A few days ago, my mom asked me to visit a local bakery and pick a few things up for her. A box of 12 donuts and a loaf of freshly-baked bread, to be exact. Usually I’d have scoffed at my mom’s request and made up some excuse to try and get out of it, but after spending nearly three months social distancing due to the coronavirus pandemic, I was eager to get out of the house.
After a five-minute drive, I got out of my car, put my face mask on and entered the tiny, family-owned bakery. Behind the counter was an elderly man who wore a white apron smeared with dough and other powdery remnants. I glanced at the wooden menu that hung from frayed rope strings above the counter before stepping toward the cash register.
“Hi there, can I please get a dozen glazed donuts and a loaf of your homemade rye bread? That’ll be all,” I said.
“Unfortunately we’re running low on glazed donuts today,” said the man, his chalky voice barely audible from behind his face mask. “How about if I give you six glazed donuts today and you come back tomorrow and I’ll give you the other six? How does that sound?”
“Wait, but there’s 15 glazed donuts in that glass case behind you,” I said. “I just need 12, can you sell those to me now?”
“I would love to, but five of those are reserved for someone else,” the man said. “What if I give you 10 glazed donuts and two strawberry donuts instead?”
“My mom doesn’t like strawberry,” I responded.
“Fine, I’ll sell you a half-dozen glazed donuts and I’ll give you the loaf of bread for free,” the elderly man said. “That’s the best I can offer you right now.”
Frustration was beginning to settle in at this point and it was clear the man wasn’t understanding what I wanted. It was time for me to leave.
“No thanks, I’ll just come back another day,” I said.
I’m going to be honest, I made up that story. I never visited a bakery at my mom’s behest. But the way Major League Baseball and its owners have gone about negotiating the terms of a shortened season, it has played out almost identical to the bakery scenario.
Since May 31, the MLB Players Association and MLB owners have proposed four total offers in a “good-faith” effort to begin the season, according to ESPN’s Jeff Passan. All four offers have been declined.
Although all parties involved deserve some blame for the gridlock that has ensued, it stems from one unified, problematic source — the owners.
It’s no secret that significant revenue has and will be lost due to the absence of a full season. But just as companies and businesses around the world have had to cope with the devastating effects of the coronavirus, what makes the MLB and its owners any different? It’s as if the league is content with sitting on its hands, not paying its players and skipping the season entirely.
The reported proposals made by the MLB make its intentions all the more puzzling. After the MLBPA proposed a 114-game season, the owners countered with a 76-game season and salaries prorated at 75%. That counter-offer was rejected.
On June 9, the MLBPA returned with an offer including an 89-game season and full prorated salaries. As expected, the MLB rejected the proposal but countered with a 72-game season and 70% prorated salaries.
On June 13, the MLBPA sent a letter to the league stating it had no intention to submit another counter-offer, according to Passan, effectively ending the negotiation nightmare.
So, after weeks of back-and-forth bargaining, players speaking out on social media and owners defending themselves on various platforms, the baseball universe has seen no progress toward starting a season.
For a league that has, in recent years, prioritized modernizing baseball and attracting younger fans, the current landscape runs contrary to those goals. Rather than being America’s pastime, the MLB has devolved into billionaire owners and millionaire players bickering about finances on social media as Commissioner Rob Manfred stands idly by.
It’s a conundrum that’s leading MLB in a dark, ugly direction. Instead of watching baseball games all summer long, we’re stuck watching the league self-destruct with each new headline and tweet.
If baseball does eventually return this season, the allure of it will already be tainted by the league’s unwillingness to do right by fans. Regardless of when play resumes, don’t expect baseball to be the same as you remembered. The embarrassment resulting from recent negotiations confirmed as much.
What was once a sport of eloquence, beauty and Saturday afternoon’s spent at the ballpark, is all suddenly in jeopardy.
