The Pirates Made Real Moves This Offseason - But the Dodgers Just Changed the Game
For once, the Pittsburgh Pirates didn’t sit out the winter. They didn’t go bargain-bin diving or rely on Rule 5 flyers and internal development buzzwords. No, this time they actually made moves - real, tangible, Major League-ready moves.
They traded for Brandon Lowe, a proven bat with pop and positional versatility. They added Ryan O’Hearn, a lefty slugger who brings some much-needed thump to the lineup.
They shored up the bullpen with Gregory Soto, a hard-throwing lefty with closing experience. And they took a high-upside swing on Jhostynxon Garcia, a prospect with tools worth dreaming on.
This wasn’t a passive offseason. It was an active one.
The kind that says, “We’re trying to win more games in 2026.” And for a franchise that’s spent years preaching patience, that alone felt like a shift in tone.
And then the Dodgers dropped a bomb.
Four years, $240 million for Kyle Tucker. That’s $60 million per year - a figure that doesn’t just reset the market, it blows it wide open.
One move, and suddenly the Pirates’ progress feels like a footnote. Like they brought a well-packed lunch to a five-star dinner.
This is the new reality Pirates fans - and fans of any small- or mid-market team - are staring down. The front office did try.
They made smart additions. They improved the roster.
And it still might not matter.
That’s the hard part. Two things can be true at once: ownership could absolutely spend more - and fans are right to expect that.
But it’s also true that the economics of the sport are veering into the absurd. If $60 million a year is the new bar just to sit at the free-agent table, how many teams are realistically going to show up?
We’re already seeing the pattern. The Blue Jays and Mets posture.
Rumors swirl. Hope builds.
And the Dodgers swoop in and close the deal. It’s not a race.
It’s a coronation.
That’s not competition. That’s inevitability.
And that’s what makes the Pirates’ offseason so frustrating - not because their moves weren’t good, but because in the current climate, they feel small. Not in intent, but in impact.
The Dodgers aren’t just playing the same game with a bigger budget. They’re playing a different game altogether.
This isn’t just a Pittsburgh problem. It’s a baseball problem.
Because when one team can casually drop a quarter-billion dollars on a single player while half the league can’t even fake being in the conversation, the gap between “trying” and “contending” becomes a chasm. And that’s where the danger really starts to creep in - not just for teams, but for the sport itself.
The Dodgers have done something even decades of owner-driven narratives couldn’t accomplish: they’ve turned fans against the players. For the first time in a long time, people are openly talking about salary caps.
About lockouts. About the possibility that a work stoppage in 2027 isn’t just on the horizon - it might be necessary.
That’s not because fans are siding with billionaires. It’s because they’re watching a game where hope is being priced out.
Where the idea of building a contender feels less like a plan and more like a fantasy. And when that happens, frustration stops being theoretical.
It becomes personal.
Pittsburgh didn’t punt this offseason. They made real moves.
They tried to take a step forward. And yet, in the shadow of the Dodgers’ spending spree, it still feels like they’re standing still.
That’s the existential crisis now facing small-market teams - and their fans. Because if the cost of relevance is now measured in hundreds of millions, then the sport isn’t just imbalanced. It’s in danger of losing what makes it compelling: the belief that every team, with the right moves and a little luck, has a shot.
The Pirates tried. The Dodgers flexed. And somewhere in that widening gap, the soul of the game is starting to slip.