MLB: We have met the virus, and it is us.

If you're scoring at home - that is, if you still follow the rancid MLB labor/pandemic fiasco - you've known for weeks that time was running out for the 2020 season. 

Yesterday, Commissioner/Chief Owner Shill Rob Manfred finally owned up to the pleasant reality that baseball might not happen this year. Writes Tyler Kepner in today's Times:

Manfred and the hard-line owners are terrified of walking into a trap by offering the players’ union a schedule before agreeing on health and safety protocols. That could potentially bring legal action from the players, so the safest route — to a large-enough segment of owners — is to blow up the season and save a lot of money.

If they cancel the 2020 season, rather than implement a mini-schedule of, say, 48 games instead of the usual 162, the owners would save about $1.2 billion in pro-rated player salaries. They also would save themselves the risk of losing another $1 billion or so if an arbitrator sided with the players in court this winter.

Three days ago, Manfred vowed to play a season, costs be damned! What a man! Now, he's doubtful. What happened? Money called. (And when it's Money on the line, they always take the call.) Money said, "Jesus Christ, Manfred, what the fuck!" And Manfred replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I made a mistake. By the way, your laundry is ready."

So, here we are, back where we always end up in crises: Both sides entrenched, glaring at each other, needing desperately to pee, waiting for the other to flinch. We've seen this movie, read this book, sang the song...  

The Boss said, "Poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king." Journey said, "Some will win, some will lose, some are born to sing the blues." Slade said, "So you think my singing's out of time? Well, it makes me money. And I don't know why. I don't know why - anymore." 

I say, in the battle between billionaires and millionaires, bet the side with the extra zeroes. And today, that side is willing to blow up the season. So, Cum on, Feel the Noise.

For weeks, I've been kidding myself about 2020. I honestly thought the sides would converge and, for the sake of the game, play a season. They still might. But this we know: It will be horrible, we will loathe it, and almost surely, a few players will get sick, and one might even die. At that point, we'll know it was a mistake. But Money will call, and we will have its laundry.

So, maybe this impasse is a blessing. Sadly, we might never know, because of the Money. It amazes me how fans always hold high salaries against the players, while letting the owners - whose wealth is never outlined in news stories - escape criticism. For that, I blame the Gammonites, sportswriters who gleefully measure performance to salaries, without looking at the broader economic picture. On this, Kepner is an exception.

Players simply do not believe owners who claim that the sport is not very profitable. They noticed when the Kansas City Royals sold for $1 billion last year after being purchased for $96 million in 2000. They noticed when the league struck a reported $1 billion deal last weekend with Turner Sports for its portion of postseason TV rights.

We all should notice. The owners cannot lose, unless the game itself is broken. On that note, let's give Kepner the final word:

Alas, the next generation often seems of little concern to the league. M.L.B. will likely shutter dozens of minor league franchises next season, and it slashed last week’s draft to five rounds, from 40. Both are short-sighted moves that will shrink the game’s overall reach, drain its talent pool and drive away people who could help grow the sport, whether they reach the majors or not.

Sadly, though, those decisions are consistent with the strategy of a league that has now committed virtual treason against the fans by publicly floating the idea of canceling the season, just days after Manfred promised otherwise. It is a shameful abdication of leadership.