Hey, MLB Owners! Get your botox-injected heads out of your gold-plated asses!

I’m sorry, was that too harsh? If so, it should be way harsher. These billionaire pricks are sitting high atop their ivory towers “trying” to make a season happen with the same effort I use to “try” and get selected for jury duty.

The only credit I give these prune-skinned Monopoly Guy owners is the fact that they’re somehow winning this invisible PR battle. Somehow they managed to spin the narrative of these negotiations to look like the “millionaire players” are greedy for not wanting to play for the amount both parties agreed upon back in March.

Owners really had to re-neg on that deal because God forbid you pay players their designated salary without making as much money from TV or fans. Goodness, I’d hate to see MLB owners have to resort to clipping coupons just to make ends meet this year. God forbid they have to bring home a Charlie Brown Christmas tree this year. Or even… *gasp*… you might have to fire (or furlough) one of your personal chef’s. Sorry, Antonio, we’re cutting back this year.

When in reality, they’ll be watching the games and sipping Mai Tai’s in their Caribbean (and coronavirus safe) beach houses, while their butler Theodore wipes their asses with $100 bills. Not because the store was out of toilet paper, but because that’s what billionaires do. They use large pills to wipe poop residue off their cheeks. Why? Because paper from the U.S. Mint, while firmer and coarser on the skin, still feels better to them than Charmin.

Meanwhile, the players will be playing in their COVID cess pools on their prorated salaries, just years removed from their Minor League days when they played for pennies on the dollar and rode school busses to games all across the country.

Not to go all Condescending Wonka here, but please, tell me more about how the players are the bad guys here.

Everyone’s going to have to bite the bullet and lose some money this year. I apologize for wanting the billionaires to be the ones biting hardest.

Sorry, Richie Rich owners, but you might have to wait a year before you add that second indoor swimming pool to your vacation home in Aspen. And when I say Richie Rich, I mean it, because another name for Richard is Dick.

Now for as hard as I’m going in on these out-of-touch Calton Bankses, I’m not about to compare their current job situation with what regular Americans are going through. America is in a dark place financially and economically. We all get that. But the lamest argument in sports is whenever loser fans compare athlete’s jobs to their own. “If I did that at my job…” “These guys are making millions to play a kids game for a living, while I work for the city’s electrical company.” Stop comparing what athletes do to your job. It’s a lame-ass argument that makes no sense. Apples and oranges. Or more so, apples and sunflower seeds. But I digress. I’m sorry, I lost focus on where my true hate in this blog is going towards: these Gordon Gecko “Greed Is Good” MLB owner schmucks.

And don’t even get me started on that gap-toothed commissioner, Rob Manfred. Even Madonna thinks you need to get with an orthodontist ASAP. At least that way we don’t have to look at your Strahan smile as you “grin and bear it” while your sport erodes into irrelevancy.

Can’t believe this doofus has been more proactive about pace of play than actual play. Hey Manfred, you know there’s a proverbial pitch clock for you to get a deal done right? The NBA and NHL have already begun their phases to return while you stand around with one foot out of the box wasting time and unnecessarily adjusting your batting gloves like you’re Nomar Garciaparra. Next time Mark Cuban wants to buy an MLB team, let him, because at least he has enough wherewithal to call people out and get things done. Frankly, baseball could use someone with self-awareness like him. His sport is going to be one of the first one’s back, and I didn’t see a single NBA owner clamor, “WHAT ABOUT MY MONEY!”

Maybe these billionaire owners need to pop another monocle into their other eye so they can clearly see the damage they’re doing to their own sport. I know we’ve witnessed a lot of “history repeating itself” in this country over the last few weeks. And in the world of (no) baseball, it’s like it’s 1994 all over again. Remember how the sport was completely dead for a few years and it took a roid-raged home run race to defibrillate it back to life? Well, we’re back in 1994, except now we have a lot less steroids and Ace of Base to get us through these tough times.

I don’t want this blog to come across as just another dude with access to a keyboard hating on baseball. I don’t hate baseball. I actually love it. I live and breathe it. I consume as much as I can. But right now, I’m pissed at the people in charge of baseball: the owners and the spineless commissioner who’s smile doubles as a soup strainer. I’m so mad at these stubborn, greedy-ass, money-obsessed owners trying to pinch pennies in a time where the whole world is down. They’re essentially refusing to donate to a charity because they can’t guarantee a tax write-off. Well, screw you, owners. And especially screw you, Rob Manfred. Botching the Astros scandal was strike one, and now botching the entire 2020 season is strike two. I just hope you’re out well before strike three.

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