There had been no Major League Baseball for 232 days. Nearly 1,000 games had been canceled. For the first time in the history of major American sports, an entire postseason — the 1994 MLB playoffs and World Series — was lost due to a labor dispute.

It was a long winter for baseball fans in 1995. The hot stove was colder than usual, as discussions centered not on the previous Fall Classic or the upcoming season, but on a larger, gloomier question: When would baseball return?

“It seemed like a lot longer than it actually was,” ESPN’s Tim Kurkjian said this month in a phone interview.

The work stoppage, which began in August of 1994, dragged past the new year and past the time players typically reported to spring training. In February and March, MLBers stayed home, waiting, while replacement players — low-level minor leaguers and retired players — filled out big-league rosters.

Hostilities between MLB owners and players reached a deadlock in 1994. Owners wanted changes, including a salary cap; players felt mistreated. Many fans saw it, on both sides, as the pot calling the kettle greedy — millionaires whining to millionaires about a few bucks.

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Finally, on April 2, a judgment from now-Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor against the MLB owners ended the strike, and on April 25, 1995, 25 years ago, baseball came back.

It had been more than eight months since the highest level of baseball had been played. But when Opening Day came, the response was tepid.

Atlanta’s star pitcher, Tom Glavine, was booed. In Pittsburgh, fans turned souvenir picket Pirate flags into debris, hurling the sticks onto the field and delaying the game for 15 minutes. Three Mets fans ran onto the field and mockingly threw dollar bills at Bobby Bonilla.

Attendance was down: “Fans play keep away,” read one headline.

“The players are trying not only to win the World Series,” The Atlanta Journal-Constitution wrote of the Braves, the eventual world champions. “But also to recapture the hearts of their fans after the strike.”

Baseball was back, but not all of its fans were.

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'Scabs' at spring training

The replacement players weren’t big leaguers. That much was evident.

As the strike continued, MLB was determined to go on with the “best players willing,” according to acting commissioner Bud Selig. That meant a spring training loaded with players wearing MLB uniforms for the first time ever, or the first time in many years.

Pedro Borbón, who played in the majors from 1969-1980, joined the Reds replacement team as a 48-year old. There was 46-year old Lenny Randle, and a slew of former amateur or minor league players who left their jobs as truck drivers and teachers to earn a crack at a big league roster.

News broadcasts highlighted the bloopers and blunders of the replacements. Kurkjian remembers one outfield throw, in particular, that left him dismayed at the product he was watching.

“He threw it like 100 feet in the air and it went in the air to third base,” Kurkjian said. “It was terrible. And then he went and hugged his girlfriend as soon as it was over because he was so excited about making a throw on a major league field like that.”

Buck Showalter, managing the New York Yankees, would tell Kurkjian that it was one of the worst experiences of his baseball life.

For the replacement players — “scabs” as they were ungraciously known — it was one of the most pivotal experiences of their baseball lives. The poorly paid minor leaguers received extreme pressure from the owners to play, and extreme pressure from the players to stay put. MLB players threatened the minor leaguers that they’d be ostracized forever if they broke the labor strike.

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Among the many faceless minor leaguers who refused to cross the picket line was one White Sox outfielder who spent the 1994 season at Double-A. Michael Jordan, taking a hiatus from being the world’s greatest basketball player, said in February 1995 that he’d like to reach the majors and play for a couple of seasons.

But the White Sox management wanted Jordan to cross. He didn’t. Amid pressure from both sides, he stepped away from the sport in March.

Many minor leaguers, though, seeking glory or decent compensation, did cross, and major leaguers held grudges for years.

“They were not received well, ever, after that,” said Jeff Parrett, a 10-year MLB journeyman and Lafayette High and University of Kentucky product.

“A lot of pressure was put on the players to cross the line. I really felt bad for them,” said now-Louisville Bats manager Pat Kelly, who was coaching with the Reds system. “Anyone who did cross the line ended up getting crucified.”

A handful of the replacements wound up in the majors and did receive the cold shoulder. However, the vast majority never played in the big leagues. The spring of 1995 was their shot.

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Former University of Louisville standout third baseman and Reds farmhand Dan Kopriva initially listened to the big leaguers and didn’t cross the labor line. But in late March, following the revelation that he would report to Single-A ball and not Double-A as expected — future MLB All-Star Aaron Boone was ahead of him in the pecking order — he changed his mind, deciding to play in hopes of making the big-league roster.

“Being a youngster who’s married and struggling with a little finances, I thought I could send some money home,” said Kopriva, who was 25 at the time. He reached Double-A in 1995, but never higher, playing pro baseball until 1999.

For a couple of days, he wasn’t a big leaguer, but he was on a MLB spring training roster; he remembers getting a full row to himself on a flight to a game. He received around $5,000 or $10,000 in a bonus for signing to play.

“It wasn’t a great deal, but it sure helped,” he said.

A return to routine

Players were on their best behavior on Opening Day 1995. Paintsville native and former Morehead State player Willie Blair was with the Padres at the time, and he remembers the bulk of the team standing outside of the gates an hour before the game, greeting fans as they entered the ballpark for the first time in months. Parrett, then with the Cardinals, was encouraged to interact with fans more. In Boston, new Red Sox slugger Jose Canseco shook hands with fans five hours ahead of first pitch.

While the players waited out the strike, they realized how it looked to fans. They heard snide remarks as fans pointed fingers at both the owners and players.

“They recognized how much damage had been done to the game,” Kurkjian said of the players. “I sensed a concerted effort from the players to sign more autographs, do more things in public, and basically treat fans as well as they could possibly be treated.”

Opening Day was a little strange. With a truncated spring training, starting pitchers hadn’t built up stamina, and they were on tight pitch counts: Kansas City’s Kevin Appier was pulled in the seventh inning of a no-hitter.

But it was also normal. The cheers were mostly louder than the boos.

“For one night, all was forgiven. Almost,” The Miami Herald wrote of the Florida Marlins’ season opener. “For one innocent night gleaming out of the garbage baseball stacked up for 8 ½ months, the game gave itself back to the people who own it in spirit if not by deed — the fans.”

For the previous eight months, nothing had been routine. Kurkjian, with no MLB games to watch, had covered the Triple-A International League’s 1994 playoffs. Kelly remembered increased media coverage of his Double-A Chattanooga Lookouts during that time. When Parrett took the mound in a regular season Triple-A game for the Omaha Royals, ESPN was there to nationally broadcast the game.

Blair recalled the winter being marred by uneasiness, anxiety and uncertainty of the future, but on Opening Day 1995, things were close to normalcy.

“It was a big relief,” Blair said. “It was exciting to be able to get back out there. There’s no doubt about that.”

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Time to heal

MLB had peeled off the Band-Aid, but the wound still needed time to heal.

Baseball had just set an all-time record for highest per game attendance ever with 31,256 during the 1994 season. That plummeted 20% to 25,021 in 1995. In Minnesota, 48% of fans said they were less interested in baseball following the strike.

“The animosity has lasted for some people up until now,” Parrett said. “A lot of them are still somewhat bitter.”

But, largely, baseball healed. One of the game’s superstars, Cal Ripken Jr., chased Lou Gehrig’s consecutive game record, eclipsing it while fans gave him a standing ovation for more than 22 minutes.

“That was maybe the most powerful night I’ve ever spent in a park,” Kurkjian said.

That began the recovery process, and slowly, the sport healed. In 2006, MLB set a new attendance record, breaking 1994’s mark.

It’s been 25 years since MLB came back and nearly 180 days since MLB’s last game, as the league — like the rest of the world — remains on hold due to the coronavirus. Baseball will come back, at some point, and in some fashion. Like 1995, after a long delay, the sport will return.

But this time, everyone — owners, players, fans — will likely unite in their joy.

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Hayes Gardner can be reached at hgardner@gannett.com; Twitter: @HayesGardner; Support strong local journalism by subscribing today: courier-journal.com/subscribe.