It was quite a week, all things considered. No sooner had Willie and The Supremes breathed life back into the republic after our five-week near-death experience with an election process held together with baling wire and duct tape, than another fine American institution – major league baseball – entered its death throes.

While we were mesmerized by the spectacle of democracy’s bitter ideological trench-warfare encounter in the electoral swamps of Florida, baseball – left without adult supervision – fatally overdosed on the deadly combination of greed and stupidity.

Today, though half the nation may celebrate a new presidency even as the other half plots to get even four years hence, the undertaker solemnly warms up the hearse in preparation for hauling off the soon-to-be cold corpse of America’s once-great pastime. There may be jubilation in the Texas of president-elect George W. Bush, but there is certainly no joy in the Mudville of Joe W. Sixpack – and not just because the Mighty Casey has struck out with the bases loaded, in crunch time.

An astute presidential adviser in another time once warned his boss that a cancer was growing on his presidency, due in large part to the dubious ethical performance of the chief executive. Not to worry, dude, replied the president. Everything’s cool. But not long thereafter the president was forced to resign, barely making it out of town via helicopter ahead of a howling mob brandishing pitchforks.

Similar warnings had been given major league baseball on numerous occasions by those concerned with outrageously escalating salaries being paid to stroke the fragile egos of the hired help. The warnings went unheeded by undisciplined team owners who possessed a lot more money than brains, and now the Grim Reaper prepares to enter, stage right.

The game’s doom was sealed on Black Monday this week, when two teams – the Texas Rangers and the Boston Red Sox – agreed to pay just two ballplayers $412 million to play a little kid’s game for seven months out of the year. Former Seattle Mariners shortstop Alex Rodriguez (“A-Rod” to you) signed a $252 million 10-year contract with the Texas Rangers, and former Cleveland Indians outfielder Manny Ramirez was given $160 million to play for the Red Sox for eight years. Baseball teams committed $739 million within the span of four days to sign just 24 ballplayers to new contracts, raising the year’s total to over $1 billion – that’s billion, with more zeros than will fit on my pocket calculator’s screen – for a mere 49 players.

Picking up the tab for such malfeasance will be the rest of us. Fans at the ballparks will be increasingly gouged for tickets, programs, popcorn and parking. Others will be gouged when they purchase products of firms hit with increased television advertising rates for the privilege of hawking their wares between innings. Live high off the hog, A-Rod. This Bud’s for you.

Players insist that it’s not about the money, of course. They just want respect, they’ll say. Or a World Series ring. Or to come in out of the cold and be nearer their family and friends. (When Ken Griffey Jr. accepted $116.5 million to leave Seattle last year he said he wanted to be nearer his home in Florida. So he chose to play for the Reds in Cincinnati, Ohio, which apparently is nearer Florida than those other major league franchises in Miami and the Tampa Bay area.)

Based on 500 at-bats per season, A-Rod will “earn” $50,400 each time he steps to the plate – more than twice as much as your average Maine laborer makes in an entire year doing real work. Ramirez will have to make do with $40,000 per plate appearance. (It’s not the money, Stupid, even though Rodriguez reportedly has a clause in his contract guaranteeing that no other major leaguer can be paid more..)

And yet, if you’re looking to blame someone for such insanity you need not look beyond the owners’ suites. The players who take the money and run are obviously a lot smarter than the owners who dole it out and whine when taxpayers then refuse to pay for new stadiums. Not that it’s going to matter much by the time baseball’s current labor contract expires next Oct. 31 and the players go on strike for the ninth time since 1972 as owners attempt to slow the gravy train.

Then the fans will walk away for good and major league baseball will give up the ghost, be placed on a gurney and wheeled to the morgue, fluorescent identification tag tied securely to its big toe. It’s had a good long life. May it rest in peace.

NEWS columnist Kent Ward lives in Winterport. His e-mail address is olddawg@bangordailynews.net.