Alvin Garcia
Yesterday, New York Post columnist Erich Richter argued that Shohei Ohtani’s unprecedented $680 million in deferred payments was an act of pure altruism designed to help the Dodgers build a World Series-winning team while minimizing financial strain. While Richter’s framing paints Ohtani as the epitome of selflessness, the reality is far more nuanced and strategic.
After signing up for the Post’s free trial earlier this week (and, like many, not planning to pay for it), I also countered Jon Heyman’s commentary on the Juan Soto and Roki Sazaki sweepstakes. Now, I focus on Richter’s oversimplified take on Ohtani’s historic deal.
Let’s be clear: Ohtani’s deferrals weren’t just about helping the Dodgers; they were about setting himself up for long-term financial security. Under the terms of his $700 million deal, Ohtani will start receiving $68 million annually beginning in 2034—long after his playing career is likely over. This isn’t generosity; it’s brilliance.
By deferring his earnings, Ohtani effectively created a pension-like structure that guarantees generational wealth while giving the Dodgers immediate flexibility. He knows his off-the-field endorsements, which reportedly topped $70 million in 2023 alone, more than cover his current financial needs.
Richter seems to view Ohtani’s decision as a one-sided gift to the Dodgers. In reality, it’s a calculated move benefiting both sides.
Richter’s article leans heavily on the idea that Ohtani’s deferrals “allowed the Dodgers to build out a fantasy-like team.” While it’s true that the deal gave Los Angeles more spending room, let’s not act like the Dodgers were in financial dire straits. They are one of the wealthiest franchises in sports, with the resources to compete at the highest level regardless of one player’s contract structure.
The Dodgers have consistently demonstrated an ability to balance financial might with clever roster construction. Ohtani’s deal was a luxury that allowed them to accelerate their plans—not a lifeline.
While the Dodgers are benefiting now, the long-term implications of nearly $1 billion in deferred contracts are worth questioning. The team is gambling that its revenue streams will remain strong enough to cover these obligations decades into the future. If the franchise hits a rough patch—whether due to performance, economic downturns, or changes in MLB revenue-sharing structures—those deferred payments could become a burden.
Is this a sustainable model? Neither Richter nor the Dodgers seem eager to answer that question.
Richter’s portrayal of Ohtani as the “savior” of the Dodgers oversimplifies the situation. This wasn’t a selfless sacrifice but a strategic partnership. Ohtani secured long-term financial stability while allowing the Dodgers to build a powerhouse. Both sides got what they wanted—and that’s the essence of a great deal.
Instead of painting Ohtani as baseball’s equivalent of a martyr, let’s appreciate the savvy decision-making on display here. He played the long game, both for his career and his finances.
Erich Richter’s take on Ohtani’s deferrals misses the mark by ignoring the strategic benefits for both parties. This was never about altruism; it was about aligning goals.
As someone still on my post-free trial, I’ll reiterate what I said about Heyman: these narratives often oversimplify complex decisions. Ohtani’s deal isn’t just a feel-good story; it’s a testament to the power of strategic thinking in sports.
The Dodgers didn’t need saving, and Ohtani didn’t need to be a hero. But together, they created a deal that could redefine how superstar contracts are structured. And that’s worth examining with more nuance than Richter offers.
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