WHY IS ROB MANFRED THE ARBITER OF CONSENSUAL ROUGH SEX?

Trevor Bauer hasn’t been arrested or charged with a crime, but the MLB boss has a one-sided agenda in suspending him two years — ridding a sport of a headache and the Dodgers of a $102 million mistake

     So, just coincidentally, hours after Major League Baseball suspended Trevor Bauer for two years though he hasn’t been arrested or charged with a crime, another accuser surfaced Friday night. The timing is uncanny, isn’t it? She told the Washington Post that Bauer, who enjoys a side life of rough sex as many people apparently do, often choked her into unconsciousness. She said he did so dozens of times without her consent, which didn’t stop her from returning for more rough sex.

     I wouldn’t participate in such sexual behavior. Chances are, you would not, either. But as established by precedent in the Bauer case, rough sex isn’t necessarily against the law if two adults consent to the proceedings. The world is filled with too many lawyer-chasing opportunists to assume Bauer should lose a prominent career over what remain allegations from willing participants. What gives a shifty guy such as MLB commissioner Rob Manfred — who has enough problems running his sport and keeping it relevant in American culture — the right to cancel Bauer’s livelihood and make the MLB office larger than the laws of this country?

     It’s a question worth asking about all sports leagues and businesses, as we peruse the Post interview with a woman from Columbus, Ohio. It’s the first time the woman, whom Bauer says he dated “from 2013 to 2018,” has surfaced publicly. Where has she been all these years? Why is she going public now after 10 months of Bauer-related investigations? And why, if she was frightened by his actions during their long-term relationship, would she keep going back for more rough sex … dozens of times? It’s also curious that her Post interview was published shortly after MLB’s ban without pay was announced — when both parties are expected to obey “confidentiality of the proceedings,’’ as Bauer said in a statement.

     Look, as I wrote when this unprecedented drama broke last summer, there isn’t much doubt Bauer is an all-time schmuck. Allow me to run back my observation: He is guilty of stupidity, promiscuity, careless personal associations and deviant social-media behavior. I wouldn’t want him on my team. Certainly, I wouldn’t have given him a three-year, $102 million deal.

     But if MLB insists on rubbing Bauer out of the sport, when it was the Los Angeles Dodgers who made the mistake of signing him in February of last year, let me also say this: Something stinks in the way Manfred has handled it.

     “Can you suspend a guy for having consensual rough sex?’’ attorney Jay Reisinger, who has represented players against MLB, said last week in a USA Today interview.

     It’s galling, if not contemptible, when a failing commissioner decides he knows more about a legal case than the authorities who’ve investigated without prejudice. That’s Manfred for you. Here he is, clumsily conniving as usual, overstepping his duties so a favored team can save the remaining $60 million of its bad investment. All while he takes the convenient political stance of punishing an outspoken and problematic player because power dynamics favor accusers, even if they’re lying.

     Never mind that Bauer never was arrested or charged. Never mind that the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office declined to file charges after a months-long probe into sexual assault allegations. Never mind that a Los Angeles judge denied the woman’s filing for a permanent restraining order. Never mind that the judicial system has determined Bauer is guilty of nothing more than consensual rough sex with a California woman, then 27, who was so satisfied by their first encounter that she traveled 135 miles from San Diego to his Pasadena home for a second encounter. Now, the Columbus woman says she experienced a pattern of rough sex for years. Bauer responded on Twitter, much to Elon Musk’s delight, by accusing the woman of trying to extort him and claiming the Post reporter, Gus Garcia-Roberts, referred to Bauer as “the Harvey Weinstein of baseball” as part of a one-sided narrative.

     Wrote Bauer of his latest accuser: “This woman has continued to contact me through 2021 to share additional unsolicited sexually explicit videos, to make small talk, wish me happy birthday multiple times and even to ask a personal favor. … Since 2019, this woman has sent me 139 sexually explicit photos and videos in which she is self-performing various acts and self-penetrating with various objects, often saying things like ‘wish this was you.’ ”

     If true, Bauer’s phone would confirm the photos and texts easily enough. Was Manfred aware? Or has he chosen not to be aware? A self-appointed, professionally biased arbiter appears to be taking the easy road, a dirty shortcut, the Machiavellian path approved by his bosses, MLB’s owners. Manfred has suspended Bauer, a frequent and longtime critic of the sport’s leadership, for 324 games without pay. It’s possible he has banned Bauer for no other reason than he can. According to MLB’s Joint Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Policy, as negotiated with the Players Association, the commissioner has the power to suspend a player even if he isn’t charged with a crime. But this time, it can be asked if Manfred is abusing his power. To ignore Bauer’s trail of legal victories in California venues, without making public what (if anything) MLB learned in its separate investigation, Manfred is doing little to hide an agenda that lacks fairness. He just wants Bauer to go away and the baseball world to forget he existed. That isn’t happening.

     It sounds like something out of China or Russia, not from an industry once described as American as apple pie. I wonder if Manfred watches “Billions,” the Showtime series where Paul Giamatti’s character — his father happened to be an MLB commissioner, too — escapes to a dungeon for scheduled erotic experiences including bondage, sadism, dominance and submission. Ever heard of a generally legal activity known as S&M, Mr. Manfred? Know the Rihanna tune, “S&M,” where the singer repeats, “I like it, like it. I like it, like it.”? Didn’t think so.

     “Never been more turned on in my life,’’ Bauer’s California sex partner texted him between their two visits. “Gimme all the pain. Rawr.”

     Rawr? Did the woman utter the same sweet nothings to two San Diego Padres players, superstar Fernando Tatis Jr. and pitcher Mike Clevenger, with whom she acknowledged having recent sexual relationships? “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” the woman said in court when asked by Bauer’s attorney. Oh, it’s relevant. She sleeps around, as Bauer does.

     All of which led L.A. County Superior Court Judge Dianna Gould-Saltman — amid a barrage of accusations and alleged financial demands and suspicious photos that make the Johnny Depp-Amber Heard court proceedings seem tame — to rule in Bauer’s favor in the restraining order hearing. “If she set limits and he exceeded them, this case would’ve been clear. But she set limits without considering all the consequences, and respondent did not exceed limits that the petitioner set,’’ Gould-Saltman concluded. “She was not ambiguous about wanting rough sex in the first encounter or wanting rougher sex in the second encounter.”

     The judge added: “We consider that, in the context of a sexual encounter, when a woman says ‘no,’ she should be believed. So what about when she says ‘yes’?”

     Mutual consent — along with the accuser’s text message to a friend that suggested European vacations they could take with Bauer’s payout money — are among the reasons he’s a free man today. But in Manfred’s selective circus of justice, Bauer has been removed nonetheless from the otherwise heavenly environs of Chavez Ravine.

     By suspending Bauer, he allows the Dodgers to save face. Shortly after the organization’s first World Series triumph in 32 years, front-office boss Andrew Friedman and the team’s Guggenheim Baseball owners — which include Magic Johnson and leading Chelsea Football Club bidder Todd Boehly — approved the massive Bauer signing. As a social-media bully and a blustering free spirit, he didn’t fit a Dodger Blue culture that emphasizes family, community and legacy. The franchise of Jackie Robinson, Vin Scully and, of late, Clayton Kershaw was selling out to a rogue? Just to fortify a starting rotation in the quest to repeat?

     The gamble soon turned dark. Bauer was placed on administrative leave June 28, a day after the California woman accused him of sexual assault in both encounters. But contrary to common assumptions when famous men face random accusations — and contrary to anti-Bauer commentary by Dodgers-friendly media in southern California, not to mention the hopes of teammates who no longer wanted him around — Bauer wasn’t found guilty and sent away to prison as the subject of Ryan Murphy’s next “American Crime Story.” With every legal defeat, the Dodgers were haunted by the possible return of Bauer to another championship-minded team with a cohesive 2022 clubhouse — and stuck with his ample salary.

     To the rescue came Manfred, who treasures the Dodgers as one of his few shining, cash-machine franchises in a sport with too many existential crises to count. As the beloved “Boys in Blue” try to fend off the National League’s other huge-spending team, Steve Cohen and the New York Mets, and return to the Series, they didn’t want the Bauer distraction as a lingering story line. Now it’s gone, thanks to the commissioner. Said the Dodgers, in a statement: “We were informed MLB has concluded its investigation into allegations that have been made against Trevor Bauer, and the Commissioner has issued his decision regarding discipline. The Dodgers organization takes all allegations of this nature very seriously and does not condone or excuse any acts of domestic violence or sexual assault.” Translated, it means the Dodgers are 13-6, drawing their usual 50,000 a night, newcomer Freddie Freeman is mushrooming into a love-in, and Trevor Bauer is dead to them.

     Problem is, a cloud still hovers. Bauer can’t just show up in the Dodger Stadium clubhouse, as he threatened recently, but he is appealing the ban with vigor. All 15 of the previous players suspended under the policy agreed to negotiated settlements with MLB. Bauer is huddling with attorneys and preparing another battle, an expedited appeal to MLB’s independent arbitrator. Bauer is 2-for-2 so far. If he wins, Friedman and team owners would be forced into a decision: Cut losses, pay him off and send him away … or invite him back to the starting rotation.

     “In the strongest possible terms, I deny committing any violation of the league’s domestic violence and sexual assault policy,” Bauer said in a statement. “I am appealing this action and expect to prevail.”

     I speak for millions in urging Manfred, who might be remembered as the worst commissioner in sports history, to fix the non-Bauer problems in his troubled waters. On his watch, since 2014, he has allowed an industry to devolve into a niche afterthought watched mostly by a 60-and-older crowd. Already, after a winter-long labor lockout that accomplished nothing of immediacy, MLB has veered into familiar scandalous territory. Know how the New York Yankees insisted they never cheated in electronic sign-stealing schemes? Well, they did, if not as egregiously as the Houston Astros — according to a wishy-washy Manfred letter finally made public last week — and the Yankees should be ashamed.

     As radio play-by-play barker John Sterling might say now, “Theeeeeee Yankees cheat!’’

     And why are brawls breaking out on fields? In part, pitchers say, because MLB also is cheating — using baseballs that aren’t consistent in texture and quality. It’s difficult to get a grip, they say, and hitters are being plunked. “The MLB has a very big problem with the baseballs — they are bad,” Mets pitcher Chris Bassitt said after five batters, including three teammates, were hit by pitches Tuesday against the Cardinals. “Everyone knows it. Every pitcher in the league knows it. MLB doesn’t give a damn about it. They don’t care. We have told them our problems with them, they don’t care. There is no common ground with the balls. There is nothing the same, outing to outing.”

     So the new humidors, installed by Manfred in every ballpark, aren’t helping? Of course, they aren’t. When this commissioner rubber-stamps a new idea, it’s the kiss of death. “It’s 2022 and there is enough technology out there to figure out the baseballs,” Mets catcher James McCann said. “We want to talk about juiced balls, dead balls, slick balls, sticky balls — I mean it’s 2022, we should have an answer.”

     Nope. Rob Manfred’s only answer to anything is that Trevor Bauer is guilty. In the process, the commissioner has managed the impossible, turning one of sport’s most loathed figures into a fall guy, if not a victim.

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     Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.