It makes no difference. 

To sit here and write that Roger Goodell, in exchange for $63 million per year, is a shameless hypocrite whose most solemn words mean absolutely nothing is a colossal waste of ink, paper, time, venom and vitriol — just more spitting into the storm. 

Goodell’s not stupid. He knows we know that he’s full of it. But he just doesn’t care. 

Same goes for Rob Manfred, who portrays himself as a fans-friendly, kids-embracing populist as MLB signed another mega-millions exclusive — this one on Friday nights, of all times — to prevent MLB games from being seen by all who don’t buy an additional-pay TV streaming network. 

And he continues to allow TV money to eliminate early Saturday afternoon games and bait-and-switch Sunday afternoon games to Sunday nights for ESPN dough. 

He even tried to sell the MLB lockout as an act of his advocacy on behalf of the best interests of fans — perhaps ignorant or uncaring that no one believes him, as there’s nothing on the table that would benefit even one fan, unless one counts the gambling kiosks and counters being erected in MLB and NFL ballparks. 

MLB’s most devoted but abused business partners — baseball fans — are forever taken for chopped liver, relied upon to play deep-pocketed rubes as The Game corrodes into a protracted, action-starved soporific of diminished skills on orders from robot-headed number-grinders armed with analytics on spreadsheets. 

This week, the NFL already having sold its logo and integrity to five sports gambling operations — enterprises solely predicated on fans losing their money through blood-rushing advertised promises of pots of gold — Goodell somberly announced that Falcons wide receiver Calvin Ridley had betrayed the NFL’s most intrinsic trust, thus will be suspended indefinitely for acceding to the NFL’s new business partners’ greatest wishes and prompts: gambling on games. 

Goodell, as if his heart was broken or auditioning for the role of Capt. Renault in “Casablanca,” claimed to be shocked by Ridley’s abrogation of sacred rules. But if Goodell didn’t see this coming, it was only because he chose not to see. 

Ridley, an Alabama man — our top universities continue to mass produce uneducated, indiscreet pro athletes — claims he bet “only” $1,500 on an NFL game or games. But to most of us, that doesn’t sound like an insignificant wager. 

Ridley indicated that while on the injured list and suffering mental issues, he needed some stimulation to watch NFL games. The wagering treated his blues: “I couldn’t even watch football at that point.” 

Bingo! He fell for the civilian sell, the prompts. Don’t watch the game, watch your action! Bet the third quarter, the fourth quarter, the Over/Under. Win big — try our parlay bets. They’re on special today for extra-naive suckers. Make. It. Rain! 

And, hey, let’s put an NFL team in Las Vegas! Nothing bad happens in Vegas. Ask Adam “Pacman” Jones, among many others. 

The NFL’s public is regarded and relied upon as easy prey per the human condition. First bet’s free (if you don’t read the fine print)! Or bet $10 to win $200! Then watch the dough roll in! 

As for NFL players, so many of them bereft of the ability to choose right over wrong, they’re now expected to rise above that human condition? How can Goodell rely on blind faith when he manufactures bad faith? 

What the NFL and all pro sports now partners in selling — all day, every day — apparently succeeded in capturing Ridley’s attention and disabled or exacerbated his ability to make the right career-essential decision. 

He was susceptible to a social disease our sports, media and attendant corporations bought into and now sell for their cuts of bad-odds losses. 

As reader Mark Yost suggested, perhaps Ridley was swayed by NFL-sanctioned advertising to bet, commercials starring superstars Drew Brees, fellow WR Jerry Rice and the Manning Family. If they’re all in, why not him? Don’t they represent the NFL’s official approval of gambling on games? 

If Goodell was genuinely shocked to learn that Ridley had taken the NFL’s easy-money bait, he’d better switch to rubber clothing, from the soles of his shoes, up. 

Meanwhile, there have never been as many opportunities to fix games in all sports — and via paid invite from those sports. 

With so many operations here and abroad now open for business, spreading big, dirty money around on a single game is easier to do and harder to track. The suspicion caused by significant swings in betting lines is diminished as big wagers spread over six, eight, 10 legal bookmakers won’t alter the lines enough to create red flags. 

Goodell, of course, once decried proponents of legalized sports gambling as woefully unaware of the damage that will be done to families and specifically the perceived integrity of the NFL as a clean sport. Those lectures can still make one weep. 

Then, when sports gambling was legalized, Goodell did a shameless 180, as long as the syndicate he represents — the NFL and its team owners — get a cut. For a price, he allowed gambling operations to trade on the NFL’s logo, integrity and his stewardship. Everyone into the cesspool! 

As reader Don Reed notes, now that Goodell flipped and went into the legal swindle business with the bookies, he still demands his standing as an altruist, “as Ridley’s prosecutor.” 

Goodell, the prosecutor of Calvin Ridley, should be his codefendant. 

Now check out Goodell’s “good investments” PSLs and remember: “It’s all about our fans,” the suckers.

It’s all a con. Tuesday’s Wagner at Bryant NEC Tournament championship was stopped for a half-hour to calm the creatures in another audience-participation student activity — a brawl between traveling Wagner supporters behind their team’s bench and the Bryant “cheering section” seated, but not often, next to them. 

As Wagner players were restrained from hitting up and into the hassle, the ESPN2 announcers couldn’t figure out what caused it. Neither afterward, or so he claimed, could Bryant’s coach Jared Grasso. 

But those watching from the start knew. A group of Bryant students and/or supporters showed up near the Wagner bench as a vulgar, demonstratively ugly mob, eager to make trouble by abusing the visiting team to an uncivilized extreme. 

And if I’m any judge of body language, especially from among those who acted like punks while bare-chested, more than a few were drunk, exacerbating the scene and the obscene. The contents of the cups and bottles thrown during the indoor street fight went unexamined thus unaddressed. 

Adding to the “school spirit” was the conduct of leading scorer Peter Kiss, who determined to make an obnoxious spectacle of himself throughout — mugging to the TV cameras, muscle flexing, and making other all-about-me gestures as if his 34 points didn’t speak for him. 

And in a 70-43 final attended by a crew of codependent courtside tough guys, Grasso played Kiss 38 minutes. 

Yet, after the game Grasso was at a loss to explain. “I don’t know how it started, why it started.” Odd, those watching figured early on that “I don’t know how it started” was inevitable. 

A post, post, Post mortem: Two more on recently deceased Post boxing writer/mad genius Mike Marley: 

From the 1980 Winter Olympics, Marley called collect from Lake Placid identifying himself as “Mr. Sled, Mr. Bob Sled.” 

Frank Isola, of ESPN and NBA media fame, was a clerk in sports who took deadline dictation from Marley. “After he dictated that Mike Tyson was wearing a full-length fur coat, he added, ‘The Thrilla in Chinchilla.’ ”