Baseball

It’s February 15th and very soon Major League Baseball teams will start regrouping in Florida and Arizona to prepare for a new season of competition.  It’s like an early start to spring, a renewal of life.  And it’s all about the game of baseball, the game I love the most.  And why do I love baseball so much?  Let’s go back to the beginning, which is a very good place to start.

When I was growing up in the 1950s, baseball was clearly the number one sport in America.  Hence, it received the designation as the “national pastime.”  Anybody who considered themselves a sports fan was also a baseball fan.  I was greatly influenced to be a fan by one of my older brothers.  I would go with him to play baseball in the park in pick-up games.  The two oldest boys (often my brother) would, on an alternating basis, choose their teamates.  We created an imaginary field in the park and played baseball.  Eventually, the Little League came to town and baseball became much more organized with uniforms, coaches, schedules, stadiums, and umpires.

I played three years of Little League baseball for a team sponsored by the local Police Department.  Among our rivals were teams sponsored by the Fire Department and local enterprises, such as Huron Cement and Kingsford Pumps.  I wasn’t a very good player (good field, no hit), but I enjoyed playing the game.  My problem was that I was physically weak and afraid of a high, inside fast ball.  My son, on the other hand, was strong and fearless when he played for a variety of Little League teams.    

Parallel to playing baseball, I followed, through newspapers, magazines, radio and television, professional baseball players and Major League Baseball teams.  Which team should I be a fan of?  Maybe the one closest to home?  Or maybe the one who our father or older brother rooted for?  In my case, my older brother was a fan of the New York Giants.  I have been a fan of theirs my entire life, for more than 60 years, even when they moved to San Francisco in 1958.  My favorite Giant player was Willie Mays, number 24.  In 1965, I saw him hit one of his 660 home runs, in person at Connie Mack Stadium in Philadelphia.  In 1972, I made my one and only pilgramage to see the Giants play at their home field, which was then Candlestick Park.  They beat the Pirates, 8-0. 

The essence of baseball is a competition between a pitcher and a batter.  The other batters patiently wait their turn.  The fielders patiently wait for the batter to hit the ball and then spring into action to catch it or field it and try to eliminate the batter turned base runner before he reaches first, second, or third base and especially home plate to score a run.  Some of the most athletic performances I’ve ever seen have been those fielders running, diving, catching, and throwing a baseball. 

It has been said that hitting a round ball with a round bat is the hardest thing any athlete can do.  If he is consistently successful just 30% of the time, he will become a superstar, earn millions of dollars, and be elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.  Thus, by common sense, the pitcher must have the advantage in this competition with the batter.  There is a baseball maxim that good pitching beats good hitting.

As I said, the baseball calendar begins in February.  March brings practice games.  From April to September, the thirty Major League teams compete during the regular season, aiming to qualify for the postseason, where only ten advance.  October is the postseason which ends with a champion crowned by winning the so-called “World Series.”  From November to January, teams try to improve their rosters by trading for players on other teams or by signing free-agents.  So year to year, the players on each team change.  So, what stays the same?  Maybe the uniform?  Maybe just the name on the uniform?  Maybe nothing?  Where are the St. Louis Browns or the Montreal Expos today?   

The regular season consists of 162 games.  This means about six games per week, or almost every day.  This is one of the beauties of the game.  There’s almost always a game tomorrow.  No reason to dwell on a defeat.  After a victory, no time to gloat.  There will be more to come the very next day. 

The season is not a sprint.  It’s more like a marathon.  It’s almost impossible to stay at an equilibrium.  Instead, the season becomes a series of highs and lows.  If, as the season is drawing to a close, your team remains in competition for the postseason or the championship, you can revel in the nervous tension this creates.  On the other hand, if your team has fallen out of contention, then you can start thinking about next year.  There is always next year.    

There is no clock in baseball.  No running out the clock.  Put your watch away.  Take your time.  According to pitcher Jon Lester of the Chicago Cubs, “If you use a clock, you take the beauty out of the game.” So, let’s build some suspense.  Each time a batter comes to the plate is a unique experience to be savored.  The last time, the pitcher struck him out.  Next time, he could hit one over the fence.    

So, if there is no clock, how do we know when the game is over?  It’s over when each side has had its nine innings or twenty-seven outs in their attempt to score runs.  Thus, at the end of the game, each side will have had the exact same number of chances to score runs.  How fair is that?  Therefore, no lead is enough and no deficit is too much.  If the game is tied after nine innings, the game goes to extra innings until one team has more runs at the end of an extra inning.  There are no ties in baseball.  (There is also no crying in baseball.)  A game is not over until it’s over.

Besides athletic ability, there is also strategy involved.  Who should play where and what will be the batting order?  Should you make a substitution, especially the pitcher?  Should a runner on base try to steal the next base or should the batter sacrifice himself to move the runner closer to home plate?  Should you play the infielders in to try and cut down the runner at home plate and risk giving up a base hit?  Or should they play back for the double play and possibly concede a run?

Some critics complain the game is too slow.  When I was a kid, games commonly took around two hours.  Today, they are more commonly three hours.  And since there is no clock, there is no telling how long a game will last.  My pet peeve is batters who, after every pitch, step out of the batter’s box and adjust both of their velcro batting gloves, even if they did not swing at the pitch.  This should be prohibited.  It slows the game.  Look at a vídeo of a baseball game from the 1950s or 1960s and you will see that the batters, who did not have batting gloves nor helmets, did not leave the batter’s box once they entered it. 

Those are some of the reasons why I love baseball.  Any questions?