Category: Baseball

Baseball is the best sport in the United States.

Hands down, no debate, unquestioned: baseball reigns supreme. The game has been played for over 150 years, from coast to coast and it has incorporated players from around the world, and all strata of society. But longevity is only part of what has made baseball great. Baseball stands above because it is, at it’s heart, American. It is the American Dream, the American Way, and the American Spirit all wrapped into one and played out on a close cropped diamond of green, framed by deep, dark brown dirt, guided by sparkling white lines, and guarded by the citizens of this great country.

More than that, every single game on a baseball field is a microcosmic re-enactment of America’s history. A brave, few men stand against a determined foe, defending home territory, or valiantly striding between enemy foul lines. Nine strong soldiers bear arms, bats, and gloves with battle plan and knowledge of their opponent, and an intimate understanding of the coming battle and all its stratagems. They fight for their pride, their right to stand tall, their destiny to achieve the greatest victory available.

Anyone can join this struggle, this game. Farmboys, bean counters, lumberjacks, and geniuses: all have stood beneath the sun and stars to have their moment at the plate, their place upon the everlasting meadow of the ballpark. The poor, the rich, the educated, the street-smart, and the wiseass. Baseball is not a game of privilege, and it does not respect superstars. Anyone can rise above to be enshrined forever in the eternal halls of the famous. Anyone can turn the tide, stand in the gap, or do the impossible in so doing be made mighty.

The game has been played, largely unchanged, since its inception. Twenty-seven outs, eighteen players, three strikes, one blinding white ball wrapped in stitching colored with the blood of those who every day leave it all on the field. And it is all up for grabs, every single time. Every single time an umpire, beneath blue shirt and steel mask, shouts “Play ball!” every single player knows that today could be their day, this game could be their game, it is for them to win or lose.

In baseball: anything can happen. Fortunetellers lose fortunes trying to foretell outcomes. Players defy the oddsmakers like titans defying the gods.

How else do you explain an outfielder named Kirk Gibson, who stood impossibly tall one day in 1988, doubled over from the pain of a stomach virus, hobbling on a pulled left hamstring and a swollen right knee called into action to do what could not be done against one of the most dominate opponents of his era, pitcher Dennis Eckersley. It seemed Gibson’s manager had lost his mind. This was the first game of the World Series, baseball’s ultimate showcase, the stage most ready for the performance of the year from two teams who had proven time and again that they deserved to be there. Winning the first game is beyond big, beyond huge, with it comes momentum and energy. Baseball playoffs are a zero sum game. The postseason is played against time, against dwindling effort and opportunity. Each swing, each inning, each out is lost forever. There are no second chances, and surface mistakes can become fatal wounds. So why would Tommy Lasorda call upon ailing Kirk Gibson, of all people, to stand in the batter’s box and contend at his worst against the best?

Lasorda knew then what he knows now: baseball is a game of heart and soul. In pain, and growing weaker, Gibson took the toughest assignment ever given a ballplayer and quickly looked to be done. Two strikes down, and every movement a torture of battered and broken body Gibson’s heart was strong. He knocked aside two more pitches to stay alive, evading the strikeout with what he could muster. And then: with teammate streaking towards second with theft in his heart, Gibson bent his good knee, and with nothing more than blood and guts he piled upon the ball’s white hump the sum of all the passion of a country, and had his bat been alive, its wooden heart would have burst upon it. Never had leather been struck with more meaning. Though the home run was hit, the game would not be won unless Gibson could complete the play. Gibson had to endure the basepaths. Through burning pain, he grimaced, and limping on both feet, hobbled ’round the bases, pumping his arms and cheering his team’s victory with each pained breath.

One man who know one thought could make a difference changed everything.

Baseball wakes in spring with the resurrection of earth’s northern hemisphere. It grinds through the long, hot summer, but in the autumn, when the leaves explode with color and air crackles in its crispness: baseball comes alive. October baseball is electric. The season races towards the end, each team fighting, desperate to be last standing, desperate for their chance to show the nation that they deserve to be crowned king of their coliseum. It all comes down to division princes, and league champions, and finally, two teams who through determination and desire have dominated all others. In October, the world champions are revealed.

In April, no one can tell who those two last teams will be. In September, still, no one really knows. In November, it is undeniable. But October: that is when bats thunder, crowds roar, balls sizzle, and that is when the magic happens. That is when heroes fall, champions crumble, and the underdog breaks free.

In America, it quite simply does not get any better than the simple game of baseball.

It isn’t anything personal, mostly because I have never actually met the man, but I dislike Derek Jeter, (the professional baseball player).

I actually have a very hard time articulating this fact because my personal belief is that it is a waste of time to like or dislike people I have never met. What is the point? I don’t know them. Obviously, I lack information, and any lack of information leads directly to a weak or false conclusion, especially about people. How then do I continue this post without hypocrisy? I am not really sure, but I have this theory: people are constantly and naturally making evaluative decisions every day, about things and people we encounter and so this is, if not completely rational, at least consistent with basic humanity.

Feel free to judge me similarly without knowing me; I assure you, I will be unperturbed for as long as I know nothing about your judgments, and if I do become aware of them I am certain my reaction will be to arch an eyebrow (or possibly run off to a corner in which I will huddle and weep annoyingly while rocking back and forth). Either way, you are free to your own opinions.

Anyway, back to Derek Jeter. Derek Jeter plays the shortstop position for the New York Yankees, and has for his entire professional baseball career which began in 1995. Coincidentally, I really started to be interested in baseball as a sentient being in 1994 (when I was seven) and have, consequently, been watching Derek Jeter play baseball my entire life, especially during the 90s when it seemed like almost every year Derek Jeter and the Yankees were in the world series (96, 98, 99, 00, 01, 03) and Jeter was in the All·Star Game (98-02, 04, 06-10). Furthermore, Derek Jeter is unquestionably one of the greatest shortstops to play the game, purely from an athletic and statistical point of view. Just recently he capped his career to this point by reaching a mark never before attained by a shortstop or a New York Yankee: Jeter hit his 3000th hit.

But my problem with Jeter lies not in his performance on the field, but rather his persona off the field, and his revealed personality in interviews and the public forum, the most recent example of which revolves around the 2011 All·Star Game. Jeter won the popular vote for starting shortstop for the American League All·Stars by a large margin. He then proceeded to decline to play, or even to appear during the opening ceremonies, citing fatigue and a recent injury. He then proceeded to play several games in which he hit several more hits, including a home run for number 3000.

I can fully understand a player declining to play in an exhibition game for reasons of injury or fatigue. But, the players who show up for, and who have the option of playing in, the All·Star Game are voted for by the fans, fellow players, and coaches. Being selected for the All·Star Game means that a great number of people want to see you there, in that context, and cheer your success as a baseball player. Declining to play is understandable (some are even forced to not play due to rules to protect player health) but declining to show is a snub.

Jeter absolutely was recently injured. I understand that. But, he returned from injury to play long enough to reach a personal and professional milestone (3000 hits), and become one of only 28 hitters to reach such a milestone in over 114 years of professional baseball in America. If he could return from injury to hit a few more hits, and in so doing endure the rigor of a few games in order to do so, why could he not merely be present for the opening ceremonies of an exhibition game?

Declining to even be present, stay in a nice hotel for a few days, enjoy some exclusive privileges, put on a uniform and tip your hat to millions of cheering fans when they call your name is just arrogant and an extreme lack of class. Baseball players would be nobodies without a job if it were not for the fans who pay them to play a boy’s game via ticket sales and other revenues. Derek Jeter’s name would not be a household name if it were not for his millions of fans. And he just told them he did not care about them at all.

Lastly, while Jeter may be a future candidate for the Baseball Hall of Fame (based on his stats and records), and he may, in the past, have been an All·Star calibre player, this year he is playing well below form and well below the level of many other shortstops in baseball. This year, despite his 3000th hit, his performance did not merit an All·Star invitation. And when he was invited anyway, Jeter then spurned the invitation.

Derek Jeter displayed his arrogance and his contempt for the very people that employ him and make it possible for him to have the money, prestige, and acclaim that he enjoys. His is the insult of the kid given a present that he did not deserve by a loving caregiver who then turns up his nose at the giver and says “no thank you, I don’t feel like opening it, give it to someone else, I can’t really be bothered” and then goes to play in a corner.

And that is why I don’t like Derek Jeter.

I sincerely hope that if I ever get a chance to meet Jeter, I may come away with a completely different perspective. Knowing someone has the potential to make all the difference in the world in the way that person is understood.

Last week Major League Baseball opened voting for the Mid Season Classic of baseball, the All·Star game, hosted this year by the Arizona Diamondbacks. I’ve been thinking a lot about the All·Star game, and two recent articles on mlb.com incited me to actually write my feelings out.

MLB columnist Anthony Castrovince writes that fans should be allowed to cast votes for the pitching staff of each team, while columnist Alden Gonzalez makes a case for keeping balloting as it currently exists. Read both articles, they are good ballpark food for thought.

My first thoughts are about who actually plays in the All·Star game, and how they are chosen. There are 34 roster spots available on each All·Star team, filled with pitchers and position players, usually around 10 of the former and 24 of the latter. Currently, each fan can vote 25 times for a list of 10 players for each team, nine position players and one designated hitter. This reflects the most recent change in the All·Star game which allows for a DH regardless of the league affiliation of the hosting team. The second most recent change to the All·Star game is that the winner of the game secures home field advantage for the World Series, either the National or the American League.

After fan voting is complete, the players/managers/coaches themselves vote for the pitching staff and second string position players. Lastly, the manager of each All·Star team selects about six players or enough to reach a final tally of 33. The 34th member of the All·Star team is a final fan ballot which selects from 5 players from each league selected by the All·Star team manager. Last minute substitutions due to injury, or in the case of pitchers, recent starts, is decided by the Commissioner’s office and the All·Star managers. Obviously this is a lengthy and complicated process.

Personally, I think that each fan should have the ability to vote once for 17 players. This would include 3 starting pitchers, 3 relief pitchers, 1 closing pitcher, 3 outfielders, 4 infielders, 1 catcher, 1 designated hitter, and 1 other player from a position of their choice. The remaining 16 players could then be voted for by the players, coaches, and managers, and the 34th player could be a final fan vote. Allowing fans multiple votes only exacerbates the annual problem of ballot stuffing, in which large market teams such as New York and Philadelphia can overwhelm the balloting, creating an extreme margin of votes. In every voting political system (that I know of) that is comprised of general elections, each voter can only vote once. I don’t see why this isn’t applicable to baseball. Fan involvement in the All·Star selection process is important, but right now I think the fans have a little too much power, and not enough available selections.

Beyond player selection, I have other concerns with the current format of the All·Star game: I remain ambivalent about the outcome of the All·Star game deciding home field advantage for the World Series. While it is nice to actually have the All·Star game mean something, at the same time, I don’t think the All·Star game is supposed to mean anything. As far as I know, the Pro Bowl (football’s All·Star game) is widely ignored by the football fan community. I watched the game last year, and the stadium in Hawaii was only half full. This is partly because the game is the week before the Super Bowl, and so none of the players from the teams in the Super Bowl participate, and partly because the game means nothing. Also, football players are so afraid of getting hurt that many refuse to play, and while this is an understandable reason to decline, fans want to see their favorite players play. I can’t say much about other sports’ All·Star games, but my general impression is that the fan reception is not much better.

However, baseball usually enjoys a large and positive fan reception to their All·Star game, mostly because 90% of the voted upon players actually play (unless they are injured, or as a pitcher, have recently pitched). I have never seen an All·Star stadium not full to capacity (and sometimes beyond). Also, the All·Star game is played in the middle of the season and in the middle of the summer. It isn’t buried in the dead of winter, after all is said and done. This breeds fan interest. It is played in the heyday of winning streaks, hitting streaks, and when most of the players and teams have hit whatever groove they are going to hit. Conversely, if a team or certain players aren’t playing well, it is also a time to step back, breath deep, and put the past few months behind them and remember when baseball was fun.

Ultimately, the All·Star game is a showcase of all the great players, both favorite and deserving (based on performance). It is every player a baseball fan wants to see in one place at one time (with some exceptions due to unequal balloting and the like). The bottom line is that there are many built in reasons to see the All·Star game without the home field advantage for the World Series being decided by the outcome. Home field advantage should be decided purely by the win-loss records of the teams involved, exactly like it is for each round of the playoffs prior to the World Series.

Moving on to another aspect of the game, I think what makes a baseball game boring for most people is the endless dance of pitching and hitting in which the pitcher takes forever to select a pitch, and the batter does everything to work the count for the best pitch to hit. The pitcher steps off the rubber, stares in at the catcher, steps off again, and then finally is ready to pitch. The batter steps out of the batter’s box, adjusts his helmet, his gloves, steps in, wiggles his bat, steps out, ad nauseam. This is actually what pitchers and batters are supposed to do to win games.

But those that watch the All·Star game want to see action and movement. Making the game count means that the players will revert to their tactics for winning baseball games. Making the the game an exhibition frees the players up to play the game for fun: by throw flaming fastballs and sweeping curve balls, by swinging at the first pitch and swinging for the fences, by making outrageous leaps and dives in the field. It would make the game dynamic, quick, and full of towering fly balls, screaming liners, and all the things that make baseball enjoyable to the wider audience of folks who like a day at the ballpark, and not just to those who wallow in the minutiae of the game, laboring over a scorecard and each pitch.

Generally speaking, getting people to watch and enjoy any sport is wrapped up in getting people to enjoy the game and helping them feel like they are a part of the game. Football does this well by televising the game with all sorts of cameras that put the viewer into the action, by commentators that know the game well and can make each play selection understandable to the viewer, and by a game that is predicated on multiple instances of quick action in which something is accomplished on each play. Baseball does this better at the ballpark than on TV, but it can be helped by altering the way the game is played, and the All·Star game is the perfect opportunity to shift the focus from winning to playing, and thus upping the energy while making it less vital to go all out for the sake of a win, while at the same time letting fans have a say in who makes the team so that they are excited to see their ballot choices take the field.

I think that if the player selection process was streamlined and expanded for the fans, while at the same time making the All·Star game more of an exhibition than a must-win game, it will remain fair for the leagues, and exciting for the spectators.

Either way, my votes are in for 2011, and I can’t wait for the Midsummer Classic from Arizona!

Tonight is the first night for interleague play in baseball in the 2010 season. The Cincinnati Reds have made the drive north to Cleveland to take on the Indians. As it stands tonight, the Reds lead the National League Central Division, and the Indians bring up the rear of the American League Central Division, but in their interleague matchup the Reds and Indians are almost dead even for wins and losses, so it should be an interesting game. At the time of writing, it is the top of the fourth, and the game is tied 1-1, so it remains either team’s game to win.

Ever since 1997, when Interleague play was adopted into Major League Baseball, the Reds and Indians have been meeting as state rivals, and similar matchups take place all across the nation. The New York Mets are playing the New York Yankees, and the Philadelphia Phillies are hosting the Boston Red Sox. Later in the year the Chicago Cubs will host their cross city rivals White Sox.

All in all, I like interleague play. Before 1997, anytime a team, or even a player, from either league saw one from the opposing league it was during Spring Training, the All·Star Game, or the World Series. The separation between the American and the National Leagues was a mile wide and a wall of iron. The only real difference between the leagues, as far as rules go, is in the American League with the implementation of the designated hitter, a player that bats in place of the pitcher, but who doesn’t play defensively. Despite this minor difference, the leagues seem to have an intangible difference: the National League is said to be more offensive, the American League is more of a pitcher’s league.

I like interleague play because I like seeing teams from opposing leagues play each other. Because the separation existed for over 100 years, the novelty is still fresh. Secondly, I have been an Indians fan my entire life, which means I have become a bit of an American League fan, but I have never really liked the designated hitter rule. My personal philosophy is that if you play defense you play offense. Pitchers should not be exempted because of their “special” status as a specialized position player. National League pitchers have been hitting since the dawn of baseball and still manage to pitch extremely well. Let’s not forget that Babe Ruth, the most legendary hitter in all of baseball, was a pitcher for the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees. Sure, pitchers today are way more targeted than in Ruth’s time, but I think the logic holds.

Lastly, I like the idea of interleague play because it brings teams to town that otherwise a fan would not often see. Cleveland and Cincinnati are close enough that one could make the occasional drive to the other city, or in Chicago or New York one can simply take a subway or cab to the other stadium, but I doubt many people make the 5 and 1/2 hour drive between Boston and Philadelphia to be a fan of both the Red Sox and the Phillies. Now, at least three times during the season, a fan can see opposing league teams ride right into town and play the home team. In the era of internet and TV televised games, going out to the ballpark is still time well spent, and if you can see a team you would never before see, that is a bonus for fans.

As of 2010, every team in each league has played every other team at least once, and I hope that Interleague play continues into the future. I for one look forward to seeing which National League teams will come into Cleveland, and which cities the Indians will visit that they normally don’t see. This year, I am eager to see the Philadelphia Phillies cruise into Cleveland, because having spent several years in central Pennsylvania I have become a Phillies fan. Because my teams sit in opposing leagues, the opportunity that I would have to pick one over the other to cheer for is a limited prospect. In a few weeks, I will be forced to make that decision, but it is easy: I cheer for the Indians. Always first, foremost, and forever. However, my rational assessment of each team leads me to believe that the Phillies will beat the living daylights out of the Tribe, as currently the Phillies are the best team in the National League, and the Indians are close to the worst team in the American League. But, there is still plenty of baseball to play, and anything can happen.

Speaking of which, while I was writing this post, the Reds jumped ahead of the Indians 4-1, but in the last Indians’ at bat, Shin-Soo Choo of the Tribe went deep, hitting a two run home run helping his team tie the game 4-4. The top of the sixth is under way, and still either team could wind up with the win.

This is why baseball is the best sport in the world.

The second game of the 2009 World Series is going to begin in just over an hour. I thought I would take this opportunity to vent/respond to some things I have been hearing lately, mostly negative comments on the game of baseball itself.

I begin with a few generalities. Baseball is a game of endurance. Everything in the game is built around this fact. The season itself is 162 games scheduled over 180 days. The game is comprised of 9 innings, during which each team has a chance to bat until they suffer 3 outs. It takes 3 strikes to get out, unless you hit the ball, and get out in the course of the play. Generally speaking, the game takes about 2 hours to play, and less than that is considered really fast (and is probably a game without a score). The fastest game on record is 51 minutes. There is no time limit for a baseball game, and unless there are extenuating circumstances, the game cannot end in a tie. The winning team is not only the one who scores one more run than the opposing team, but also is the team that outlasts their opponent.

Once a team wins the regular season, and advances to the post season, they must play several rounds of playoff series. The Division Series is the best of 5 games. The League Championship and the World Series are best of 7 series. To be the best, you must be the best consistently over a long period of time. It is grueling and it is challenging.

Thus, I am confused when people complain that the game is too long. I assume they mean that a particular game they want to watch is too long, and usually they mean a playoff game, because the majority of fans who watch games during the season either 1) don’t care about the length or 2) are ok watching part of the game. Usually if you complain about it being too long it is because you would want to watch the entire game, but don’t feel you have the time.

Before I address this, some more numbers: technically a football game is only an hour long (4 15 minute quarters), but with timeouts, side changes, and other considerations most football games take between 2 and 3 hours…the same as your average baseball game. Similarly, technically a basketball game is only 48 minutes long (4 12 minute quarters) but with time outs and other considerations most games take around 2 hours to play…about the same as a fast baseball game. And, for my international friends, a game of soccer is technically an hour and a half (2 45 minute halfs) but with a half time and other considerations, a soccer game could last 2 hours or more. Again, like a fast baseball game.

Now, at least on Sunday afternoon and Monday evening, alot of Americans will watch at least 1 football game, lasting around 2.5 hours. On Sunday, some fans will take in two games, taking up around 5 hours of their time. Add to this consideration pre and post game shows, and you’ve got close to 7 hours. And a really long baseball game is about 3, 3 and 1/2 hours.

Now, for baseball’s playoffs, the game tends to take a little longer, mostly because the commercial break is longer. I defy anyone to prove that baseball has longer commercials than Monday Night Football, or the SuperBowl though, which sometimes is just as much about the commercials as it is the game (Bud. Weis. Err.)

So, why the annoyance over the length of baseball games? The only conclusion I can come to is that, if one really has something more important to do, or kids to care for, or whatever, the game can seem longer than it is. Basketball and Soccer players are almost always running. Football players run for short bursts, and stand around in between. Baseball is focused on three men: the pitcher, the catcher, and the batter trying to cut in on their fun. This can give the illusion of alot of down time. The pitcher throws. The batter stands there. The catcher throws the ball back. The pitcher looks in to the catcher. The batter stands out. The pitcher looks in again. Checks the runner at first. The pitcher pitches. The batter swings and hits a ball into the stands, foul. In reality, it isn’t that long of a time. I have heard comments to the effect that “they should stop the batters from stepping out of the batter’s box, and stop the pitchers from stepping off the mound” and that this would speed up the game. Hardly. This interaction isn’t what takes time in a baseball game.

Most of the time in baseball is taken up when a team is actually hitting the ball and having a good inning, offensively. In last night’s game, for instance, the Phillies loaded the bases and looked fairly dangerous, in the top of the first inning. They eventually made 3 outs before scoring, but total half inning time was about 12 minutes. The bottom of the first, in which the Yankees did nothing, took about 4 minutes, a third of the time. And nothing much happened until the eighth inning, due to alot of pitchers pitching and hitters failing to hit, for both teams, except for this one guy who hit a home run, but it takes about a minute to run around the bases, three if you are Manny Ramirez, so this didn’t add much to the length of the inning. The Phillies added two more runs in the top of the eighth inning and took about 16 minutes to do it. The bottom of the eighth clocked in at about 5 minutes.

My point is this: all the supposed time that is being wasted by batters and pitchers is insignificant compared to the whopping time being wasted in innings when stuff actually happens. The Phillies took about 45 minutes to score 6 runs. The Yankees took about 15 minutes to score 1 run. The other two hours were full of 8 really quick innings, the average length of which was all of 10 minutes (5 for each half). I don’t see how a whole lot of time could be saved there, really.

So, my conclusion on the time aspect of baseball: it takes about the same amount of time to watch a baseball game as it does any other sport. Those that complain don’t really like baseball that much. Put this in terms of watching a chick flick with your girl instead of T2 and you see what am getting at.

As Game Two is about to start, I will save “Black and White Blindness: The Ump Factor” for next time. Play Ball!