Baker
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The lone drop of sweat crawled down my face as I inched forward, my gloved right hand thrusting out and down as my knees bent slightly to give me more mobility. My head remained fixed upon the tall figure of Bram, our pitcher, preparing to wind-up and deliver the ball towards the waiting batter. Only the harsh voice of Bram’s father – our tobacco-chewing, gray-haired coach sitting in the dugout – broke my concentration, and I hurriedly obeyed his command to shuffle two feet to my right, away from my post at first base. Returning my attention to the game, I looked just in time to watch the pitched ball leave the hitter’s bat with a solid crack and take a wicked hook down the first baseline; I leapt to my left, throwing my glove across my body in a desperate attempt to knock down the ball, but looked on in dismay the ball screamed into the outfield, six inches out of my reach. From the dirt, I glanced at Bram’s father with exasperation on my face, receiving only a shrug of disbelief and a slight, resigned smile before he turned back to continue watching the game.
In (totally unbiased, of course) opinion, baseball is the most interesting and complex sport played today. Coaches from Bram’s chaw-loving father to my ridiculously expensive, former pro, trainer claim that baseball can be broken down in three simple clauses – see the ball, throw the ball, hit the ball – but maturing on and off the field brought me to the realization that the game is so much more than those three simple clauses could ever hope to explain. First, baseball involves large amounts of planning and strategy, and about things that the average viewer would never remark upon. Not many people notice the left fielder moving three steps to his right and missing a ball down the line the next inning; few understand the reason for bringing in left-handed pitchers to pitch to one lefty hitter, throwing fewer pitches in that one at-bat than they do in the bullpen; and only the most experienced fans and players understand the silent jockeying between the pitcher, his catcher, and the hitter. Perhaps more than this teamwork, strategy, and hard work, particles of luck swing a game one way or another.
Referred to as the “Baseball Gods” by many fans, these bits of happenchance often destroy even the best strategies. Shorts gusts of wind grant or steal crucial hits, rocks redirect balls from their original course, and beer-guzzling fans interfere with the players (the last one might be the Budweiser Gods’ fault). Some might find all this irritating or frustrating, but, as with other sports and life in general, the unexpected is often the most enjoyable. College basketball fans watch March Madness in the hopes of seeing a big upset, millions watched American Idol despite the fact that Adam Lambert should have easily won, and devoted baseball fans watch their teams win games they had no business winning. Baseball is often criticized by those who prefer the likes of basketball, lacrosse, soccer, and others, but predictability is never an argument that suffices.
Critics of baseball should never say anything before they consider the fact that it gave us trading cards (who didn’t love Pokémon?), fantasy sports, and more sexual euphemisms than you could ever need. Despite all this, some accuse baseball at the highest level – the major leagues – as ruined by steroids and too money-focused. Steroids have plagued any discussion about professional baseball for the past several years, and the issue will certainly mar the sport’s image for a time to come; however, few care to consider that steroids infect professional sports from weight lifting to football to cycling, and unfairly condemn baseball in its entirety for the actions of a minority of its players. The amount of money in the MLB today is astonishing, but I am confident that most players, professional and otherwise, would cite a love for the game as their primary motivation. In any discussion about baseball as a whole, both sides should look to the million of amateur players worldwide rather than the select few in the major leagues.
As Roger Kahn – a sportswriter and avid baseball fan – once said, baseball is “chess at ninety miles an hour.” Its unique nature meshes the individual actions of each player into a combined effort that affects the other seventeen players on the field, the dozens constantly waiting to enter it, and the thousands of loyal fans who feed off their team’s success. Although the Gods often tear these efforts apart at the seams as one might a baseball, fans and players would never trade the combination of luck, skill, and pure coincidence they bring to the game. Instead, this combination defines the sport, and has made it America’s Pastime for the past hundred years. Baseball fans can never decide whether the incredible, timeless, and infinitely frustrating “game of inches” is decided by gods or men, but all agree that it is much more than “see the ball, throw the ball, hit the ball.
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