Arbitration season has become a minefield.
What was once a predictable, if uncomfortable, part of the MLB offseason is now tilting sharply in the players’ favor.
February’s hearings have made that clear—loudly. Salaries are climbing, gaps are widening, and front offices are learning that hesitation can be expensive.
San Diego didn’t learn that lesson this year.
They avoided it.
Across the league, arbitration panels have sent a message. Tarik Skubal’s record-setting $32 million award—$13 million higher than the Tigers’ proposal—wasn’t just a win for one player.
It was a signal. Every decision so far this winter has favored the player, reinforcing the idea that MLB is recalibrating ahead of a looming 2027 lockout.
In that environment, arbitration isn’t negotiation—it’s risk.
And yet, A.J. Preller never entered the room.
Since taking over as Padres general manager in 2014, Preller has not allowed a single arbitration case to reach a hearing.
Not one. For more than a decade, every eligible player has reached an agreement before MLB had a chance to decide.
In quieter years, that track record felt admirable. In 2026, it looks surgical.
This winter’s arbitration class was anything but soft.
The Padres entered negotiations with multiple high-leverage relievers—exactly the type of players whose value explodes in a player-friendly system. Instead of gambling, Preller moved early.
Jason Adam settled at $6.675 million. Adrián Morejón at $3.9 million. Mason Miller, one of the most electric arms in baseball, agreed to a $4 million deal. Combined, San Diego will pay $14.575 million for three elite bullpen arms.
For context, the Dodgers will pay $17 million for Edwin Díaz alone in 2026—and that number jumps to $26 million annually in 2027 and 2028.
The contrast is striking.
Preller didn’t stop there. He finalized deals with two Opening Day bats—Gavin Sheets ($4.5 million) and catcher Freddy Fermin ($1 million).
Sheets, fresh off a breakout season with a 111 wRC+, is already penciled in as the starting first baseman and has a clear path to outperform his salary.
None of these deals made headlines.
That’s the point.
With the franchise up for sale and payroll effectively capped, the Padres didn’t have room for arbitration mistakes. Every extra million mattered.
Every hearing carried upside for the player—and downside for the club.
Preller’s solution wasn’t confrontation or austerity. It was certainty.
By eliminating hearings altogether, he shielded the Padres from a system that has suddenly become unpredictable. He avoided public disputes.
He avoided panel bias. And he avoided becoming the next cautionary tale in arbitration math.
There’s an argument that this approach sometimes leads to modest overpays. That may be true in theory.
But in a winter where arbitration panels are consistently siding with players, “overpaying early” looks a lot like cost control.
Especially now.
The Padres didn’t win arbitration battles this offseason.
They refused to fight them.
And as other teams adjust to a shifting labor landscape, San Diego quietly proved something important: preparation beats reaction—especially when the rules are changing midstream.
The savings won’t show up in a press release.
But they’ll show up where it matters most—in flexibility, depth, and a roster that didn’t get thinner just to survive February.
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