Sadly, we could all see this coming.
On Saturday, the Major League Baseball Players Association sent Major League Baseball a letter in which it stated: "If it is your intention to unilaterally impose a season, we again request that you inform us and our members of how many games you intend to play and when and where players should report.''
This came just a day after yet another proposal form MLB was presented, with more clever accounting, but with details that don't differ greatly from the last three. In every one of them, the players would end up being guaranteed roughly a third of their scheduled 2020 full salaries, and with MLB paying out somewhere in the neighborhood of $1.4 billion.
Eventually, the MLBPA got tired of the charade. On Saturday, they essentially said: "This is what you've wanted all along. Now, kindly give us the details.''
It's been patently obvious for a while now that the owners and commissioner Rob Manfred have but one strategy: to run out the negotiating clock until such time when it becomes feasible for them to implement a shorter schedule of their own determination.
(Owners earned this right in negotiations with the Players Association in March, likely in exchange, in part, for the advance of $170 million to the PA.)
It will likely be in the neighborhood of 50-something games, for two reasons. First, as has already been demonstrated, owners prefer the shortest regular season possible because it's their contention that they will lose money without paying customers in attendance. Secondly, the owners don't want the season going past the original Sept. 27 end date, out of fear that a second wave of the coronavirus would imperil the postseason - the time of year most profitable for them.
I've written before that a 50-something game schedule would be a bastardized season. Is it better than nothing? Sure, in the sense that one black eye is better than two. But not my much.
Yes, the game will return, which beats it disappearing until next spring (at minimum) and spares the sport the embarrassment of being the lone game that couldn't figure a way to put its differences aside during a pandemic.
But that's establishing a very low bar, one which baseball will apparently barely clear.
So, yes, there will be baseball. Eventually. But it will come a price.
Once Manfred, with the backing of owners, unilaterally implement a shortened schedule, the nastiness will commence. The players, who will feel ordered back to work, though, to be clear, their union provided MLB with this loophole.
In effect, the players will be forced to play the season (or forfeit salary and service time) on the owners' terms. The notion of a 48-game season (or 50- or 54-) will have the effect of the players feeling like it was forced on then. And they'll respond predictably and accordingly:
- Initially, this season would have been the perfect stage to experiment with some proposed rules changes. Some were controversial and perhaps suspect (e.g. starting each extra inning with a baserunner at second base) and others would have represented common sense (universal DH). But because players will be angry at the lack of substantive negotiations and cognizant that the abbreviated schedule was the goal all along, they almost certainly won't sign off on any of this experimentation. And so, the perfect laboratory in which to try some worthwhile innovations for the good of the game will be squandered.
- Forget, too, the notion of the expanded playoff field, which MLB had proposed for both 2020 and 2021, with an eye toward a more permanent expansion written into the new collective bargaining agreement. Owners saw this as an opportunity to auction off additional October inventory and, by extension, a way to audition a bigger playoff format for potential new TV partners. (Also on Saturday, the New York Post reported that MLB had come to agreement with TBA on a new deal worth $1 billion for the right to carry one LCS each year). Now, the additional playoff teams (MLB had proposed going to as many as 16 for this season, up from the current 10) will be put on hold, since the players won't sign-off on this.
- There had been much discussion about how to take advantage of the unique circumstances that will be part of 2020. MLB had hoped that the players would agree to wear microphones in-game to allow fans to get a better sense of their personalities. Nearly everyone agrees that the sport needs to do a far better job marketing its stars, something the NBA and NFL figured out long ago. Again, however, the Players Association won't be in the mood to cooperate with the owners, so this innovation will likely be nixed, too.
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- Chaim Bloom unsurprisingly proved willing to take some chances in his first Red Sox draft. Selecting Nick Yorke in the first round proved to be the shocker of the night and helped pave the way for the Sox to roll the dice again with third-round pick Blaze Jordan. Yorke will get far less than the standard first-round selection, leaving additional resources to direct toward Jordan, who was viewed as a tough sign. Maybe in a few years, we'll look back and view this as the first time Bloom really asserted himself in the big chair. (The Mookie Betts deal doesn't count, since, let's face it, he was instructed to move Betts and get the most he could for him). Perhaps by then, both Yorke and Jordan will be contributing to the big league club and together anchoring the right side of the Boston infield. Or perhaps each will stall out and remind everyone why they were somewhat risky selections in the first place. But at a time when it would have been simple for Bloom to go the traditional "best player available,'' he instead discarded the usual orthodoxy. That alone makes him interesting.
- More than a few people have made the comparison between Yorke and Dustin Pedroia -- offensive-minded second baseman with sizable chips on their shoulders. Yorke seemed to embrace his underdog status immediately, noting that he hadn't participated in Perfect Game showcases intended to improve draft standing and more than once detailing his work ethic and willingness to put in the necessary time. In a game rooted in failure, determination can often spell the difference between a career that stalls out in the minor leagues or one that results in stardom.
- The baseball draft, quite obviously, lacks the star appeal of the NBA and NFL drafts. The players are mostly unknown except to those who closely follow the college game. Meanwhile, high school players exist in anonymity -- there are simply too many, most far away from any media spotlight. That said, the drafting of Jordan figures to lead to a fascinating journey up the developmental chain. I can't remember a single Red Sox draft pick who has produced the kind of curiosity that Jordan has in just a few days. Some already know him for his multiple appearances in televised Home Run Derbies and YouTube videos of him swatting prodigious homers are already have millions of views. It's likely that more attention will be paid to his minor league career than any Red Sox prospect ever. And the happiest people, in years to come, might well be those working in the ticket offices in affiliates in Greenville, Salem, Portland and Worcester.