I have this indelible image of baseball owners in my head during the seven o’clock hour: Suits and ties sipping on cognac and puffing cigars while monitoring the Nikkei index inside their glass houses we colloquially refer to as press boxes. That’s a mouthful. That’s a smackdown. That’s many things, not the least of them true; figurative, at least.

Do you know what the word “baseball” conjures up in my head? Chew—Big League Chew or actual chew, depending upon your tastes; hot dogs and beer; dirt stains and grass stains; managers in team uniform; impressions of blue collar that stretch on and on. Is there a sport that relates with the average Joe more than this? Seating remains relatively affordable and available. Our broadcast legends are the likes of Scully, Buck, Harwell, Allen—immortals, but baseball men first. And these baseball men are radio men; is there anything more American and throwback than the thought of turning the AM dial to Gibson versus Drysdale? Football is this nation’s most popular sport and basketball’s growth reaches across political boundaries. But baseball is our pastime, from Brooklyn to Los Angeles and from yesterday to tomorrow.

Yet this image remains in my head. These Armani owners should be polishing off Harry Caray seal of approval “tall, cool, Budweisers;” watching the action in the AL/NL East and not the Far East; and treating the game as if it’s the people’s game. I don’t know if the majority of baseball owners are actually like this—I don’t know Larry Dolan’s choice of drink anymore than I know Tom Hicks’ stock portfolio—but the meaning of the image is all the same. There isn’t a sport in which the higher-ups are more out of touch with the fans than baseball.

Enter Mark Cuban, who’s here to change all of that with his bid to buy the Cubs. His dedication to all aspects of the franchise, from the little guy in the nosebleeds to the big wigs at the highest levels, would be absolute. 80 times a year, he’d be in the stands at Wrigley in a jersey and jeans, “bonding with the Bleacher Bums… splurging for rounds of Old Style beer and screaming at umpires,” penned New York Times writer Richard Sandomir. There’d be clubhouse fights galore, all attributable to PS3 and all waged with weapons no more harmful than shaving cream. There’d be accountability at all levels. There’d be a never-ending pursuit to win and win now. How lucky would a franchise be—how lucky would a fan be—to have an owner like this?

But somehow, someway, this purchase is far from a being a done deal. There is nary a quote to be found from an MLB official, but the rumblings of opposition to Cuban’s takeover run rampant. Is it any wonder? For one, the powers that be fear that Cuban and those like him will transform the stodgy and status quo way of passively running a baseball team into a blood, sweat, and tears operation. This current batch of ownership is lacking in elbow grease; their stadiums are TrumpTowers and their offices are the top suites. Secondly, Cuban’s isn’t an ego that fits with the current attitude of baseball. I choose my words carefully, because to be sure, Cuban has an ego—a rather large one—but it’s triggered by the win-loss column more than profit margins. You could say much of the same of Steinbrenner, but the environment Cuban creates for his franchise is one that doesn’t make his athletes and coaches perpetually question the security of their jobs. Oftentimes, it’s Cuban that volunteers himself to take the hit—here is a man who has been fined $1.7 million by the NBA for lambasting officiating and the way the game transpires on the court and not off of it.

Oh yes, this man endangers the owner’s way of life as we know it. Cuban’s immersion in all things Cubs would do something revolutionary for baseball: it would inject energy into otherwise lifeless ownership and management. His example would unquestionably be followed; those with big pockets and even bigger hearts for the sport would lineup in an effort to take baseball to the next level, a level that football has reached and one that basketball is rapidly approaching. Mark Cuban would not simply be good for baseball, but great for it.

And he would erase that godawful image from my head.