MLB Notebook: A non-basketball fan wonders -- Why can't MLB be more like the NBA?

 I'm not much of a fan of the NBA, and that's probably an understatement.

Basketball has always been my least favorite sport and I haven't followed the league at all since the 1980s. I don't like what little I've seen of the modern game, with its over-reliance on three-pointers, and I can do without the petty drama that seems part and parcel of the league.

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing but respect for the athletic skill the game demands. It's just not my thing. Nothing personal, hoopsters.

But as we watch as all four major sports scramble to re-start their leagues, I find myself suddenly envious. Why can't Major League Baseball be more like the NBA? Or, put another way, why can't Rob Manfred be more like Adam Silver?

Why is it that while MLB and its players conduct an embarrassingly public squabble over pay, the NBA boldly moves ahead with designs to stage its postseason without any of the internal rancor, without the tone-deaf proclamations from millionaire players and billionaire owners?

The answer, it seems to be, can found in the commissioner's office.

Manfred -- and, to be fair, his predecessors -- are quite rightly viewed as a representative of the owners. His job is to ensure the financial well-being of the game which, in turn, delivers huge profits to the individual franchise owners. That's his -- and their -- right, of course. Baseball is a business, with almost $12 billion in revenues in 2019.



Franchise values have skyrocketed. In less than 20 years, the Red Sox, sold for $700 million in 2002, are now worth more than four times that amount. By any valuation, that's an enormous return on investment. Even the lowly Kansas City Royals, in the bottom five in attendance annually and with just five winning seasons this century, were recently sold for just over $1 billion.

True, attendance has dipped in each of the last four seasons and baseball, on a national scale, draws a fraction of the ratings the NFL does.

So if you're one of 30 owners, the business of baseball is a good business indeed. Even with short-term dips, franchises have never been worth more.

But if we're measuring success in ways other than the bottom line, baseball is not nearly so successful.

Long-time fans barely recognize the game on the field, and worry that advanced metrics have managed to push the human element off to the side. Games take entirely too long to complete, and when they do, ballparks are sometimes half-empty and TV sets are turned elsewhere.

The game's demographics -- fans skew far older than any of the four majors -- suggest a reckoning is ahead, with the National Pastime going in the direction of boxing and thoroughbred racing: two other sports who once ruled the sports landscape, now reduced to niche audiences.

This alarming trend, ironically, comes at a time when the game has seldom boasted more talented players, still in their prime. Mike Trout, Aaron Judge, Francisco Lindor, Mookie Betts, Jose Altuve, Bryce Harper, Nolan Arenado, and Kris Bryant are superstar talents, all still in their 20s. Another set of stars -- Victor Robles, Rafael Devers, Fernando Tatis Jr., Gleyber Torres, Juan Soto and Cody Bellinger -- are all, remarkably, under 25.

The problem is, unless you're a pretty avid baseball fan, you likely know little about them, and certainly next-to-nothing about their personalities.

An entire generation of skilled players is largely unknown to the casual sports fan. Yes, MLB has failed to market its stars properly. But even worse, it would seem, is that MLB doesn't understand that these players -- all of its players, really -- are the game.

On the Avenue of the Americas, where Major League Baseball is headquartered, it's still 1965 and baseball still rules. Market our individual players? Whatever for?

That's not the case with the NBA, which long ago figured out that it's not nearly as important to promote the game as it is its best players. For the NBA, basketball isn't some institution; it's a platform for some of the world's greatest athletes and personalities.

Fans don't identify with the game's history; they identify with the game's stars. They love (or hate) LeBron James, Steph Curry and Giannis Antetokounmpo. Mostly, they care. And they watch games, purchase tickets and buy merchandise.

No sport has done a better job marketing itself globally. That's been achieved not by dwelling on tradition or grainy black-and-white footage of long dead stars. No, it's been achieved by showcasing modern players and introducing them to the international stage.

But beyond the better marketing, there's a clear understanding that the game is best served by a strong partnership with the players. When Silver wanted to communicate his concerns about the pandemic -- the challenges it presents to the league as a business entity, the potential obstacles that will have to be overcome if the league is to re-start -- he held an hour-long phone call with NBA Players Association executive director Michele Roberts, NBAPA president Chris Paul and a number of players.

Silver has smartly invited the players under the league's tent and let them know that, since they're largely responsible for the game's enormous growth in recent decades, they're also entitled to a say in how the league operates.

Could you imagine Manfred doing that? No chance. Instead, he would present some saber-rattling proclamation, cloaked in legalese, and fired it off to Tony Clark, his counterpart with the MLBPA.

Sadly, baseball continues to wallow in the same Us vs. Them battle that dates back to the union's creation in the 1960s. Meanwhile, the NBA smartly embraces the notion of One.

In the NBA, there's a mutual understanding that everyone -- owners, league executives and, yes, players -- are all in this together. There's a sense of partnership. In terms of actual investment, some may have bigger stakes. But everyone is invested in the well-being of the game.

The players see that they're valued and that's helped foster a much better relationship with the league and owners. Do you think its mere coincidence that only twice in the modern era has the NBA seen its season interrupted or shortened by labor disputes?

And while it may true that MLB, having overcome its putrid record of strikes and lockouts that dominated the storyline from the 1970s through the mid-1990s, there are warm drums beating as the sport nears the end (Dec. 2021) of its current CBA. Sadly, no one would be the least bit surprised if another labor dispute imperiled the 2022 season.

That is, unless labor-management strife doesn't first lead to the cancellation of the 2020 season before then.

Players don't trust owners in MLB -- and for good reason. At a time when revenue steadily grows, the average salary has either dipped or remain stagnant. Two years ago, two of the sport's best players both had to wait until spring training camps opened to be signed. By comparison, the NBA executes its free-agent signings quickly. The best players are immediately sought after and the bidding concludes swiftly. No muss, no fuss.

Is it any wonder that players don't trust the sport's hierarchy? There's a history of obfuscation and documented cases of collusion on the part of owners.

In his roughly five years on the job, Manfred has never once shown an inclination to involve the players in solving some of the challenges faced by the game. To him, the players are (admitted well-paid) employees and little more. Unless it comes time to negotiate, in which case they quickly morph into potential adversaries. The same could be said for his predecessor and mentor, Bud Selig, himself once an owner.

It should be noted that, whatever faults you find about his tenure as commissioner, a five-minute conversation with Selig revealed him to be an actual, honest-to-goodness fan, with a real passion for the game, its history and its standing. To date, Manfred has shown none of these qualities.

Baseball is not alone in its labor difficulties. The NHL seems to regularly invite and welcome regular work stoppages as casually as some people plan backyard parties, with repeated attempts to break its union. The NFL's callous disregard for its players -- both in terms of health and their financial well-being -- in the face of unprecedented profits and popularity is almost criminal. Sadly and inexplicably, this has regularly been achieved with former NFL players as the head of its Players Association, accomplices to the NFL's utter lack of regard for its members.

Perhaps symbolically, the NBA will be the first to return to play and emerge from the long shutdown made necessary by the pandemic shutdown.

When it does, as usual, I won't be watching. But plenty will be.

Me? I'll be envious -- and not even a little surprised -- that one sport figured it out, thanks to a unique partnership between players and the league, while MLB treats this not as a chance to work together, but rather, an opportunity to mud-wrestle over every last dollar and to settle old scores.