Some fans never get to choose their favorite baseball team, and that means they never get to choose their favorite team’s owner. My father grew up in southern Indiana, rooting for the squad on the other side of the Ohio border, the Cincinnati Reds. My mother grew up in a suburb of Cincinnati, convinced she would one day marry Johnny Bench.

So I grew up a Reds fan. I spent my early years suffering because of Marge Schott and Carl Lindner, who still rank among baseball’s worst owners. But I and the rest of Reds Country have come to love the team’s current boss, Bob Castellini.

A bad owner wields franchise-warping power and reigns far longer than any vexing player or executive. There is no better example than Schott, who became the Reds’ principal owner in 1984, the year before I was born.

Schott, who was always accompanied by Schottzie, a St. Bernard practically the size of a middle infielder, could provide a warm and grandmotherly touch at games. I remember meeting her when I was 9 or 10. In the late innings, she descended from her luxury box to the blue seats behind the Reds’ dugout. She autographed my hat “Schottzie II” (Schottzie I had died a few years back) and drew a small paw print.