McAdam: Will the 2020 MLB season be saved? After the health concerns, follow the money

On Monday, owners backed a proposal by Major League Baseball for an 82-game season, scheduled to begin in early July.

Next up, MLB will present its plan to the Major League Baseball Players Association Tuesday.

Now comes the hard part.

Even if the two sides reach agreement on the mechanics of a shortened-schedule (expanded regular-season rosters; bigger playoff field; universal DH) and the players are satisfied that returning to play will be safe for them, their teammates and their families, there remains the significant hurdle of determining how -- and specifically, how much -- the players will be made.

And that's where this could go sideways in a hurry.

Again, there are other complicated hurdles to clear first. But ultimately, the tough going will be -- as is seemingly always the case in disputes between owners and players -- over money.

The Players Association believes much of this has already been settled in an agreement with MLB at the end of March. At the time, MLB agreed to pay players $170 million for April and May. There was also an agreement that, if the season were to get underway later, players would be paid their normal salaries on a pro-rated basis. Using that agreement as a template, players would receive half their salaries in an 82-game schedule.

Cut-and-dried, right?

Not quite.

The owners maintain the original agreement was made with the expectation that fans would be attending games. Now, of course, that's not going to be the case -- at least not at the resumption of play and likely not at all in 2020. Given that game-day revenue (tickets, parking, concessions, etc) constitute about 40 percent of baseball's revenues, that's a not inconsiderable amount to consider.

Instead, MLB intends to offer a partnership to the players, with the two sides roughly splitting the revenues earned.

The Players Association has already labeled such a proposal a "non-starter.'' In the eyes of the union, there are two significant problems with this equation.

First, MLB doesn't fully share the details of its local media deals with the PA, so some of that revenue will be difficult to quantify. Secondly, the biggest share of MLB revenues come from the postseason (thanks to national TV rights fees and sponsorships), theoretically making that money off-limits to the players as part of this proposal. Players are not officially paid in October, though teams participating in the playoffs and World Series are eligible for shares of the receipts.

(A third, more philosophical objection: the MLBPA has always rejected the idea of revenue sharing, fearing that it would result in the creation of a salary floor, and by extension, a salary ceiling, or cap. MLB is the only one of the four major North American sports without an actual salary cap, though in recent years, the luxury tax system has, much to the union's chagrin, served as something similar).

There's an enormous risk here for the players from the standpoint of optics.

If owners and players can come to a mutual understanding about how to ensure a safe working environment - complete with testing procedures, methods of contact tracing and a myriad of other issues -- the players could be painted as villains if they hold up a resumption of play over salaries.

In a country desperately in need of a diversion and bereft of any live sporting events to watch on TV, the players risk the wrath of the public.

Imagine the uproar of the players refusing MLB's proposal at a time when the unemployment rate is already nearly 15 percent and certain to go higher in the coming months as the economy struggles to return to normalcy.

In more normal times, fan sentiment tends to side with the owners in these labor battles. Fans view pro athletes as beyond fortunate to play games and be rewarded handsomely for the privilege and any suggestion that they deserve more is seen as a greedy overreach.

And that's under more normal circumstances. In the middle of a national pandemic, such a stance would be greeted even more harshly than usual.

Not that the Players Association has been overly concerned with winning the hearts and minds of fans. From its inception, the union has put the financial well-being of its members first and foremost. Emerging victorious in a public relations battle has never been much of a priority, whether the executive director has been Marvin Miller, Don Fehr or the current leader, Tony Clark.

Beyond the fundamental disagreement between the sides, these negotiations are colored by the distrust the union has for ownership. Citing stalled salaries -- there's been little-to-no growth in each of the average salaries in the last four seasons despite a small uptick in revenues -- and a hostile free agency market, the union has hinted at collusion.

That won't help things either.

The Players Association is frightened that if it gives in, even only temporarily, on revenue sharing, it will pave the way for a more permanent change. Once installed, the system may prove difficult to remove.

So, here we sit, with an unprecedented pandemic causing a shutdown. Yet what stands in the way is a wariness between owners and players that's all-too-familiar, on-and-off, for the past 40 or so years.