Just an opinion piece from a guy with an opinion.
Denver, We Have a Problem
Alright folks, grab a cold one, sit back in your weathered Coors Field seat (the one you overpaid
for to watch a Triple-A roster), and let’s talk about the worst-kept secret in Mile High sports. The
Colorado Rockies—yes, those Rockies—are gonna be for sale within the next two years. You
heard it here first, and I dial it down on purpose—otherwise it wouldn’t even be close.
Why? Well, it ain’t because they’re building a contender. It ain’t because Dick Monfort suddenly
found Jesus and decided to donate the team to charity. No, my friends. It’s because the big, fat
TV money that used to pad the Monfort family coffers like a Walmart on Black Friday… has
dried up.
And when the money dries up, even the most loyal owners start looking at the eject button.
TV Money: The Goose That Laid the Purple Egg
Let me give you the skinny. For years, the Rockies were sitting pretty on a local TV contract with
AT&T SportsNet Rocky Mountain. It was like a printing press for cash. That money? It didn’t
care if the team finished 4th or 5th. It didn’t care if your shortstop couldn’t throw to first without a
GPS. It just kept flowing.
But now? That TV money’s gone the way of the dodo. Sinclair and Diamond Sports Group?
Bankrupt. Streaming rights? A mess. Blackouts? Fans have better odds finding a unicorn in
LoDo than watching their hometown team on cable. MLB is scrambling to pick up the pieces like
a toddler with a broken Lego set.
And Monfort? He’s not in the business of losing money—unless it’s on a bullpen arm with a 7.35
ERA.
Owning the Rockies: From Gold Mine to Garage Sale
Let me break it down for you like I’m teaching econ to a freshman who thinks Bitcoin is a protein
shake.
The Rockies made their bones off:
● TV money
● Beer sales
● Parking fees
● Being just good enough to trick fans into “next year” syndrome
The TV money was the safety net. Even when the Rockies were trotting out a lineup that would
lose a series to a junior college team from Greeley, the checks still cleared.
Now? No TV partner. No regional sports network. MLB is awkwardly holding the broadcasting
baby like a distant uncle at a baptism. And unless you’re the Yankees, Dodgers, or Cubs with a
national draw, you’re not making bank from streaming yet.
So, if you’re Monfort, and suddenly your biggest ATM spits out lint, what do you do?
You sell. Quietly at first—planting stories, hiring consultants, calling up Goldman Sachs—but
you sell.
The Monfort Era: A Legacy of “Meh”
Let’s be honest, folks. The Monfort ownership of the Rockies is like a middle-management
career in a dying company. Competent enough to stay in the building, but never bold enough to
lead it anywhere.
They’ve had moments—oh yes, remember Rocktober? That sweet, miraculous run in 2007
when Denver collectively blacked out from joy? But since then, it’s been a carousel of
mediocrity, poor signings, and “wait till next season” speeches written on cocktail napkins.
They traded Nolan Arenado and sent money with him. That’s like selling your car and offering to
pay for the buyer’s gas. Come on.
Dick Monfort has spent years telling fans he’s just as frustrated as they are. But unlike us, he’s
been cashing checks while watching his investment appreciate.
Now that appreciation is flattening, and suddenly, frustration turns into an exit strategy.
Denver Deserves Better
This city has one of the best fanbases in baseball. Say what you want, but Rockies fans show
up. Year after year, they lead the league in attendance despite watching pitchers get shelled like
pistachios at altitude.
They wear purple with pride. They fill the Rooftop. They explain to tourists what a “Dinger” is
without punching anyone. That’s dedication.
And what do they get? A team that’s allergic to analytics, trades top talent for spare change, and
signs free agents like they’re building a roster for MLB The Show on “easy” mode.
Denver deserves an owner who’s serious about winning. Not just one who likes the view from
the owner’s box and the profits from Coors Light night.
The Bidding War Will Be Wild
Now this is where it gets fun, folks. If—and when—the Rockies go on the market, watch the
billionaires come out to play. Buying a sports team is like owning a Picasso that throws sliders.
It’s prestige. It’s leverage. It’s the ultimate vanity project for tech bros and oil heirs alike.
Expect names. Expect whispers. Expect folks like:
● Local Denver moguls who want to “bring the team back to the people”
● National billionaires who think owning a baseball team is a tax shelter
● Maybe even a crypto guy who still thinks Dogecoin is a lifestyle
You want to watch a feeding frenzy? This will be Shark Tank meets Field of Dreams.
Here’s the Best Part: It’ll Be Good for Baseball
Yes, I said it. Selling the Rockies would be the best thing to happen to this franchise since Larry
Walker slid into home plate.
New ownership means new philosophy. Maybe they hire a president of baseball operations who
knows what a “launch angle” is. Maybe they actually spend money like they mean it. Maybe, just
maybe, they build a team that isn’t mathematically eliminated by Memorial Day.
And MLB needs it. With regional sports networks collapsing and fans struggling to watch their
teams, this is the moment to rethink everything. New owners can strike new TV/streaming deals.
Maybe even start their own media empire. One that doesn’t black out 3 states because of
geography and dinosaur-era contracts.
Final Thought: The Countdown Has Started
So here we are, folks. Watching the final chapters of the Monfort Rockies unfold like a
Shakespearean drama—with fewer soliloquies and more pop-ups to second base.
The writing is on the wall, and it’s spray-painted in purple and black. The Rockies are a product
with declining revenue, an aging owner, and a public that’s increasingly fed up.
Mark my words: within two years—maybe sooner—this team will have a new owner, a new
direction, and maybe, just maybe, a new reason for hope.
Until then, keep watching, keep hoping, and keep wearing your Rockies cap with pride…
because the winds of change are blowing through Coors Field.
And this time, it’s not just the altitude.
Reach out to the author at: Rob@aaero.com