Rosenthal: Manfred must strike a deal with the players or ruin his legacy (original) (raw)

Rob Manfred finally seems to be figuring out he has no choice: Strike a deal with the union and salvage the 2020 season, or ruin his legacy as commissioner of baseball.

As if the perception that Manfred is beholden to owners and out of touch with players was not bad enough, he was trending on Twitter on Monday after performing a massive flip-flop.

Granted, the commissioner is forever in a tricky spot, empowered to act in the best interests of the game, but employed by the owners. Still, how does Manfred in a span of five days go from telling ESPN the season “unequivocally” would take place to saying on the same network he was “not confident” it would happen?

The mere suggestion of a canceled season – seemingly over financial concerns – is offensive. Major League Baseball, shut down by the COVID-19 pandemic, will suffer tremendous consequences if it remains dark for almost 18 months. On top of that, a work stoppage appears increasingly likely after the collective-bargaining agreement expires on Dec. 1, 2021. Yet, rather than see the forest for the trees, Manfred wants to set the forest on fire?

Actually, that’s not his plan.

The threat of a billion-dollar grievance from the Players Association has forced Manfred to reconsider exercising his right to set a schedule for the 2020 season and return to his original mission of reaching a deal that is acceptable to both sides. What he wants now, according to sources, is to stop bickering with the union, start negotiating and reach an agreement that will bring the sport at least temporary order.

Yet for a guy who suddenly is looking for peace, Manfred sure has a funny way of showing it.

He and the owners, supposed stewards of the game, are turning the national pastime into a national punch line, effectively threatening to take their ball and go home while the country struggles with medical, economic and societal concerns.

Baseball is a business, we all know that. But it is a business that former commissioner Bud Selig describes as a social institution with social responsibilities, a business that holds an antitrust exemption, distinguishing it from every other professional sports league. Such a business should hold itself to a higher standard, but in these talks, if you can even call them that, Manfred and the owners keep sinking lower. Unless making dead-on-arrival proposals, tone-deaf public remarks and other assorted blunders is your idea of negotiating savvy.

The March agreement between the parties empowers Manfred to determine the number of games as long as the league pays players their full pro-rated salaries and plays as many games as possible. On June 1, ESPN reported that the league might pursue precisely that course, and the players once again grew angry over what they perceived as a strategic leak.

Well, guess what?

Manfred’s bosses, the owners, evidently are not thrilled with the idea of going forward with a season of 50-odd games over the players’ objections. The players likely would complain Manfred bullied them back onto the field, forcing them to risk their health and safety during a pandemic.

A new, negotiated agreement would address the players’ medical concerns, establish opt-out rules and settle a host of other unresolved issues. And when the alternative without a deal includes a possible grievance that might cost the league hundreds of millions in financial damages, no wonder the owners oppose such a course.

And no wonder Manfred had no choice but to backpedal as if he were running a 100-meter sprint in reverse.

The best commissioners offer statesmanlike presence and superior vision. Few ascribe those qualities to Manfred, and few would argue baseball is in a better place since he took over for Selig on Aug. 14, 2014. Rather than simply enjoy the fruits of the 2016 CBA, a lopsided victory for the owners, the clubs have gorged on them, alienating the players. And once again, they are valuing their own short-term interests over the long-term interests of the sport.

Manfred considers himself a deal-maker. He is reluctant to impose his will even to achieve something as simple as a pitch clock. But once union head Tony Clark responded to the third and most recent of the league’s proposals by saying, “It’s time to get back to work. Tell us when and where,” the commissioner effectively was boxed in.

Not that Clark is necessarily the mastermind of the union’s strategy – that adjective probably more aptly describes Bruce Meyer, whom the PA hired as its lead negotiator nearly two years ago and who appears to be singlehandedly driving the league nuts with his hard-line approach.

MLB officials long for the days when they negotiated with Michael Weiner, the previous head of the union who passed away in November 2013. Weiner was brilliant and levelheaded, and enjoyed a mutual respect with Manfred, who was the league’s lead negotiator under Selig. Meyer, in the league’s view, is far less reasonable, but sorry, the league does not get to pick the other side’s negotiators. Don’t like Meyer? Think Clark is overmatched? Too bad. Find a way to deal with them.

Those on the owners’ side might contend Meyer cares less about baseball than anyone in their camp, criticisms they once leveled at former union heads Donald Fehr and Marvin Miller as well. The job of the union, however, is to assert and protect the legal rights of players. It is essentially playing defense, and if Meyer lacks a feel for the game, Clark certainly has it as a former major leaguer, as do the players who have devoted most of their lives to the sport.

But those players, even though they are the product, control only so much.

Manfred and the owners are the equivalents of the pitcher standing on the mound with the ball – the game can’t begin without them. The March agreement vested Manfred with even more power during the pandemic – the power to resist starting the season until certain conditions were met, as well as the power to set the schedule.

What complicates the situation is that some owners might not want to play at all. Any commissioner who makes decisions that are harmful to the owners or unpopular among them risks getting fired. But Manfred, an attorney who joined Major League Baseball full-time in 1998 and worked closely with the league for a decade before that, seems more determined than most to keep his bosses happy, and not simply by driving revenues to record levels.

An example of Manfred’s deference to owners occurred when he absolved the Astros’ Jim Crane from responsibility in the league’s announcement of the team’s sign-stealing penalties. The Astros’ discipline included suspensions for general manager Jeff Luhnow and manager AJ Hinch, the loss of four high draft picks and a $5 million fine. But the commissioner of baseball seemingly was good with the owner who established the team’s culture?

Then there is the matter of Manfred’s difficulty in connecting with players, as evidenced by his description of the World Series trophy “as a piece of metal” when making a point on ESPN about stripping the Astros of their 2017 World Series title. The remark enraged players and Manfred later apologized for it, but the mere thought offered insight into the way he thinks about his product.

Now consider these negotiations. Perhaps Manfred is struggling to control the hard-line owners who insist the players take a pay cut from the prorated salaries they outlined in the March agreement. But has anyone – Manfred, a more conciliatory owner, anyone – attempted to sway the internal discussions in the other direction? Say to the hard-liners, “Look, we know every club is taking a hit financially, but we can’t engage in tunnel vision, can’t lose sight of the big picture, can’t let our actions reflect badly on our sport?”

The solution to this mess is not terribly complicated. The parties need to stop exchanging angry letters, stop obsessing over how they are perceived in the media, stop making offers in different languages. Then they need to start actually negotiating, perhaps first by resolving numerous secondary issues, then by settling on the pay structure and length of season once and for all.

Last Wednesday, I suggested the owners propose a 72-game season and give the players their full pro-rata salaries. That suggestion probably was ambitious, considering the owners say they will lose money in every game without fans if the players do not accept a pay cut. But the players adamantly oppose a cut, and the owners have yet to make a proposal without one.

So, what number of games at the full daily rate would represent the sweet spot in which the players would agree to an expanded postseason and greater cooperation with broadcasts while forfeiting their right to file a grievance? Is it 62 games? Sixty-five?

Manfred and the owners need to figure it out, and quickly. Most owners will be in the game longer than most players, enabling them to eventually recoup their losses from 2020, then profit from their franchise’s resale values. Manfred, meanwhile, is supposed to be the adult in the room, a leader with a sense of the game’s place in our society, the caretaker of the sport.

If he blows this, it will define him. That should be enough incentive for him to strike a deal, period.

(Photo: Tom Szczerbowski / Getty Images)

Ken Rosenthal is the senior baseball writer for The Athletic who has spent nearly 35 years covering the major leagues. In addition, Ken is a broadcaster and regular contributor to Fox Sports' MLB telecasts. He's also won Emmy Awards in 2015 and 2016 for his TV reporting. Follow Ken on Twitter @Ken_Rosenthal