Was baseball’s All-Star game on Tuesday night? Oops, missed it. Had to clip my nails and wash my hair. And, um, whatever else to preoccupy my time.
Not to say that baseball is a boring sport. OK, it is to say that baseball is a boring sport. But I respect those who have found deeper meaning in America’s “pastime.” I just haven’t found those Zenesque qualities yet.
And I’ve tried. I remember watching Atlanta when they really sucked — and not just when they played the New York Yankees in the World Series. We’re talking back in their early Turner Broadcasting days, when Dale Murphy was roaming the outfield and Buddha Bob Horner — an anti-athlete in body shape if there ever was one — belted the occasional monster home run.
I was even living in Atlanta in 1995, when the team won its first world championship in 38 years, although it was the first one since the franchise moved from Milwaukee. The score in the sixth and final game? 1-0. Really now, does that sound like a captivating game?
Fans of the sport would respond with a resounding “yes” to that question. What can be more exciting than a game hanging in the balance until the final fly ball is gloved and then secured, sparking an all-out rush to the pitcher’s mound by the winning team, fans in the stands going wild and grown men seen crying in the dugouts?
Well, how about last year’s Super Bowl, which ended on a thrilling note, with Tennessee receiver Kevin Dyson ending up 6 inches from the goal-line as time ran out on the Titans’ chances for a trophy? Or how about the plethora of basketball games that Michael Jordan ended with his patented jump shot?
What’s the most charged up moment on the diamond? When someone cracks a home run. Then he jogs around the bases.
And what about some of the more common baseball jargon? Slow rollers, drag bunts, lazy fly balls. Makes a person want to commit a suicide squeeze.
I understand baseball’s whole connection to the father-son relationship. Yes, it is a nice feeling to get those pitching pointers or fielding tips from Dad and then put them to use in a game. No doubt that there are many more fathers teaching their kids how to turn a double play than ones who are showing their youngsters the best way to slam an opponent to the turf.
That, I think, is at the core of why baseball is so revered. Because we can all go to the local playing field and fantasize about being Chipper Jones or Ken Griffey, Jr., without too much effort. Try to hit a hole in the offensive line the way Terrell Davis does or jam a ball with the same intensity as Kobe, however, and the magic just doesn’t appear as easily.
Another one of baseball’s drawbacks is the season’s length. One hundred and sixty two games to decide a division winner? Wake me up after the 150th game and let me enjoy a good pennant race, but please don’t expect me to pay attention to a full season of 2-1 ball games. (OK, in all fairness, the basketball season is just as long and laborious to get through, but each game in the NFL season has drama related to the final standings.)
For some fans, baseball season has this numbing effect on them and they begin to talk in this strange language — “Well, you know, when pitching in an east-to-west direction, Randy Johnson had a 1.12 ERA against right-handed batters that have last names beginning with the letter Q.”
The Elias Sports Bureau is not my friend.
Fans also try to paint baseball as the perfect sport because of its structure: with no time limit and at least 51 outs needed to complete a game, a game of infinite length is always a possibility.
Just imagine, an endless number of pick-off attempts. Wow.