The Bonus That Never Was: Awards Clauses That Make No Sense

The Designated Hitter Hunting for Gold

Adam Dunn signed with the Chicago White Sox knowing he’d spend most of his time as a designated hitter. That’s the job. Swing at mistakes, drive in runs, don’t worry about the glove. Straightforward. Except buried in his contract was a $25,000 incentive bonus if he won a Gold Glove Award.

For a DH. A player whose defensive skills are literally not part of his job description.

Dunn never won it. He never came close. But the clause was there, waiting—a weird little what-if hanging from his paycheck. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder: who writes these deals?

When Relievers Dream of Silver Bats

Brad Lidge had a similar situation with the Houston Astros. He was a closer, a guy who pitched the ninth inning and nothing else. His value came from strikeouts, saves, and not blowing games. Then his contract added a $25,000 bonus for winning the Silver Slugger Award—the prize for the best hitter at his position.

Lidge was a reliever. Relievers don’t accumulate enough plate appearances to win a hitting award. It’s mathematically impossible. Yet there it was in the fine print, a bonus for something that would never, ever happen.

Mark Teixeira’s situation was different but equally strange. He had a $100,000 MVP incentive written into his contract while he was playing for the Texas Rangers. The problem? The MVP he was chasing was for the American League. Later, Teixeira played for the New York Yankees and other National League teams. A Rangers contract with AL MVP language became irrelevant the moment he switched leagues.

The Award That Doesn’t Exist

Then there’s Alex Rodríguez with the Rangers, who somehow had a $150,000 bonus for winning the MVP of the Division Series. Except that award doesn’t exist. Never has. The Division Series has no official MVP. It’s not handed out. It’s not voted on. It’s a phantom prize with real money attached.

These weren’t mistakes by guys who didn’t know baseball. These were major-league contracts negotiated by agents, front offices, and lawyers. Yet somehow, incentives for impossible achievements made it through.

Why These Clauses Exist

The pattern usually comes down to two things: optimism and complexity. A young player or his agent might push for every possible bonus, throwing in awards they think could happen. A front office, eager to close a deal, agrees to language that sounds good in the moment. By the time anyone realizes the clause is unrealistic, the contract is signed and filed away.

Sometimes it’s intentional. A team might agree to an impossible bonus because it costs them nothing—a way to say yes without actually spending money. The player feels like he got more; the team knows the bonus will never be paid. Everyone shakes hands and moves on.

Other times, it’s just sloppy work. Contracts in baseball run to dozens of pages with hundreds of conditions. Mistakes slip through. A clause gets copied from another deal, tweaked, and nobody catches that it makes no sense for the specific player or situation.

The Real Cost

Here’s the thing: these bonuses almost never get paid. Adam Dunn never won a Gold Glove. Brad Lidge never won a Silver Slugger. Alex Rodríguez never won an award that doesn’t exist. The money stayed in the team’s pocket, which was probably the plan all along.

But every once in a while, one of these clauses actually triggers. When it does, it’s usually a surprise to everyone involved—a bonus nobody expected because the condition was never supposed to be met. Then there’s a scramble to figure out if the team actually owes the money, and sometimes lawyers get involved.

The real value of these clauses isn’t financial. It’s in what they reveal about how baseball contracts get made: quickly, with multiple parties trying to game the system, and not always with complete attention to what’s actually being agreed to.

Still Happening Today

This isn’t ancient history. Contract language has gotten more sophisticated, and front offices are smarter about what they agree to. But impossible or unlikely incentives still show up in deals. The market is more efficient now, but the basic dynamic remains: players want more money, teams want flexibility, and sometimes that leads to clauses that sound good on paper but will never cash.

The next time you see a player sign a big deal, take a look at the incentive structure if it’s public. Somewhere in there, there’s probably a bonus for something that shouldn’t be possible. It’s become part of how the game’s economics work—a little fiction built into the very real money that changes hands.