Baseball

I never argue with someone who tells me they don't like baseball. I understand that each different sport appeals to people in different ways. Each game's unique design means that certain people will enjoy it, and others won't.

Basketball is perfect for fans who require constant motion and activity to keep focused. It showcases the importance of teamwork, but also allows for individual excellence to take over a game. It's fun to watch, and fun to play. Football is perfect for war buffs, who identify with how the game cycles between incredibly intricate strategy and sudden violence. Each position is highly specialized, and it is the ultimate team game. It's the closest you can get to serving in the military without actually enlisting. Hockey is great for those who want to bust heads, and boxing is great for those who want to get their heads busted. And so on...

So I find it a waste of energy to try and convince someone that they "should" like one sport over another. I'll leave that up to Darth Vader. But for me...I choose baseball.

Baseball is not a frenetic game. It is not designed to deliver 2-straight hours of heart-pounding action. It is not a game made for the "ADD-I-want-it-now-and-then-I-immediately-want-something-else" mindset. And I, for one, am thankful.

TV networks, sportswriters, non-baseball fans and even some MLB umpires (!) are lamenting how tediously slow and numbingly long baseball games can be "these days." But I couldn't disagree more.

There is no game clock in baseball. In theory, a baseball game could last until the end of time (or until the players and umpires die of old age on the field, I suppose...). The game is over when the away team leads after 9 complete innings (or a complete number of extra innings), or when the home team takes a lead in the bottom half of the 9th inning (or the bottom half of any extra inning). No quarters, halftime, play clock or 2-minute warning. No ties. That may be awful for some, but I love it.

Baseball is the only game that the players can speed up, slow down and even stop. Each pitcher and batter plays at their own pace, and that pace changes based on the game situation. A pitcher can grab the rosin bag, step off the mound, hold the ball at the belt, whatever he wants to slow down the game. Or he can get the ball back from the catcher and immediately start his wind-up once the batter is in the box, slide-step or quick-pitch. A batter can step out of the box, take practice swings in between pitches, go and rub pine tar on his bat. Basically, whenever you need to, you can step back and breathe. If only we would all do that in real life once in a while...

The moments I remember most from when I played the game were not the pitches thrown or the swings taken--what is considered the "action." What I remember is rubbing the ball between my bare hands, my glove under my arm, thinking about what to throw and where. I remember standing outside the box looking at the defense, and based on that alignment, trying to figure out what he'll throw me and on which side of the plate. I remember being in the field thinking about where I had to go with a batted ball in every conceivable situation.

If you think about it, the pitches and hits take up less than a quarter of the game. The rest is what goes on in your head for the other 2 1/2 hours you are on the field. For some, this can make the game unwatchable. But not for me. Because when I watch, I still think the same thoughts I did when I played. I am never waiting for something to happen in the game, because for me, something always is.

Baseball is played outdoors, on dirt and grass (or at least should be...always. I'm looking at you Tampa Bay and Toronto...), so the elements always play a role. But amazingly, baseball fields are NOT standardized. Of course, the basepaths, the height of the mound and the distance from the mound to the plate are the same anywhere...but everything else about the field is unique to each individual park.

You can have an outfield wall that is 200 feet away or one that is 500 feet away, some 3-feet high and some 30-feet high. The fences can be laid out in a perfect arc from foul pole to foul pole, or they can be constructed of jagged shapes jutting toward and away from the plate. So a batted ball that's an out in one park may be a single in another, or a homerun in yet another. You can grow the infield grass right up to the infield foul line (if your team is fast and good bunters), or you can have a wide dirt basepath to help bunts roll foul (if your corner infielders have limited range). You can cut the infield grass short if your team hits lots of ground balls, or keep it long if your pitchers get many ground ball outs (long grass will slow a groundball down, thereby giving your fielders a better chance of getting to it before it gets by them). You can make the dirt in front of the plate rock hard (soak it in gasoline, scorch it, tamp it down) if the visiting team is pitching a sinkerballer (ground balls hit will be faster and have a better chance of getting through the infielders), or you can soften it up (with water and clay) when the home team is sending a sinkerballer to the mound (soft dirt deadens the ball and gives the fielders more time to get to the ball on the ground). And on and on...it's all up to the home team to design/manicure their own park to suit their players and style of play.

Baseball teaches you about life, all game long. It teaches you that winning breeds winning (Yankees), and misery loves company (Cubs and pre-2004 Red Sox). You can buy players (2004 Yankees), but you can't buy a team (1996 Yankees). If you are able to intimidate someone with just your history, you have already beaten them (reputation). If you know the game is over once you have a late lead, it is (confidence), and if you step into the box thinking you are going to strike out, you will (fear). If you panic when the ball is coming at you, you will never field it cleanly (composure). And you have to think before the ball is hit to you, otherwise it's too late (planning). But make an error in the field, you can always make up for it at the plate. Baseball shows you that you can take an imperfect swing and still get a hit (luck), or you can hit it right on the screws and make an out (bad luck). But over 162 games, you will get the average you deserve (consistency). And whether you have a good game, or a bad game...you have another one tomorrow (durability).

Sometimes, with your team about to win a World Series, a series of cataclysmic events causes you to shockingly lose (life can be cruel, self-fulfilling prophecy, the music of Jim Croce). Then other times, when your team is down 0-3 in a series, a ball hit hard by the other team that should easily score a run bounces in the stands and keeps the runner at third, keeping you in a game (and a series) you had no business winning (fate, faith, the comedy stylings of Brian Regan). And despite the painful roller coaster, you come back to the park/TV the next day and do it all over again (loyalty).

Unlikely people can be heroes (Dent, Boone), and superstars can fail (2003 Pedro, 2004 A-Rod). And even if you do your job perfectly...things may still be out of your control (Galarraga).

Life can be a team sport at times, but it is always made up of a series of individual battles.

You can translate almost everything into baseball terms. And I think you should.

Because the one constant throughout the years has been baseball. Baseball has marked the time, it reminds us of all that once was good, and could be again.

Well said, Skywalker.