout that has derailed this year’s NBA season seems remote from the concerns of the wider world. The backroom manoeuvring between players and owners has been described, not unfairly, as a quarrel “between millionaires and billionaires” and neither side has received much sympathy from a sceptical, exasperated public. But a closer look at the practical consequences of the 200 hours of negotiation produced by this plutocratic squabble reveals a more complex and instructive reality. Players and owners can generally afford to forgo large sums of money in order to uphold their principles, or to maintain credibility with their adversaries – not all, however; many junior players were forced to seek alternative income in European leagues. But the thousands of ancillary staff at stadiums across the country are far more exposed. In the middle of a widespread recession, a 66-game season is a disaster for these little-noticed and less-appreciated NBA-dependents (parking attendants, janitors, food and beverage vendors, security staff) and it pushed all of them a little closer to the breadline.
Any 5-month labour dispute is newsworthy, especially when it involves iconic sportsmen, celebrities and heated wrangling. But one of the primary fascinations of the NBA lockout is how its haphazard progress has mimicked the larger dysfunctions of contemporary politics. Much like the debt-ceiling drama or the month-by-month spite of the Obamacare debates, the basketball negotiations broke down repeatedly because of what President Obama calls ‘relitigation’ – where settled questions are reopened – as well as a predictable quota of pointless digressions and internal dissent. By the end – final settlement was reached shortly after 3 am on a Saturday morning – it was clear that both sides had lost patience not only with their adversaries, but with many of their own number. Dozens of players considered decertifying their union, and the owners of relatively small teams seemed bewildered by the contemptuous indifference of the super wealthy among them – the one per cent’s one per cent, so to speak. Ironically the whole standoff ended only when the intervention of high-profile lawyers produced the spectre of drawn out and extremely costly lawsuits to the already complex equation. Faced with this new nightmare, everything ended with a whimper: the 50/50 split eventually agreed to was on the table last June.
Like the recent labour disputes in West Indian cricket, the NBA dispute was only partly about money. It was also about the cultural tensions that arise when one elite tries to control another. For some time the NBA management has relished its control over players’ working lives, in matters great and small. Last year, for example, the NBA announced that headbands could not be worn inside out or upside down. Understandably, this sort of pettiness got the players’ backs up just as much a putative renegotiation of their BRI split. It is a sign of the times that only superstar lawyers like David Boies, acting as legal counsel for the NBA players – have what it takes to terrify basketball’s plutocracy into a settlement. Even so, precious little was ultimately achieved by either side, and the prospect of future relitigation remains wide open.
As with the NBA lockout, so with other talks that lack a modicum of mutual respect and goodwill. Whether centred on BRI sharing, EU debt relief, US healthcare, or the agenda of a minority government, it is idle to suppose that a conversation rooted in bad faith can somehow climb clear of its wrong beginnings. When these private talks fail, unfortunately, it is hardly ever the principals who suffer most, but the public, which gets the shortened season, the austerity measures, and must learn to live with its disappointments and further diminished expectations.
