When outrage becomes ritual and payrolls become punchlines, it’s open season on easy targets. But behind every low-budget roster is an owner with a spreadsheet—and maybe, just maybe, a plan. Enter Bob Nutting, the Pittsburgh Pirates owner, and the golden-armed Paul Skenes, all caught in the crosshairs of a poll that claims to speak for the game’s soul. One former exec isn’t just pushing back—he’s firing fastballs of his own. David Samson is here to support and back the Pirates’ owner through this tough phase.

In his recent video, ex-Marlins president David Samson talked about the Pirates and the agenda towards the owners. He said, “The Pittsburgh Pirates give players resources, but their owner has zero interest in winning. I’m tired of that narrative… Been in the game 18 freaking years. I’ve spent hours speaking to Bob Nutting. Guess what? He wants to win.” 

Pirates fans have long accused Bob Nutting of being baseball’s most frugal villain. His teams have consistently ranked near the bottom in payroll, 28th out of 30 in 2024, spending just $73 million. Even during promising stretches, like the 98-win 2015 season, reinforcements rarely arrived. Nutting’s lack of urgency in free agency and midseason trades has fueled fan frustration and led to empty October calendars.

But David Samson sees the criticism as misguided and rooted in misunderstanding. According to him, Bob Nutting isn’t allergic to winning — just allergic to bleeding money. “He doesn’t want to be like the other idiot owners who lose money,” Samson declared. The Pirates have a plan, Samson argues, and spending blindly isn’t part of it — nor should it be.

Fans want stars; Nutting wants sustainability. While others chase championships with nine-figure risks, Nutting plays the long game. That doesn’t excite a fanbase starved for success, but it keeps the team solvent. The result? A franchise that occasionally flirts with relevance, but never truly crashes or climbs.

So, is Bob Nutting the villain of the story, or just the accountant in cleats? In a sport where spending is often mistaken for strategy, restraint becomes rebellion. The Pirates may not buy headlines, but they haven’t sold their soul to reckless payrolls either. Samson’s defense may not win over the bleachers, but it does reveal the blind spots in the outrage economy. After all, in Pittsburgh, the spreadsheets get more action than the scoreboard.

The fans want Bob Nutting to sell the Pirates, and they are making sure he knows

In a city where championships are craved like pierogies at a ballgame, patience has finally run out. The boos are louder, the banners bolder—and yet, Bob Nutting still holds the keys to the Pirates. Fans are pleading, chanting, and even heckling on golf courses. But while Pittsburgh fumes, former Marlins president David Samson calmly defends Nutting’s thrift like it’s fiscal genius, not franchise neglect. Reality check: nobody’s buying that either.

Pittsburgh Pirates fans are fed up, and now their frustration is echoing far beyond PNC Park’s walls. At the U.S. Open in Oakmont, a bold chant—“Sell the team, Bob”—interrupted Scottie Scheffler’s swing. It wasn’t a heckle for golf, but a message aimed squarely at Pirates owner Bob Nutting. The discontent has boiled over into national venues, showing just how deep the resentment runs.

This frustration has sparked protests at games and even in the skies above the ballpark. Groups like “Our Team, Not His” have organized public demonstrations and bought banner flights. At the home opener, fans booed and confronted Nutting, demanding accountability and commitment to winning. These aren’t isolated incidents—they’re coordinated efforts from fans desperate for change.

The anger stems from years of losing, low payrolls, and missteps like the Clemente tribute. Since taking over in 2007, Nutting’s Pirates have had only three playoff appearances and four winning seasons. With a .455 winning percentage and a $90 million payroll, fans see no real investment. Each losing season amplifies their outrage, making this more than a phase—it’s a full-blown revolt.

And while David Samson may call Nutting’s penny-pinching “smart business,” fans are calling it what it really is—an ownership model allergic to ambition. The chants aren’t dying down, the boos aren’t fading, and the banners aren’t coming down. If Nutting won’t sell, he might want to start listening. Because in Pittsburgh, loyalty is earned, not hoarded like unspent payroll. And right now, the Pirates’ biggest steal isn’t on the field—it’s in the owner’s box.