Shohei Ohtani didn’t waste any time.

The World Baseball Classic is underway.

While Team USA rolled in its opener last night, Ohtani reminded the world why this tournament has become one of baseball’s biggest stages.

When the WBC debuted in 2006, it carried plenty of skepticism.

Some of the top US players skipped it.

The games were entertaining — but the tournament didn’t quite feel serious.

That’s no longer the case.

In 2026, Team USA arrives with a roster that reads like an All-Star ballot.

Aaron Judge.
Kyle Schwarber.
Cal Raleigh.
Bryce Harper.

On the mound?

Tarik Skubal and Paul Skenes.

But the Americans won’t have the spotlight to themselves.

Japan — the defending champions — return with the best player on the planet, Shohei Ohtani, and Dodgers ace Yoshinobu Yamamoto.

And then there’s the Dominican Republic.

A lineup that could make any pitching staff uneasy:

Vladimir Guerrero Jr.
Juan Soto.
Ketel Marte.
Fernando Tatis Jr.
Manny Machado.
Julio Rodríguez.

Imagine the matchup.

USA versus the Dominican Republic.

Since the tournament began in 2006, the United States has won the title just once — in 2017.

Which makes this edition feel different.

The talent is deeper.
The pride is louder.
And the world is watching.

Baseball’s version of the World Cup.

And for a few weeks, the sport gets a rare break from something else looming over the season:

Contracts.
Payroll fights.
And the labor storm quietly gathering on the horizon.

For now?

We just get baseball.

Open the books.

Major League Baseball owners say the economics of the sport are broken.

Runaway payrolls.
Small markets can’t compete.
A salary cap is the only answer.

Maybe.

But if the system is truly collapsing, there’s a simple way to prove it.

Open the books.

Let’s see the winners and losers.

Who’s really bleeding money — and who’s quietly cashing revenue-sharing checks while franchise values soar?

Show us how bad the finances really are.

Of course that’s not happening.

Owners insist the system is unsustainable.
Players say the industry is wildly profitable.

So what’s a fan supposed to believe as billionaires and millionaires argue over a $12-billion sport?

The average MLB franchise is now worth nearly $3 billion.

Take the Los Angeles Angels.

Arte Moreno bought the team for $180 million in 2003.

Today the franchise is worth nearly $2.75 billion.

And that’s for one of the worst-run organizations in the sport.

None of this means every team is rolling in cash.

The collapse of regional sports networks is a real problem.

Those TV deals once made up roughly 25 percent of team revenue.

Now that money is disappearing.

Those are legitimate challenges.

But real challenges should come with real transparency.

If the system is broken, the proof shouldn’t be complicated.

Show the revenues.
Show the expenses.

Open the damn books.

Right now the debate over baseball’s future isn’t built on facts.

It’s built on narratives.

Owners say the economics don’t work.
Players say they work just fine.

Fans are left trying to read between the lines.

And until the numbers are out in the open, the argument will always come down to one thing.

If the economics of baseball really are collapsing…

Proving it should be easy.

Open the books.

I mean…WTF.

Two years ago, Jurickson Profar finally looked like the player scouts promised when he was the No. 1 prospect in baseball.

An All-Star with the San Diego Padres.

Energy guy.
Fan favorite.
Productive hitter.

It earned him a $42 million contract with the Atlanta Braves.

Profar had arrived.

And now…

another PED suspension.

His second.

Seriously?

If you’re the Braves, what do you do now?

Teams can live with slumps.

With injuries.

But trust?

That’s different.

And after a second PED suspension, Jurickson Profar just burned a lot of it.

Spring training is supposed to get players ready for the season.

Work on the swing.
Get the arm loose.
Sharpen the fundamentals.

But sometimes, even chewing gum can go wrong.

Back in 2013, Michael Taylor — then with the Oakland Athletics — tried to toss a wad of chewing gum into a trash can in the dugout.

Instead, his hand smashed into a low-hanging light fixture on the ceiling.

Two deep gashes on his pinkie finger.

Just like that, Taylor missed more than a week of spring training.

Not from a bad slide.

Not from a collision at the wall.

From throwing away gum.

Just another spring training tradition.

Players get in shape.

Pitchers find their command.

And occasionally someone ends up on the injured list thanks to a wad of Big League Chew.

Not every baseball story is about batting averages or roster spots.

Sometimes it’s about something much simpler.

Being here.

Last November, Colorado Rockies prospect Braylen Wimmer underwent a 3½-hour surgery to remove a golf ball-sized tumor from his brain.

Doctors kept him talking during the operation, making sure the part of his brain responsible for speech and movement wasn’t affected.

For a professional athlete whose life revolves around reaction, coordination, and instinct, the stakes couldn’t have been higher.

Two weeks later?

Wimmer was hitting soft toss.

Now the 25-year-old is back with the Rockies organization — taking ground balls and lifting weights.

The baseball part will sort itself out.

But after everything he’s been through…

just putting the uniform back on is already a win.

While baseball debates billions…

Most families are dealing with grocery bills that seem to climb every month.

That’s the side of money I explore each Wednesday in The Real Cost.

This week: Why auto insurance rates keep rising — and what you can actually do about it.

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