Size matters

Let's play a quick game.

Metropolitan Area A had 2,710,489 people as of 2010; Metropolitan Area B had 2,149,127.

What's the difference between the two cities? Well, aside from 561,362 residents, it's hard to tell from those numbers (by design) — so I'll elaborate.

Metro Area A is the 20th largest metropolitan area in the U.S. and the largest one entirely in its state. It has experienced a modest population growth of 6.17 percent since 2000. It supports two professional teams in the four major sports; it was also the subject of a popular television show portraying the drug trade.

Metro Area B is the 24th largest metropolitan area in the U.S. and the core of the fourth largest census statistical area in its state. It has experienced a population growth of 19.60 percent since 2000. It supports one team in the four major sports; it was also the subject of a recent Bill Simmons column.

Still unimpressed? Let's start getting to the point.

Metro Area A is Baltimore, B Sacramento. The latter is a "small market." The former isn't.

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But why? The size of the markets aren't much different. Sacramento has a marginally higher per capita income (with a slightly higher cost of a living) and a marginally lower poverty rate. Sure, Baltimore could perhaps sucker fans out of the D.C. market, but it also has to compete with that market and its teams.

Don't like my choice of cities? Try these on for size.

When the Rays were struggling — or when Matt Garza was acquired by the Cubs largely for salary reasons — Tampa Bay was called a "small market" baseball team. For the record, Tampa's statistical area is the 19th largest in the U.S., ahead of cities like Denver (No. 21).

Or how about San Antonio, often used as the poster child for small-market success? There it sits at No. 25 in the metro area list — a mere 83,501 residents behind Portland (No. 23), or 213,777 behind Pittsburgh (No. 22) — although it might not stay there for long, with its population's increasing 25.17 percent since 2000.

Bill Simmons (whom, I feel I should point out, I read religiously and bear no ill will), in advocating for a professional team in Las Vegas, must have forgotten that it is only the 30th largest metro area — behind cities like Cincinnati and Cleveland and Kansas City (if ahead of Indianapolis and Milwaukee and Memphis).

Tired of the numbers game? I'll break it down: Oklahoma City is bigger than New Orleans; Minneapolis is bigger than San Diego; Detroit is about the same size as Boston and San Francisco.

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This is all to say that labeling a city a "small market" is a complete farce. Presumably, years ago, before increases in technology and transportation, before urbanization, the distinction was merited; today, no matter whether it is, it is so misused as to be a useless construct. In reality, "small market" has become shorthand — journalese — for sportswriters who probably have never taken the time to look at the size of the markets they're comparing.

That raises the question of why the term persists. My first inclination — being a Midwesterner in New York and dealing with coastal bias on a nearly daily basis — was a matter of geography. Take a look at the teams often characterized as being in "small markets," and you'll notice that the good majority are in the middle of the country — and that similarly sized cities on either coast don't get the same label.

With more reflection, I think that is part of the answer but not the whole one. For instance, Midwesterners critique one another perhaps as much as the coasts do; that's why you'll hear arguments about which is the worst state to drive through. (For the record, it's a tossup between Illinois and Indiana.)

What it boils down to, I think, is perception. Portland is a trendy city, the subject of a show that lampoons just how trendy it is; Sacramento is ... well ... Does anyone know anything about Sacramento? The Mariners are rarely called a "small market" team; the Diamondbacks, despite playing in a market with 753,078 more people, sometimes are. Even Houston, the 5th largest metro area in the U.S. (behind only New York, L.A., Chicago and Dallas), doesn't get its due respect and would probably get slotted in the popular opinion behind D.C., Miami and Atlanta, the cities that follow in population.

Pittsburgh and Detroit were once seen as bigger cities because of their industrial fortitude, regardless of what population numbers might have said. Now that they've experienced economic downturns, and images in broadcast news paint them as ghost towns, they're seen as smaller than they really are. The same might be said for Cleveland.

Bill Simmons himself, in his column about small-market teams, points out that cities like Miami can more easily lure free agents — but that is more a statement about lifestyle (and perception) than size or, perhaps, dollars to spend.

The way a team is run can also influence public perception. The aforementioned Tampa, and Minneapolis with its Twins, gets a bad rap because of its frugal spending. The Pirates were rarely called a "small market" team until their recent (18-year) run of ineptitude; the same might be said of the Royals or the A's (Oakland, by the way, is included with San Francisco as the 11th largest metro area). The way an owner and front office operate has untold influence, and mismanagement often has a lot to do with when a team picks up the label. I remember in the '90s, when the Cardinals eked out one playoff appearance, hearing that they played in a "small market." In the 2000s — after Mark McGwire had put the team in the national consciousness, the city was named the best sports town in the country and the team had rolled to seven playoff and two World Series appearances — I hardly ever heard the term. It's only now that there are whispers that they might not be able to afford a new contract for Albert Pujols that the tag has started creeping back.

I could go on — perhaps mentioning that, despite my hometown's having nearly 3 million residents, I have been asked multiple times in my travels whether I grew up on a farm and/or whether I can drive a tractor — but the point seems satisfactorily made.

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Even if the small-market distinction were valid, one could make the case that, in some ways, being in a small market can work to a team's advantage these days. Improved Internet connections and new cable and satellite TV packages allow fans to follow just about any team they want, dramatically expanding the market and a team's reach; improved transportation methods allow fans to travel farther to see their favorite teams. And in an age of attention deficit, perhaps being the only act in town is the best thing in the world for a team; just ask the previously mentioned Orioles or the Islanders or the Nets if they might consider switching places with the Cavaliers (third in attendance in 2010-11, significantly ahead of the Knicks, Lakers and Celtics, despite a 19-63 record) or the Sabres (10th in attendance in 2010-11) or the world-champion Packers (ninth in attendance in 2010, with my friend Carp cheering every time he moves up a few thousand on the season-ticket waiting list) — or my beloved Cardinals (fourth in attendance in 2010). The Thunder have exceeded expectations since moving to Oklahoma, but those expectations may have been based on prejudice more than anything.

Sure, a team like the Lakers or Celtics has a much larger fan base, a more (inter)national reach and more valuable broadcast and merchandising rights — but that is largely a result of sustained success, not merely the size of the market.

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This all puts the term "small market" in a precarious position. If it can only effectively be applied to the largest of the large cities (New York, L.A. and Chicago), does it serve any purpose at all? Expand it to the top 10; is there anything that makes San Francisco (No. 11) substantially different from Atlanta (No. 9) as a market, enough that only one should garner the "large market" label? Expand it even further, say, to include the top half of the markets in each league. Is there any use in pitting 15 (or 16) teams against the other 15 (or 16)? So what if Nashville and Milwaukee (Nos. 38 and 39, respectively) do lag behind some of the other cities in their leagues? Can we say with any certainty that those cities are more alike than Oklahoma City and Hartford (Nos. 45 and 46, with a roughly equivalent difference in population)? Austin is roughly the same size as Indianapolis, with a difference of only 39,952 people; still, those cities are so different that I don't think anyone would advocate Austin's pursuing a business strategy similar to Indianapolis' were it to get a team.

The problem with "large market" and "small market" — more than ignorance, more than prejudice, more than anything — is that they lump together such disparate elements that even were their definitions more rigorous, they still would not have much meaning to offer. It's a reduction, a generalization, a journalistic shortcut that has lost all appreciable value. And for that, it's time to we put "small market" out to pasture.