Rob Manfred's planet

(Hint: It's not this one.)

Which is to say, the planet baseball commissioner Rob Manfred lives on is a planet where you can make a pretty good living for yourself on somewhere between $4,800 and $14,700, which you earn only in the summer months. That's what your typical minor-league player makes, which Manfred insisted the other day was plenty of jack to live on.

"I reject the premise that they're not paid a living wage," is what Manfred actually said.

I don't blame Manfred for saying this. I mean, when you make $17.5 million a year, as Manfred does, you tend to lose track of the little people. And what reality is like for them.

As one of the little people (though not a baseball player in any known universe), I can tell you what it's like.

I can't remember exactly what I made in my first sportswriting gig out of college, but it was somewhere in the minor-league baseball player range. I lived in a duplex in a rundown neighborhood, and the cuisine at Chez Ben was not exactly five-star. I lived on Pete's Pride Pork Fritters, Banquet pot pies (into which I used to dump canned green beans, because, you know, veggies!) and grilled cheese on Wonder bread. 

Occasionally I would splurge and swing through Wendy's for a triple with cheese, aka "Just A Big Ol' Wad Of Meat." This explains how I put on 40 pounds in an embarrassingly short period of time.

Point is, I made a living wage, but barely. And it was 1977, almost 50 years ago. Gas was 62 cents a gallon. Now it's four bucks and up.

Which is to say, if I could barely live on what I was making then, there's no damn way a minor-league baseball player can live on it now. Especially when they're only drawing a paycheck during the baseball season.

At least I got paid year-round.

Kinda like Rob Manfred.

OK. So not really.