Dodgers' revenue vs payroll figures should quiet every single crybaby out there

Let’s stop pretending the Dodgers are printing wins out of thin air and start acknowledging what’s actually happening: they’re reinvesting an enormous share of what they earn back into the on-field product. This isn’t a fairy tale about coastal money; it’s a business model that pairs monster revenue with equally monster spending. The result? A big-market club acting like a big-market club — paying premium players, paying the tax bill that comes with them, and paying the competitive price to stay in October’s zip code. If you’re mad at that, you’re mad at accountability.

Stack the ledger, and the picture gets even clearer. In 2024, the Dodgers brought in roughly $752 million in revenue and turned around to pour $549 million into payroll plus tax. That’s about 73% of revenue plowed directly into player costs. The Yankees, another lightning-rod franchise, posted around $728 million in revenue against $362 million in payroll plus tax, or roughly 50% reinvestment. Both are spending, sure, but the Dodgers are operating on a different plane of commitment. They’re not just cashing checks; they’re cashing checks and cutting bigger ones to chase rings.

Dodgers’ revenue-to-payroll reality should silence MLB fans' complaints

That’s where the “bad for baseball” refrain falls apart. Los Angeles is showing the rest of the league how to maximize your situation: leverage your market, grow your revenue streams, and then actually spend the money. That means swallowing luxury-tax penalties, taking on long deals that might age, and absorbing the risk that comes with trying to win every single year. Is it expensive? Absolutely. Is it sustainable? It is when you keep reinvesting and keep fans engaged with a product worth paying to see.

The flip side is where the real indictment lives. Look toward the bottom of the revenue-to-payroll percentage list — think Marlins, White Sox, and Pirates, and you’ll find clubs that may boast lower raw payrolls and smaller TV deals but are also choosing to commit a far smaller slice of their revenue back into the roster.

We’re not saying those teams can, or should, sling Ohtani/Freeman/Betts/Yamamoto money; the point is they can still push their percentage higher to buy depth, retain their own core, and raise the floor. That shows up in margin for error and in the kind of October that exists mostly on other people’s TVs. No one’s asking those teams to match LA dollar-for-dollar; the ask is alignment. If you bring in meaningful revenue, put a meaningful chunk of it on the field.

None of this says the Dodgers are perfect or that money guarantees parades. Money buys attempts, not trophies. But spending at a 70-plus-percent clip versus 50-ish is the difference between papering over injuries with real contributors and hoping a waiver claim magically becomes an everyday bat. It’s the difference between a top-shelf bullpen and a nightly coin flip. It’s the difference between treating “contention window” like a marketing term and treating it like a budget line you have to defend.

So maybe, just maybe, the Dodgers aren’t bad for baseball at all. Maybe they’re the uncomfortable mirror. They prove that when revenue is high and reinvestment is high, fans get a product worth their time, and the league gets a standard everyone can see. If you’re tired of the noise, here’s the signal: stop whining about what LA spends and start asking why your team spends less of what it makes. That’s not a market problem. That’s a choice.