Do I really need a reason?
04/17/2002
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"Why do you like baseball so much?"
I guess it was a simple question, posed by my wife last summer during an Indians game. But while the inquiry itself was straightforward, I soon realized that the answer wasn't nearly as uncomplicated.
You see, I love football and basketball, and when I'm in the mood I can sit through a hockey game on TV. Golf's really grown on me in recent years despite my obvious lack of skill, and I've even been known to unleash a wicked forehand volley on the tennis court.
But through all the alley-oops, touchdowns, double faults and quadruple bogies, baseball's been my unquestioned game of choice. I may turn my attention to the hardwood and the gridiron during the winter months, but when the Super Bowl gives way to spring training and the Cavs again silently fall out of playoff contention -- which usually happens around Christmas -- I always find my way back to the diamond.
That's how it is, and that's how it's always been, ever since I can remember. But up until my wife asked me that one simple question last summer, I'd never really thought about why baseball owns the top spot on my sports hierarchy. It just did, and I just accepted it.
So when faced with her inquiry, at first I simply said, "I don't know." Then she prodded me for more info and I realized that, honestly, I didn't know -- I was stumped. What exactly made baseball so special to me and, on a much larger scale, so special to millions of fans just like me? I had no clue. I shrugged it off that day, but it's been a question I've pondered from time to time since then. I mean, if something holds that much significance in your life, you probably should at least have some sort of idea as to why, right?
I love my wife because, among other things, she's caring, honest, beautiful and funny, plus she watches Indians and Browns games with me. I get along so well with my friends because we share the same interests, they always make me laugh and most of them have seen me at my absolute worst -- college. I love beer because it's honest, it always makes me laugh and it inspired me to be my absolute worst at college.
But why do I love baseball so much more than football, basketball, golf and badminton?
Okay, I know why I love baseball more than badminton, but what about the others?
Tired of my blind devotion, I've decided to try to map out this hardball love affair today -- call it self analysis, if you like, prompted by my noticing the other day that, when baseball's in season, I devote no less than 98% of my columns to America's Pastime.
Why? I haven't the foggiest... but I'm about to find out.
I guess the logical starting point would be childhood, since that's where most people, with a little help from fanatical fathers, uncles and other relatives (my grandmother -- hi Grancy!), are first exposed to sports in general. Perhaps our baseball fixation starts here because most kids learn to throw a little round ball before they ever attempt a foul shot or a fly pattern. Plus, because of all those overprotective mothers out there, many kids just aren't allowed to play football or hockey until they get older (I was one of those "wusses"). But baseball poses no real physical threat, at least not when we're in Little League, making it the "safe" sport in Mom's eyes.
In other words, for many baseball represents our first sports love, the game that we've been with the longest. And over the years, we've been given plenty of time to forge this unbreakable bond, a bond often shared with fathers.
During my senior year at Ohio University I interviewed Charles A. Alexander, a professor who taught my favorite course in four years of college: History 319C, the History of Baseball.
Yes, I actually got course credit for taking his class.
Anyway, I did a profile of Dr. Alexander for the school newspaper and he said some things about baseball that I'll never forget, the first being how playing catch with your father often spurs a lifelong fascination with the game. "Fathers playing catch with sons," he said, "that's one of the most vivid images we have of father/son relationships. For 100 years and more now, fathers have been playing catch with sons. It's something you can do -- you don't have to have facilities, you don't have to go some place to do it. We don't have too many images of father throwing pass to son, or father shooting hoops with son. Those relationships are there but, as a whole, throwing a baseball with your dad is an image we all know well."
At the time, that quote made all the sense in the world to me, and now reading it more than three years later, it still rings true. Grab two gloves and a ball, and you've got baseball. Sure, playing catch in the backyard isn't exactly Game Seven of the World Series, but as Dr. Alexander stated, most of us have vivid memories of throwing the ball back and forth with our fathers, friends and even mothers. It's an easy thing to do -- you don't need to have access to something like a basketball hoop and you don't have to strap on a ton of gear to play.
Just two gloves and a ball.
So is baseball's "accessibility" one of the reasons behind its elevated stature in our society? I certainly think that has something to do with it -- kids start playing at such a young age, it's always been a game you could play in your backyard, plus you don't have to be the strongest or fastest kid on the team to succeed.
In short, it's a sport that appeals to so many people.
But what about the game itself? I mean, early exposure to baseball may spark that initial interest, but there has to be something about the game on the field that cultivates our fascination.
Personally, I've always been mesmerized by the fact that, despite there being 10 guys on the field at once (if you count the batter), baseball in its simplest form can be condensed to just one battle: the pitcher versus the hitter. Sure, the eight other guys on the field enter the equation if a ball is put in play, but before any of that happens you've got just one guy, standing alone in the center of the diamond, focused on one thing -- getting the hitter out. And on the other side of that match-up, there's the batter trying to capitalize on the pitcher's mistakes, and if he succeeds 30% of the time -- just three out of 10 -- he's great. But 20%? Well, then he's a failure.
You don't have those kinds of one-on-one showdowns in most other sports. You've got the quarterback or running back staring down 11 defenders on the football field, and if your man gets by you in basketball you've always got help defense backing you up, especially now that the zone has been legalized in the NBA.
And because of these hitter/pitcher clashes, low-scoring baseball games are extremely entertaining because I enjoy watching someone like Curt Schilling or Mike Mussina dismantle a lineup. A 2-1 game baseball game? Love it. A 6-3 football game or 77-71 NBA game? No thanks -- who wants to see a dozen punts and a bunch of fumbles, or lots of airballs and missed free throws?
I'm yawning just thinking about it.
Baseball may be the only sport I know of where a 1-0 game can be just as thrilling as a 12-10 explosion because in both cases, you're watching either the pitchers or hitters dominate. Unfortunately, low scores on the football field or basketball court often are the result of mistakes and poor execution.
Remember, I watch the Cavs so I know all about mistakes and poor execution.
Of course, baseball's entire set-up distinguishes it from other sports simply because the defense is in possession of the ball throughout the game. Have you ever thought about that? I mean, we're so used to offense implying possession on the playing field, but on a baseball diamond it's the defense that controls the tempo of the game, a quirk I've always found interesting.
And unlike in football, basketball or hockey, once a run is on the board it generally stays there. How annoying is it to watch your team return a punt or kickoff for a touchdown, only to see that damn yellow flag fly into the picture at about the 45-yard-line? You know it's coming back. Or those 30-yard touchdown runs that are nullified thanks to the numskull on the offensive line who couldn't keep his hands to himself? That always pisses me off. Same with basketball -- big baskets waived off because of some mysterious offensive foul -- and hockey -- game-winning goals wiped out because someone's skate was "in the crease."
But in baseball, it's different. Once a ball goes over the fence, it's a home run. No flags. No instant replay. No holding or blocks in the back. Over the fence = run. Of course, umpires on occasion have to make judgment calls on balls that pass close to the foul pole or have some help getting over the wall from souvenir-seekers, but to borrow a phrase from an orange juice company, baseball is "100% unfooled around with." Or as close as any organized sport can be.
All of these intricacies are great, and certainly they all have contributed to my baseball loyalties, but the fact that there are no time constraints placed on this wonderful game may be what pushes it above all other sports in my mind. I know some of you can't stand 10-pitch at-bats and yes, there's been talk (again) of shortening the length of games, but that's not really what I'm talking about.
Think back to football season for a second, and how many times your favorite team, down a score or two with less than two minutes left in the game, had to watch the opposition run out the clock either with a punishing ground game or by simply kneeling after the snap. How maddening is that? Give me a chance to win, damnit! I can't stand that feeling, and I'm sure football players don't really like it very much either. You see it late in basketball games too, when a team waits until there's about two seconds left on the shot clock before hoisting an attempt, milking a 10-point, fourth-quarter lead. Not only is it aggravating to watch your team's chances slip away second-by-second, but it also makes those final minutes of the game extremely boring. Run up the middle, run up the middle, run up the middle, first down. Run up the middle, run up the middle... . Yippee.
On a baseball field, though, you're always given at least 27 outs to win the game. There is no clock to be run down, no knee to be taken, no lead to be milked. No matter if you're down by one run or 13 in the ninth inning, you'll always get those final three outs to try to win the game.
Perhaps that's it right there. Maybe baseball's so great because you're never really defeated until you make that 27th and final out. Sure, a five- or six-run deficit often is nearly impossible to overcome late in the game, but on the baseball field nobody can take your chances away by simply managing some stupid clock.
I don't know -- I've rambled on now for nearly four pages and I'm still not exactly sure what it is that sets baseball apart from its peers. Everything I've mentioned today fits into the equation but none of this fully answers my wife's simple question.
I'm not sure why I like baseball so much. For some unknown reason, a tough day at work always seems at least a little less important if there's a game on TV, and for me baseball's been an easy game to share with friends and family over the years. Some of my best college memories involve playoff time in Southeast Ohio, skipping class to watch the Indians play in October with a bunch of my buddies.
One day I guess my kids will ask me why I like baseball so much, and by then I'm sure I still won't have a concrete answer. Maybe I'll talk about its accessibility, or great pitcher/hitter showdowns. I could mention baseball's timeless nature or highlight its magnificent history.
Then again, we could just pick up two gloves and a ball, head outside and play catch. Maybe that'll be my answer.
In the Bullz-Eye
Mel Kiper Jr. and every so-called NFL draft expert. It's draft time again (Saturday, April 20 at noon on ESPN), and soon we get to find out just how wrong Kiper, Len Pasquarelli and all those other "pundits" have been with their draft-day predictions. Again.