“Failure is an awful thing, and when I look at the common denominator of failure, it seems to always be the same thing: excuses.”

– Jon Taffer

A close relative of mine had a reputation for being a curmudgeon and a worrier. Though he held positions of importance in his jobs and social clubs over his life, he tended to chew his way through relationships. Over the course of a lifetime, I watched him lose acquaintances, and then standing, followed by friendships, and eventually even contact with the better portion of his family. By the time he passed away, there weren’t too many people left standing in his corner. I remember sitting with him in his hospital room the week before he died, talking about how few a visitors had been through to spend any time with him. I expressed my sadness that he was feeling so alone and lonely near the end. After a moment’s reflection, he said something that stuck with me deeply.

“Michael, after losing so many people over my life, I’ve come to realize that I am the only common denominator in this situation.”

Since then, I’ve often tried to look at the situations in my life that have a lot of commonalities, whether good or bad. Especially in the bad spots, as I am often able to ferret out how I am the thread that runs through those problems. I am the common denominator. Sometimes, I’m even able to make changes to alleviate whatever is bedeviling me. Sometimes.

When the Colorado Rockies started play in the 1993 season, not many people knew how close they’d come to never taking the field. After Colorado was awarded one of two Major League Baseball expansion franchises, their ownership group started to lose stability as part-owner and lead Mickey Monus found himself embroiled in a fraud and embezzlement scandal that had the league offices ready to call it all off and award Florida a second franchise, this one in Tampa Bay. Only a last-ditch effort from trucking magnate Jerry McMorris, and brothers Dick and Charlie Monfort, saved the franchise from possibly never being in Colorado at all. Dick pretty much took the reins from the start as the active partner.

I always try to remember that if not for the Monfort brothers, Colorado may have never had baseball at all. I try, as it reminds me to be grateful for the save. I say I try, as 29 seasons later, Dick and his denominators absolutely seem to have some commonalities.

In nearly three decades, the Brothers Monfort, and especially Dick, have never met a plan of attack they didn’t like… for about 45 seconds. They have dedicated themselves to pitching… No, hitting… No, defense. Coaching? Maybe whatever the flavor of the month may be, or simply what has inspired them. They have chewed their way through coaches, players, and GMs as if there was a bulk discount. When employees in lower levels of the franchise are asked if ownership is too meddlesome in their affairs, the answers vary from “hell yes” to “no comment” things far more obtuse. But avid supporters? Hm.

When all of baseball dug deeply into analytics and metrics, the Rockies paid the idea lip service. The problem seems to be that they can’t keep people in the analytics department, because ownership doesn’t seem to care where the data may guide them.

When they have trade chips that can actually save the franchise, as so ably and more kindly shown by DNVR’s Patrick Lyons, ownership has repeatedly and consistently shown that they don’t get the job done and they don’t seem to care.

Every national media outlet ridiculed the Rockies inability this season to yet again get out of their own way, only to lose even more valuable trade pieces at the end of this season for nothing at all. The Rockies are a mid-market franchise. They can only win regularly by out thinking the competition. The lack of salient sound bites from the folks running the show seems to feel as if they do not much care.

When the franchise’s change of plans, pace, or providence completely upend their course? Ownership shows time and again that they just don’t much care. As long as they can keep selling tickets to one of the most beautiful ballparks in the league, what’s to entice them to change their ways?

The data is in. After 29 seasons, seven managers, some talented, seven general managers, some talented, nearly 800 players, some truly special, and less than ten winning seasons (.345 of their total), the Colorado Rockies and their fans can plainly see that the team has always had one common denominator, and it sure isn’t Dinger. You’re the denominator, Dick. And as long as things stay the same from the very top, why should Colorado baseball fans ever expect a thing to change?