Emmanuel Clase and the lower 48

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Progressive Field

That Bet365 sign on Progressive Field’s right field wall isn’t a license for players or team personnel to bet on baseball against their sport’s rules. (Neither is or was Fanatics Betting and Gaming’s sports book stand inside the ballpark.) It’s for fans only, folks, in the Prog and all ballparks.

Whoops. The microbet scandal plaguing baseball now has turned at least one worm. The government is accusing Guardians pitcher Emmanuel Clase with pitch rigging for microbettors in 48 games. You may be forgiven if you can’t help asking yourself, “And counting?”

That came forth in hand with news that co-conspiring Guardians pitcher Luis Ortiz’s attorney, Christos N. Georgalis, wrote in a court filing of Clase being accused of such rigging in “dozens of games.”

The filing also asks that, since the two pitchers have “markedly different levels of culpability,” Ortiz’s case should be separated on grounds he couldn’t get a fair trial otherwise, according to ESPN’s David Purdum.

It almost makes perfect sense for Georgalis to make the request. It would make sense for the government to grant it. If you take the government’s own word for it, Ortiz is the anchovy in this case, accused of rigging pitches in a measly two June 2025 games. Clase is the big blue whale, accused of swimming in criminal waters from 2023-2025 and possibly rigging pitches in a quarter of the 197 regular season games in which he pitched over that span.

Georgalis’s filing argues that twenty-six months worth of Clase’s alleged rigging, “including suspect pitches during 48 games, dozens of communications with [a bettor], cash transfers and coordination of illegal wagers,” might get Ortiz found “guilty by association.”

The two pitchers have already pleaded not guilty to wire fraud conspiracy, honest services wire fraud conspiracy, money laundering conspiracy, and conspiracy to influence sports events by bribery, Purdom reminds us. Perhaps regardless of who rigged in how many games, prosecutors charge the pair with accepting bribes from two unnamed bettors from their native Dominican Republic who won $460,000 at minimum in bets “on the speed and outcome of their pitches.”

Clase and Ortiz are set to stand trial starting on 4 May. Georgalis has also asked for additional time before his client goes on trial.

By no means are Clase and Ortiz the only athletes involved in criminal gambling cases. Since the Supreme Court struck down the 1992 law limiting legal betting mostly to Nevada for slightly over a quarter century, it’s probably no shock that athletes in assorted sports might find themselves on the wrong sides of the action. Athletes or, in the case of Dodgers gigastar Shohei Ohtani, their interpeters or other aides.

Two years ago, Padres infielder Tucupita Marcano was “declared permanently ineligible” for betting on baseball, after baseball government learned the hard way he’d been betting on Pirates games while he was a member of that team. Don’t bet on a certain president demanding his reinstatement any time soon. Apparently, said president’s favour confers solely upon otherwise Hall of Fame-eligible miscreants who went to their rewards without reinstatement and without honest admission until or unless it’s needed to sell books.

Even those who achieve perfection on the field can get clipped if they’re at the wrong betting windows. Just ask Pat Hoberg, former umpire, who earned the praise usually afforded perfect game pitchers when he called a perfect game in Game Two of the 2022 World Series. (What’s an umpire’s perfect game? In Hoberg’s case, calling all 129 pitches that were taken at the plate correctly.)

A little over two years later, Hoberg was investigated for breaking baseball’s gambling rules. Investigated and fired. He protested he’d never bet on baseball, but it turned out that the ump shared betting accounts with a friend who did bet on baseball and that he “deleted evidence pertaining to the league’s investigation.”

Hoberg can apply for reinstatement this year. Any bets on whether the aforementioned president is in a big hurry to demand baseball reinstate an umpire or else?

There’ve been arguments since the Clase and Ortiz cases began on behalf of banning sports microbetting because it just might erase any prospect of players being on the take. Whether it’s pitchers rigging certain pitches or hitters tanking on certain pitches. Whether it’s kickers taking how many steps before their feet launch field goal balls or how many blade strokes before Sniper D’Slapshot launches that puck to the nets on a penalty shot.

Remember: Ad partnerships between sports leagues and legal sports books did not mean those leagues’ players or personnel were suddenly granted immunity from their rules against their betting on their sports or their teams. (Do you think illegal bookies are going to be buying ballpark ad space any time soon?) That Bet365 sign on the right field wall at Progressive Field didn’t hand Clase and Ortiz licenses to rig pitches for fun and profit, their own and/or their reputed partners’ profit.

Much as the late Pete Rose’s partisans would like you to believe otherwise, the ads were for fans only. They did not mean players, coaches, managers, umpires, trainers, team doctors, video room operators, scoreboard operators, general managers and their aides, presidents of baseball operations and their aides, or owners were immunized from the game’s formal no-betting rules.

But don’t waste your valuable intellectual time trying to figure out how and why young men of vast means such as Clase and Ortiz needed additional income at all, never mind the kind yielded by a little pitch rigging. It is easier to pass the proverbial camel through the proverbial eye of the proverbial needle. Whether or not someone has bets down on the passage.

The offseason: Ending with bangs? Whimpers?

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Jacob Wilson

Jacob Wilson, secured as an Athletic for seven seasons and $70 million . . .

I confess. I’m not sure whether the January portion of the Hot Stove League offseason ended with more bangs than whimpers. I’m willing to wager that not too many others are, either. So, here’s some news as January’s end arrived . . .

Sale? What Sale? Dept. — It’s been speculated often enough that Padres general manager A.J. Preller is somewhat hamstrung making offseason moves with the team’s pending sale and its attendant Seidler family squabbling. Preller would like us to know that such speculation is slightly exaggerated.

“You get to this point, and obviously you get the opportunity to hopefully get some players that are motivated, that want to be here, and get some deals that we feel like line up for us from a price standpoint and what we get in the player,” he told the Padres FanFest. “Hopefully we’re going to look to add some guys here in the next couple of weeks that help us a lot.”

In other words, Preller hopes to make some moves this month. Padres fans can only reply, “We hope!” They may temper that with their fingers crossed now that Luis Arraez signed a single-season deal with the Giants, where his wish to play second base full time is likely to come true for now.

Jacob’s Ladder Dept. — The ladder goes further up with the Las Vegas Athletics of Oakland via Sacramento. The A’s and their All-Star shortstop Jacob Wilson have agreed on a seven-year, $70 million contract with a team option for an eighth season, according to ESPN’s Jeff Passan.

“With exceptional bat-to-ball skills, Wilson stamped himself as a likely future batting champion last season and spent much of the year atop the AL batting average leaderboard,” Passan wrote. “His power output surprised evaluators, who were concerned Wilson’s desire for contact — he struck out just 39 times in 523 plate appearances last year — would limit his home runs.”

The Wilson deal means the A’s have 2025 Rookie of the Year Nick Kurtz, Wilson, designated hitter Brent Rooker, and outfielders Tyler Soderstrom and Lawrence Butler locked down until at least 2030, according to Passan. Wilson and Soderstrom will be under team control through 2033, Butler through 2022, and Rooker through 2030, he added.

Translation: the somewhat loaded offense the A’s have been building without big fanfare is aimed squarely at making sure the A’s have more than just their presence, their uniforms, and a garish-on-the-outside ballpark to offer Las Vegas when they finally move there in 2028. If only the maneuverings making the move possible were done a) on the square; and, b) on owner John Fisher’s entire own dollars and not too many of those of Nevada taxpayers, without c) screwing Oakland in the bargain.

Insurance Running Dept. — You may or may not have noticed, but a rising number of major league stars aren’t going to be playing in the World Baseball Classic after all. That’s because MLB’s chief insurer is taking a tougher line on insuring players for the international tournament. So much so that Puerto Rico is considering pulling out of the tournament . . . because as many as ten of their team, including Mets superstar shortstop Francisco Lindor, are denied coverage.

The concern is comprehensible. The affected players have incurred injuries either in the most recent seasons or in the WBC itself. Perhaps the most notorious was relief pitcher Edwin Díaz, who missed the entire 2023 major league season after he was injured during a WBC celebration in that year’s tournament. The Athletic says WBC injuries to Díaz and Astros star Jose Altuve that year prompted MLB’s insurers to toughen up approval for play outside MLB.

Aside from Altuve and Lindor, Puerto Rico’s non-cleared players also include Astros third baseman Carlos Correa, Blue Jays pitcher José Berríos, and Twins catcher Victor Caratini. Puerto Rico’s team operations manager Joey Sola told The Athletic they’d have to withdraw entirely if they can’t find substitutes.

Pohlaxed Dept. — The departure of Twins general manager Derek Falvey disturbed a good many people who watch the Twins closely — except for Falvey himself. The Athletic‘s Aaron Gleeman reported this weekend that, if anything, Falvey now seemed like a man with tons of weight removed from his head.

“It’s been a challenge at times,” Falvey told Gleeman. “I’d be lying to say anything else. Everyone is going to have different limitations or challenges they have to navigate through. I do think for us over the course of certainly the last 16 or 18 months, those were ratcheted up.” Falvey seems to have a future as an understatement expert.

“Those” included the Polhads dropping the Twins payroll by $30 million in 2024 and by another $30 million this offseason, the non-reward for Falvey taking a $165 million 2023 payroll and shepherded it to the American League Central title and the end of the team’s two-decade-long postseason winless streak. Gleeman said the Twins’ projected $100 million 2026 payroll “left Falvey with few appealing options to improve a 92-loss team that needs all kinds of help following last year’s trade-deadline fire sale and second-half ineptitude.”

Good luck with all that. As Gleeman pointed out, the Twins’ owning family “pushed out Joe Pohlad as the executive chair in December, replacing him with older brother Tom Pohlad, who has since repeatedly made it clear he expects the Twins to be competitive this season without actually giving the front office the resources to add impact talent.”

That’s something along the line of American Airlines demanding its pilots fly Dreamliner jets across the Atlantic with their fuel tanks an eighth full.

There is Good News This Morning Dept. — It’s only seven days before pitchers and catchers begin reporting for spring training. They’ll be almost as happy to escape this winter’s cruel lash across the upper and eastward regions of this nation as baseball fans will be to welcome them back.

The 20th century New York Times writer/outdoorsman Hal Borland once observed, “No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.” Now hear this, Mr. Borland, serene in your perch in the Elysian Fields: For those nine words alone, the reading of which baseball fans are grateful beyond expression, you should have been awarded the Pulitzer Prize.

First published in slightly different form at Sports Central.

“A little more competence. A little more care.”

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Dodger Stadium

The way some people talk, you’d think this was baseball’s version of the ancient Roman Colosseum, the Dodgers are the Evil Empire, Dodger owner Mark Walter is Emperor Nero, and the Dodgers plan to throw Christians to the lions.

The question used to be, “How can you tell whether a lawyer or a politician (do we repeat ourselves?) lies?” The answer, of course, was, “One’s mouth is moving.”

Asking if you can tell whether most baseball owners lie just by moving mouths has not been unreasonable for an unreasonable length of time. Asking likewise of baseball’s commissioner is even less unreasonable anymore.

Rob Manfred leads the charge toward imposing a players’ salary cap at long enough last.  For every time he mentions a players’ salary floor, a minimum payroll per team, the salary cap comes out of his mouth about twenty times, roughly counting.

It’s as though the idea of the owners not named the Dodgers investing conscientiously in putting the most competitive possible teams onto the field in honest efforts to win is an affront to whatever it might be that Manfred holds dear. But it’s a waste of breath to remind anyone anymore than money alone doesn’t guarantee championships.

The 2025 Dodgers didn’t win one of baseball’s most thrilling World Series of all time because they put a $321.3 million player payroll forward on Opening Day. They won it because their postseason roster played championship baseball right down to the last minute.

Their opponents from Toronto didn’t win the American League pennant because they put forth an Opening Day player payroll about $100 million lower. They won it, and damn near won the World Series in the bargain, because their postseason roster played championship baseball right down to the next-to-last minute.

Nine 2025 teams fielded player payrolls of $200+ million. One sub-$200 million payroll went to last year’s postseason (the Cubs, at $196.3 million) and lost in the first round. The number three payroll (the Yankees, $293.5 million) lasted into the second round. Five other sub-$200 million payrolls (the Reds, the Guardians, the Tigers, the Brewers, the Mariners) entered the postseason and two (the Brewers, the Mariners) got as far as each League Championship Series.

The number four 2025 player payroll (the Phillies, $284.2 million) got knocked out by the Dodgers in a division series. Three $200+ million 2025 player payrolls (the Braves, the Astros, the Rangers) didn’t get to the postseason at all.

And the number one 2025 player payroll didn’t get to the postseason either. The Mets were too busy going from as high as 5.5 games above the National League East pack to 13 games out of first place and not even eligible for a wild card—because the Reds, with a sub-$130 million 2025 player payroll, won their season series against the Mets and thus won a wild card tiebreaker.

“Here’s a question: Who, exactly, is the salary cap for?” writes USA Today‘s Gabe Laques. He answers with questions baseball’s would-be salary cappers would rather not confront until the next-to-last minute or a lockout, whichever comes first:

Is it so the upper-middle class teams—your Red Sox, Phillies, Giants, Blue Jays, Yankees, Cubs—can stay within shouting distance of the Big Two?

To provide a puncher’s chance for the most bedraggled among us—your Pirates and Marlins, Royals and Reds?

This is where it gets challenging to determine if the cap would actually help—or if some of those franchises would simply continue their same aversion to serious competition, pocket their shared revenues and lock in even greater profits for every other franchise.

Those last nine words strike to what so often seems the nearest and the dearest to Manfred’s heart, even ahead of his inveterate tinkering: the common good of the game as making money for the owners.

Never mind the Dodgers being pushed out of two straight postseasons in division series losses before they won their two straight World Series, as The Athletic‘s Tyler Kepner notices. (Or, that they’d won exactly one World Series between the end of the Reagan Administration and the beginning of the COVID-19 pan-damn-ic.) Never mind, either, that they got the push-outs from the Padres and the Diamondbacks.

“It is easy now,” writes Kepner, “to forget how random short series really are.”

It’s been a terribly kept secret that Manfred has longed to see baseball achieve some sort of equivalence to the big bad NFL. “Setting aside for a moment the virulent anti-labor landscape of the NFL,” Lacques writes, “it is clear that its salary cap does not solve many of the problems some baseball fans claim is now endemic in their un-capped sport.”

He reminds baseball’s pro-cap Chicken Littles that the past eighteen Super Bowls have featured a whopping . . . eight NFL franchises. (That’s not going to change this year, folks. It’s going to be the New England Patriots and the Seattle Seahawks.)

It gets better. The AFC Championship Game has featured either or both of the Patriots and the Kansas City Chiefs over the past fifteen seasons, a span during which only twelve teams reached the Super Bowl. How many baseball teams have reached the World Series in that same fifteen-year span, starting with 2011, Lacques asks? Answer: Eighteen.

Eighteen, which means it’s easier to reel off the ones who didn’t make the Fall Classic: Baltimore, Minnesota, the Chicago White Sox, Seattle, Oakland/Yolo Countys, the Los Angeles Angels, Miami, Milwaukee, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, San Diego and Colorado.

The Padres, Orioles, Brewers and Mariners all reached a league championship series in that time. Do the remaining franchises strike you as particularly well-run? Do they have distinguished ownership groups with clear vision and a penchant for innovation? Consistently operate at a high level?

Try one example: The Angels aren’t exactly dirt poor. They were 2025’s number thirteen player payroll. ($190.5 if you’re scoring at home. Not Dodger dollars but not exactly Pirates penury, either.) Anyone accusing the Angels of having a distinguished owner with a clear vision and a penchant for innovation would lose in a court trial.

The Arte Moreno Angels have made tunnel vision a way of life. They’ve wasted the Hall of Fame-worthy prime life of the greatest position player the franchise has ever known. They couldn’t even show the brains to trade the game’s unicorn two-way player for geniune value before his contract expired.

They let Shohei Ohtani escape to free agency with an expected income equal to the economy of a tiny island country . . . before the Dodgers convinced him they believed in winning more than they believed in making generational talents surrealistically wealthy.

It’s not the only such example in major league baseball. The Angels are merely the least obscure of such franchises whose ownerships are vision impaired and innovation challenged. The ownerships that think their problems are . . . all the Dodgers’s or the Mets’s fault. (Did you ever think you’d see the day when the Yankees were no longer baseball’s Evil Empire?)

“The players and owners should find creative ways to dull the Dodgers’ edge, so other teams can come closer to matching it,” Kepner writes. “But you cannot make the Dodgers dumber or less driven to win. And as long as they are smart, motivated and opportunistic, this era will belong to them.” The first two, especially.

“For now,” Lacques writes, “[the Dodgers and the Mets] are the game’s pariahs, their proverbial hands slapped for trying too hard. The industrywide price, in management’s eyes, should be a salary cap. A greater solution: A little more competence and a little more care from those who have displayed precious little of either.”

A little more competence. A little more care. What concepts.

Two Bs and a Tuck

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Alex Bregman

“There’s an excitement in the air about Cubs baseball,” said their new $175 million third baseman Alex Bregman after signing with the team last week.

What a week, right? Just like that, three of the more luminous members of this winter’s free agency class found new homes for varying dollars.

The usual suspects scream blue murder. A few unusual suspects pick up Dodger manager Dave Roberts’s expressed equal adoration for a salary cap and a salary floor. So, who’s coming out how, where, and why? Let’s look with sober eyes.

Da Bear Market Dept.—Think about it: On the same evening the NFL’s Chicago Bears shoved the Green Bay Packers to one side and out of the race for the Super Bowl, in Soldier Field, the Cubs made erstwhile Astro/Red Sox third baseman Alex Bregman a rather wealthy man.

With the Red Sox thought to be pushing a bit extra to bring Bregman back, the Cubs pushed enough to land Bregman on a five-year, $175 million that includes a mutually agreed-upon $70 million worth of deferred money.

You think Bregman’s new teammates weren’t enthused about the deal and their new mate? “I texted him when the news broke: ‘Dude, let’s freaking go’,” said pitcher Jameson Taillon, an Arizona neighbour of Bregman’s according to The Athletic. “He FaceTimed me. He was like, ‘Hey, we’re just finishing up dinner. Can I come over?’”

He wasn’t alone, wrote the journal’s Patrick Mooney: “Pete Crow-Armstrong, the All-Star center fielder, was in attendance at Soldier Field when he found out that Bregman would be a new teammate. Immediately after seeing the reports, Gold Glove shortstop Dansby Swanson called Bregman from a friend’s wedding.”

The Cubs made a run for the postseason last year. After a few years behaving like the big city kid who seemed to be seduced by the outskirts of Four Corners, Nowhere in Particular, they started behaving like the bigger market team they’re supposed to be once the postseason run ended.

“There’s an excitement in the air about Cubs baseball,” said Bregman while he made a bit of a whirl-around Chicago tour last week. “I can’t wait to get after it.” Pause. “After it” means “pennant race” and “World Series trip” for a man who now picked uniform number 3 to indicate he’d like a third World Series ring as well as stability for his family.

He’s known as a student of the game, a disciplined hitter, a sharp-fielding third baseman, and a clubhouse godsend. All Bregman has to do is live up to all that as best a 31-year-old with more than a few miles on him can, as he did when his body allowed in Boston last year. Da Cubs will make sure his appreciation is far, wide, and deep.

Tucker, the Man and His Team Dept.—Meanwhile, an erstwhile Cub lit the fuse on fresh screaming over the big, bad, behemoth Dodgers and their big, bad, behemoth platinum vault. The erstwhile Cub is Kyle Tucker, considered the number one free agent in the winter class by those who thought Bregman was the class’s second banana.

Tucker signed up for four years, $240 million, and opt-outs after years two and three. The deal also includes $30 million in deferred dollars. If Tucker helps the Dodgers to a third straight World Series title, Dodger City will consider it all very wisely spent. If he doesn’t or can’t, well . . .

That screaming won’t be limited to denunciations of the Dodgers as the new Evil Empire. It’ll include audible-in-the-Klingon-Empire demands for explanations as to why a no-doubt talent but with 27.3 wins above replacement-level in eight season is pulling down $17 million a year more than Aaron Judge, Yankee bombardier first class, who earned about 3.0 more WAR just over three of the past four years.

The Dodgers are betting on Tucker’s future coming somewhere near Judge’s present, of course. Aside from the dollars, the Dodgers could offer something far deeper to the low-keyed Tucker. He can do Tucker things without the floodlights baking him too heavily compared to the rest of the Dodgers’ star power.

He might have been the star of this free agency market, when Bregman and Bo Bichette weren’t, but that’s about as far as Tucker seems to care to go when it comes to attracting attention with anything beyond his still-growing bat and his virtuosity playing right field.

What’s Bo Know Dept.—Bo Bichette is a Met. Roll the rhyme around awhile, Metsropolitan New York. Savour the possibilities to come with a healthy Bichette helping the Mets ride all the way to a postseason. (Remember: He came off the injured list to be one of the shining time Blue Jays in last year’s World Series.)

Now, be afraid. Be very afraid. Because the Mets plan for their new $126 million infield toy is to move him from his normal shortstop to third base. Every Met fan since the day they were born will warn you. The Mets don’t have a sterling history of third base conversions. (Mets legend David Wright was born to the position, you may remember.)

Ask what happened when they traded a talented but still-erratic arm named Nolan Ryan to the Angels for a veteran elite shortstop named Jim Fregosi . . . and decided to turn that veteran elite shortstop into a third baseman. Case closed.

Bichette can hit. The only population that doesn’t know that might be a colony of Arctic walruses. But with the glove? He’s 36 defensive zone runs below his league average as a shortstop, and his range factors per game are below the average, too. He played a little second base in the minors but not a lick of third base in the Show.

The Mets turned toward Bichette more seriously (they’d been talking previously) when Tucker went California bound the night before. The Phillies saw the Mets embrace Bichette and elected to reunite with veteran catcher J.T. Realmuto after all.

Now all the Mets have to do is get a read on whether Bichette will be the second coming of poor Jim Fregosi or the first coming of Bo Bichette, third base maven. Not to mention whether Brett Baty, the incumbent third base Met, will have a reasonable future moving to the corner outfield, as some reports speculate.

Well, the Mets have been many things over the decades. Boring has rarely been one of them.

Manfred’s just thinking aloud. Isn’t he?

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Rob Manfred

Manfred insists he’s done when his contract is. What manner of mischief might he wreak before then?

This is commissioner Rob Manfred’s story and he’s sticking to it. For now. Ask him whether he’s going to want to rethink his previously-enunciated intent to retire when his current contract expires in three years, and he digs in like a batter who knows he’s facing not Bob Gibson but Bobo Garglebargle.

“I’m done at the end of this contract. I’ve told [the owners] that, and I’m gonna stick to it,” Manfred insisted in a WFAN radio interview last week. “I’ll be 70. It is enough . . . You have a certain period of time when you have things that you want to accomplish, you take your best shot, you try to get as much done as possible. And then it’s sort of time for the next guy with his set of things. And I think that’s healthy and good for this.”

So far, so good. So, what does the most inveterate tinkerer who ever held the commissioner’s office want to get done before he moseys off into the sunset?

Without saying he’s committed to it—yet—Manfred mentioned discussions about inflicting a split season and in-season tournaments upon major league baseball. “We do understand that 162 (games) is a long pull,” he said. “I think the difficulty to accomplish those sort of in-season events, you almost inevitably start talking about fewer regular-season games.”

But not fewer postseason rounds and games, of course. Manfred isn’t that sensible. “It is a much more complicated thing in our sport than it is in other sports,” he continued. “Because of all of our season-long records, you’re playing around with something that people care a lot about.”

You’re playing around with a lot more than that, Commissioner Pepperwinkle.

Wait until it gets to the part where he speaks of bringing MLB to 32 teams. And, realigning baseball into eight divisions of four teams each. Presuming it’s going to be one new team in each league, would it do to suggest something a lot more sensible?

You guessed it. I’m going there again. Instead of eight divisions of four teams each, how about four divisions of eight teams each? How about two such divisions in each league? If you wish, you can keep them named the National League East and West, and the American League East and West. Goodbye three-division lunacy and wild-card whackadoodling.

Think of the benefits that would come forth. I’ve made the argument before, but it’s worth making it yet again. Four divisions, eight teams each, and you don’t get to play for a championship unless your butts were parked in first place at season’s end. Let’s not forget to put an end to the farce of regular-season interleague play, either. Save that for where it really belongs, the All-Star Game and the World Series.

And won’t it be fun to have something we haven’t really had in this century—namely, real pennant races again. No more of this Bizarro World nonsense of the thrills, spills, and chills of teams fighting to the last breath to finish the season . . . in second place.

Come to think of it, let’s be done at long enough last with those hideous All-Star and City Connect uniforms. They go from ugly to disgusting and back to repulsive before turning nauseating. Haven’t you missed seeing All-Stars wearing their own uniforms, the fatigues of the teams they represent in the game?

And we haven’t arrived until now at the truly fun part. You want to get rid of postseason saturation as much as I do? You want to make the postseason both meaningful and fun again? You want more World Series such as last fall, when a) the only combatants were teams who finished first in their divisions, anyway; and, b) those two went tooth, fang, claw, and anything else they could think of until somebody finally won it? You want to relieve Manfred’s discomfort over the long season?

Of course you do. So . . .

We’ve simplified the game’s alignment to two divisions each for each league. We’ve made for real pennant races again. Now we get to call for best-of-five League Championship Series. That’s the way they played it from divisional play’s birth in 1969 through 1984. Now, you restore the World Series’s primacy by keeping it a best-of-seven. Did I mention that it also means no baseball under snow or November watch anymore?

You also have postseasons of—maximum—seventeen games under the foregoing back-to-the-future remake/remodel. Meaning you have yearly totals of—maximum, again—179 major league games for each league. You can’t tell me that’s not plenty of baseball. And who says an earlier opening to the Hot Stove League won’t be a little more fun, either?

Speaking of which, beware. Maybe the only thing worse than Manfred pondering in-season tournaments would be landing a hard deadline for free agency signing. Athletics outfielder/designated hitter Brent Rooker called it the most anti-player idea Manfred could have. So, naturally, Commissioner Pepperwinkle started stumping for it harder the day after Rooker spoke against it.

“I think there’s going to be some more conversation about it, because I do believe that there’s a marketing opportunity,” Manfred told WFAN. “Let’s face it, we operate in a really competitive environment. Just put entertainment, generally, to one side—just sports, right? It’s really competitive. And I think that you make a mistake, particularly during the offseason, when you don’t take every advantage to push your sport out in front of your fans during that down period.”

Some think you make more of a mistake taking the fun out of the Hot Stove League. For owners and players alike. The owners aren’t saints, but they’re not wholly brainless. The ones who can (will) spend love the chase. The ones who can’t (won’t) spend love to bitch about the ones who can. Fans who kvetch one moment about swelling player dollars cheer the next when their team lands an Alex Bregman.

(By the way, don’t pity the Red Sox for failing to convince Bregman to stay. Not when they seem to have quaked over including a no-trade clause in his new deal but the Cubs had no problem giving him one. Well, there’s still Bo Bichette to whom the Red Sox might turn, within reason.)

“[W]hat they said back was, they thought that kind of [signing] deadline would work to the disadvantage of the players,” Manfred said of player reaction to the idea. “And you know, I just—I don’t put much credence in this.” Shocker.

At least, Manfred promised that any realignment would not include forcing two-team cities into the same division. But the bad news is that, historically, it was easier for pitchers to hold Hall of Famer Rickey (The Man of Steal) Henderson on base than it is to put most commissioners’s promises in the bank.