The image was telling. After enduring a 15-2 drubbing by the Los Angeles Dodgers on Tuesday night, followed by a 12-7 shellacking the following day, the Miami Marlins packed up for their flight home having been thoroughly outmatched in every conceivable way. The lopsided series wasn’t just about talent—it was about the growing chasm in baseball between those who can spend and those who can’t.
As the defending World Series champions, the Dodgers boast a payroll of $332 million, more than four times the Marlins’ meager $68 million. This staggering disparity, where “the Dodgers lead the league in spending with a $331 million payroll” compared to “the Miami Marlins, with $68 million in payroll,” has grown so pronounced that Colorado Rockies owner Dick Monfort recently declared it has reached “the point of ludicrosity.”
The on-field results speak for themselves. In Tuesday’s game, the Dodgers racked up 18 hits while cruising to their fourth straight victory. Teoscar Hernández, one of several marquee signings, delivered four RBIs to lead the onslaught, while Andy Pages homered among his three hits. For the embattled Marlins, starter Sandy Alcantara—himself a former Cy Young winner—was “rocked for seven runs and seven hits” in just 2⅔ innings, according to reports.
The pattern repeated Wednesday, with the Dodgers’ superior depth and talent overwhelming Miami in a game that ended 12-7. When you can pay veterans like Teoscar Hernández, acquire young stars like Shohei Ohtani, and still retain homegrown talent, the advantages compound exponentially.
This isn’t just a Dodgers-Marlins problem. “There are nine teams spending more than $200 million on players in 2025, and there are five spending less than $100 million,” according to recent reports. The result is a sport where competitive balance exists more in theory than in practice.
The solution seems obvious to many observers and team executives alike. “MLB owners as well as Commissioner Rob Manfred’s office have begun privately contemplating what a new league economic structure could look like,” including the possibility of a salary cap and floor. The thinking is simple: establish a ceiling to prevent runaway spending while requiring a floor to ensure teams invest adequately in their products.
Even Dodgers CEO Stan Kasten acknowledged the problem. “I think greater parity would be a benefit to the game,” Kasten said, admitting “it doesn’t help that our revenue per game is 10 times that of a team on the bottom.”
The current system has created a perverse reality where five-time champion dynasties can thrive while franchises in smaller markets struggle to field competitive teams. The luxury tax—currently baseball’s only financial control mechanism—has proven inadequate. Teams like the Dodgers simply pay the penalty as the cost of doing business, while teams like the Marlins cut payroll to the bone.
The randomness of baseball and its playoff format means that any team can get hot at the right time and make a run. But over 162 games, financial advantages matter enormously. When a team can field nine All-Stars and still be $250 million under salary cap—because there isn’t one—something has fundamentally broken in the system.
The 2026 collective bargaining agreement looms as baseball’s chance to address this imbalance. While the Players Association has historically opposed caps, “a salary floor could help tip the scales for the MLBPA” by forcing low-spending teams to spend more on their 26-man rosters.
As the Marlins limped home after being thoroughly outclassed, the truth was evident: In 2025 baseball, some teams arrive at spring training with real championship aspirations while others merely hope to avoid embarrassment. This might be good business for the Dodgers and Yankees of the world, but it’s bad for the sport.
Without significant structural changes, we’re headed toward a future where the financial behemoths dominate year after year, while teams like Miami become little more than talent development centers for their wealthier peers. The soul of competition demands something better.
