This post contain less rational thought than (presumably) most of my posts exhibit. Essentially, I’m screaming into the void. I’m frustrated that the owners and players have gone ’round and ’round on a 2020 season everywhere except on the base paths.
Even more, I sympathize with the thousands of people whose livelihoods are tied to the game. Consider the ballpark staff — the ticket takers, the hot dog slingers, the “beer here!” guys and gals, and the peanut vendors, even their suppliers. The New York Times today has a story on how the company that roasts and distributes most of the peanuts sold at ballparks is stuck with a bumper crop in cold storage.
Layer on top of that economic misery the health hazards. I just read that two more players and two more staff members of the Philadelphia Phillies have contracted COVID-19, bringing the team total to a dozen.
Is anyone going to win this season? Not the owners. Not the players. Not the networks. Certainly not the fans.
I managed to live through the three previous strikes and the 1990 lockout. When play stopped in 1981 and 1994, I fretted, briefly. And I learned to live without the game.
I won’t be happy, but I can do so again.