In long journalism careers—and shorters one, too, as historians—we have realized that what we write isn’t always the popular, trendy position(s) to take. So be it; facts over feelings, as it were, which is why we point out cheaters constantly instead of smoothing over the immoral and unethical sides of sports. Today, MLB Monday looks at the World Baseball Classic, which is really just a money grab and the baseball version of the Olympic basketball and hockey we’ve seen in the last few years. Ho hum.

We don’t get it, and personally, we don’t want it.

It’s clear Olympic versions of these professional sports can be exciting, as evidenced by both the men’s and women’s basketball championship games in the 2024 Paris Summer Games. The recent Olympic hockey final in the 2026 Winter Olympics was also somewhat of a barnburner, although the false analogies to the 1980 men’s team that won gold in Lake Placid were just asinine hyperbole. In the end, these are professionals who just go back to their “day jobs”—and leave the Olympics behind once again.

The WBC is no different: it’s professional players competing for their nations of origin (in most cases) against other countries. When it’s over, they all go back to being teammates in their respective pro leagues and forget all about this. The 2026 WBC does serve as a qualifier for the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles, where baseball will be contested again after not being a part of the Paris Games. But Major League Baseball has yet to figure out a way to take a break midsummer for its athletes to compete.

So, yeah, the WBC is basically Olympic baseball right now: it’s a money grab for the organizers and the TV networks which broadcast it. Does this event really give “bragging” rights to the winning nation? Debatable. Just as the US beat Canada in Olympic hockey a few weeks ago, there’s going to be several other international competitions on the horizon, so it’s all just temporary glory. Yeah, maybe the medals last forever, but it’s nowhere near the same achievement as that 1980 hockey win.

For most of those US players, that was the culmination of their hockey careers, even if some of them went on to have decent pro careers. The concept of amateurism is what made the Olympics great once; it often was the one shot at glory for the athletes. Now, if they don’t win gold this time, they get paid to keep trying—instead of having to get a real job, like amateur competitors once did—and play again in four years. The sense of urgency is gone, because if they lose, they can cry themselves to sleep on their money.

It’s even worse with these pros now: how much sleep did the Canadian men’s hockey players lost over losing the gold medal game, when they had to report back to their NHL clubs soon thereafter and focus on the Stanley Cup playoff qualification? The same will happen with the WBC event. The MLB, and other international pro league seasons, will commence as soon as it is over, and it’s yesterday’s news. The players/nations that lose know they’ll have another chance in the future to win the next edition of the event.

The permanence is gone; it’s the same concept as how the Greek and Roman gods envied the humans for their mortality. Everything means more when there is no second—or third, or fourth, or fifth—chance a few more years down the line. Athletes who put it all on the line for their singular chance at immortality? That’s what captures the imagination of any audience much more so than the present-day, it-will-happen-again-soon formats of these silly, paid-professional international events. Ask Tiger Woods.

The hyperbole around the WBC is just about fabricating shallow and topical interest long enough to profit from the moment. Don’t fall for it, people—demand more significant meaning from your sports-fan experience, something more permanent and significant.