Suggestions to Fix What Ails Baseball

Baseball was my first love in sports. I remember the epic World Series battles between the New York Yankees and Milwaukee Braves in 1957 and 1958 when I was a little boy. And for decades afterward, I bought into the idea that baseball was the “American pastime.”

Unfortunately, the snail’s pace of the sport – in the context of today’s fast-food, microwave, immediately-if-not-sooner world – has turned it from “pastime” to more like watching time pass through an hourglass.

Other sports – notably football and basketball, pro and college – have surpassed baseball in popularity, particularly among younger people. The bedrock of baseball fandom today is the so-called Baby Boomer generation, of which I’m a card-carrying member. But even I have a hard time sitting through more than an inning or two anymore.

Baseball has long been a part of Americana, and it would be a shame for it to crawl into the Smithsonian and become a quaint relic of the past. Here are suggestions to revitalize the game:

Put pitchers on a time clock (call it a “pitch clock”). Pitchers take an interminable amount of time between pitches, scratching their ears, adjusting jocks or whatever they need to do. Football, basketball, hockey and other sports all utilize time clocks to keep action moving. How about having a clock that limits time between pitches to 20 or 25 seconds? If the pitch isn’t delivered by then, it’s an automatic “ball.”

Institute instant replay. Videotape replay has revolutionized both pro and college football, making for more accurate officiating, and it’s even used in some instances in basketball. Forget “tradition” – and egotistical baseball umpires. Institute instant replay for controversial calls, those bang-bang plays at the bases or questionable catches in the outfield. Get it right!

Outlaw the “drama.” One silly baseball practice is the manager storming onto the field to protest a call he disagrees with, jawing chin to chin with an umpire, even kicking dirt or throwing his hat. You don’t see this in football, or basketball – if you do, the coach is banished immediately. Such behavior isn’t tolerated in the workplace; why should a ball diamond be an exception? It’s just another waste of time – and if videotape replay is instituted, it becomes utterly unnecessary.

Have players show post-game sportsmanship. Have you noticed that after football games the opposing players mingle? And in basketball, competitors routinely shake hands after the final buzzer? Not in baseball. The winners do shake hands – but only with fellow teammates. Meanwhile, their opponents either shuffle to the clubhouse or watch enviously from the dugout. Let’s have a display of sportsmanship, with winners and losers congratulating each other post-game.

I’m sure there are other ideas that could be implemented as well, but these could be a good start. Otherwise, I fear, we’ll soon be going to museums to see baseball, displayed alongside T-Rex, the cotton gin and the “Spirit of St. Louis.”

Childhood Baseball Memories

For the most part, I think most sports talk commentators are loud-mouthed, bombastic blowhards, barely more knowledgeable than me – which isn’t saying much. But one exception is ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd. I don’t concur with everything he says, but rather than rattling on about “I think…”, Cowherd actually does research and has data supporting his views, whether you agree or not.

Recently he was talking about a televised Major League Baseball game which included a quick glimpse of two little guys overwhelmed with glee when one caught a homerun ball. Scenes like this, Cowherd said, are what make baseball unique and special, despite its snail pace in a hyper-speed world.

His comments brought back my own boyhood experiences of going to ballgames. Living about 40 miles from New York City, a couple of times a year my father and I – usually with my friend, Mark, and his dad – would drive to see the Yankees in The Bronx or the Mets in Flushing. I vividly recall sitting in the reverse-facing backseat of my friend’s Rambler station wagon waving at drivers of other cars going by.

There was nothing like sitting in the box seats to the right of home plate, eating hotdogs and drinking ice-cold, watered-down Cokes (they’re actually more refreshing that way) while admiring my heroes – Mantle, Berra, Maris, Skowron (at Yankee games) or Ron Swoboda and Ed Kranepool (at Mets games) – as they knelt in the batter’s box or strode toward home plate.

For me, probably even more meaningful was the time spent with my dad. He was old-school – work hard, provide for the family – not overly talkative. We never went fishing or boating; he wasn’t the outdoors kind. Probably being wounded twice in World War II was enough outdoor action for him.

Dad was very mechanical, but after becoming convinced the mechanic-gene somehow had bypassed me, he left me to writing, reading and other pastimes.

Those times sitting in Yankee Stadium or Shea Stadium with my dad, however, were special. Although he wasn’t a big sports fan – by age 12 I easily knew more about the teams than he ever cared to learn – it was one way to indulge his son.

Our relationship wasn’t everything I might have wanted, but whether at a ballgame, watching him work on a car, tagging along with him at a National Guard exercise or whatever, Dad still managed to impart valuable principles to me: a solid work ethic, faithfulness, constancy, integrity. As it says in Proverbs 4:1, “Listen, my sons, to a father’s instruction; pay attention and gain understanding.” I did. One day I hope my own children and grandchildren will be able to say the same about me.

NBA Draft, Rugby . . . and Other Random Thoughts

Tonight is the night several dozen young men officially part ways with their respective academic institutions so they can earn a degree – their NBA.

The NBA Draft is not the spectacle of the NFL Draft, but still marks a commencement of sorts – from the college to the court. Who knows how many of the top picks will live up to their pre-draft hype. Some notable first-round picks in recent years have made the transition from collegiate “Who’s Who” to professional “Who’s He?” with amazing quickness. Stay tuned.

“Invictus.” I finally got to see the film, “Invictus,” starring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon. It’s about how the remarkable World Cup triumph of South Africa’s rugby team in 1995 helped to solidify Nelson Mandela’s leadership in that nation.

Rugby has a World Cup? Who knew? I barely knew that soccer had one, but now I know rugby has its own international competition every four years. If you’re interested, the next one is being held in 2011. That should be enough time for you to recover from the excitement of this year’s soccer World Cup.

Watching the film, I didn’t have the foggiest notion about the rules of the game. Most of the match, it seemed, was similar to American football when the ball is fumbled and the players jump onto a pile, wrestling for the ball. Except in rugby, if the ball squirts out, you can grab it and run, throw it to someone else, or even kick it to try for a score.

And rugby guys, from what I could surmise, don’t even wear pads. Our football players are such wimps!

By the way, Nelson Mandela does have a strong resemblance to Morgan Freeman.

And the Cup goes on. Speaking of soccer, I have formulated a six-word phrase that I think summarizes the problem with soccer. If you’ll pardon the romantic metaphor, soccer is basically – too much foreplay, not enough sex.

And do you know why, when a team does score, the announcer proceeds to scream, “Gooooooooooooooaaaaaaaalllllllllll!” for what seems 15 minutes? It’s because he knows it will be a really long time before he has to shout it again.

Candidate for the Hall? Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Jamie Moyer, who must be about 80 years old, is slowly inching toward the 300-career victory mark. Now in his 25th Major League season, Moyer recorded his first victory in 1986 when he was with the Chicago Cubs. He now has 266 wins, to go with 201 losses.

Because 300 wins has traditionally been the threshold for Hall of Fame pitchers, pundits are starting to discuss whether Moyer should be considered for the Hall. He did have 20-win seasons in 2001 and 2003 with Seattle, but has averaged less than 11 wins per year over his career.

Maybe the sacred 300 mark needs to be reconsidered. What if a guy one day lives to be 320, entered the majors at age 21 and pitches for 300 years, winning one game each year. Does that mean that he will qualify for the enshrinement in Cooperstown, based on career victories?

At his current pace, Moyer probably will deserve to be elected into the Hall of Fame – for being the first pitcher to retire from baseball and immediately collect his first Social Security check!

Imperfect Game, Perfect Response

The perfect game: a pitcher’s dream. Twenty-seven batters up, 27 batters down. No runs, no hits, no errors, no runners, no nothin’.

Perfect games don’t happen every day, although this season it’s starting to seem like they do. In Major League history, there have been 20 perfect games thrown – but two already are in the record books this year, and June 2 there almost was a third.

Detroit Tigers’ hurler Armando Galarraga had retired 26 Cleveland batters in a row and was just one out in the ninth inning from finalizing his own “perfecto.” The only problem was, umpire Jim Joyce’s eye was not as quick as the instant replay. In his view, the Indians’ Jason Donald was safe on a bang-bang play at first base; slow-motion videotape clearly showed both ball and Galarraga arriving a blink before Donald’s foot hit the bag.

As expected, many of Galarraga’s teammates responded in anger, but the pitcher only displayed a wry, incredulous smile. No hysterical tantrum, no irate outburst, just good-humored disbelief. Then he quickly recorded out No. 28, although only 27 counted.

Many argue it’s time baseball stepped into the 21st century with instant replay, but what stands out most is how both umpire and pitcher responded.

Joyce had sincerely believed he had made the correct call, but after viewing the replay admitted he had blown it. Confession. Galarraga, who delivered the starting lineup the next day to Joyce, slated to work behind home plate, was gracious in accepting the umpire’s apology. Forgiveness.

What a vivid, real-life demonstration of biblical admonitions to “confess your sins to each other” (James 5:16) and “…forgive men when they sin against you” (Matthew 6:14).

A missed call may have cost a winning pitcher his perfect game, but in its aftermath a greater victory was won.

What Changed Baseball?

For whatever reason, I vividly recall that in my final year of Little League baseball – also my last attempt at organized baseball, because I couldn’t hit my way out of a field of weeds – I batted .226 (seven hits in 31 at-bats), and every hit was a bunt. (I also got plunked by pitches several times, but my brief experience as a human baseball target is not the focus for this blog.)

I remember two solid hits, one deep down the leftfield line that went foul, and the other a hard grounder to the shortstop that was called an error when he bobbled the ball.

Why do I mention that? Because the other day a radio sports commentator bemoaned that in Major League baseball, you rarely see players bunt the fall. Pitchers occasionally bunt to advance base runners, but position players hardly ever bunt.

He also mentioned you never see players choking up on the bat so they can control the ball by smacking it just beyond the infielders’ reach. I remember watching Bobby Richardson, the Yankees’ second baseman in the ‘60s, choking up on the bat at least two inches. He certainly was not one of New York’s famed “Murderers’ Row” – his career high for homeruns was eight – but he did bat over .300 twice. And he knew how to bunt.

So why don’t today’s players bunt? The commentator said he thought it’s because modern ballplayers don’t consider it “manly.” I think it’s an even simpler reason: ESPN.

We’re all familiar with Chris Berman’s “back, back, back, GONE!” to describe homeruns. When did you ever hear Berman offer a similar description for a bunt? What’s he going to say, “dink, dink, dink, safe”?

The nuances of baseball have suffered as the spotlight has grown brighter on mammoth homers. Players don’t get paid millions for bunting, or capture endorsement contracts for pushing a baseball gently down the baseline.

As a Little Leaguer, I actually did bunt the ball into the outfield, over the head of the charging third baseman, but that was long before ESPN, or even YouTube. And I wasn’t on steroids!

Hearkening Back to a Very Different Time

Summer’s long, steamy days fast approach, meaning only one thing: Baseball can temporarily resume its role as national pastime. NBA and NHL playoffs will have ended. College football will fade from public view until practices resume in August. College basketball won’t beckon our attention until October. That leaves “the boys of summer” – unless you’re big into NASCAR.

While baseball no longer reigns as my favorite sport, it has provided some of my most vivid memories. Growing up in New Jersey, twice a season I enjoyed riding into New York City’s Bronx Borough and striding into the shadows of the historic “House that Ruth Built.” I would usually go with my father, a friend and his dad, spending a day consuming lukewarm hotdogs, peanuts and watered-down Cokes, while watching my heroes – Mickey, Yogi, Whitey and others – lead the guys in pinstripes to victory.

I’ll always remember the day I went to Yankee Stadium in 1961 with my Little League team. Mantle and Roger Maris were chasing Babe Ruth’s sacred homerun record, and we saw both “the Mick” and Rog slam homers. Ford was the winning pitcher, and Luis Arroyo came in to save the victory. Yankee nirvana!

In those days baseball stars were revered. We didn’t have investigative reporters or Internet rumors recounting the Yankees’ late-night hijinks. I never knew Mickey often patrolled centerfield nursing a killer hangover. No, major leaguers were golden boys, virtual gods to adoring young fellows like me who would never master hitting a round ball with a round object square.

Those Yanks probably weren’t better or worse than players reviled today for their misdeeds, but it was a simpler, perhaps more naïve time. We read only news that was fit to print – not news that wasn’t.

As a nation – and a sporting culture – we’ve lost our innocence. Not that we ever really had it. But we thought we did. And there’s something sad about that.

Spring is Near – and Hope Springs Eternal

While much of the country still deals with remnants of snow and frigid temperatures, promise of the coming thaw already has arrived: Spring training.

Millions remain huddled indoors, trying to keep warm, but the so-called “boys of summer” have converged upon Florida and Arizona, merging the crack of the bat with the smack of baseballs and leather. Major League Baseball’s season is less than a month away.

Long regarded as “the American pastime,” baseball has slipped somewhat from that lofty perch, usurped by the NFL and college football. For today’s fast-paced, instant society, the Major League season drags on too long and games continue to progress at snail’s pace. But the sport remains central to our national culture.

The thing about spring training is at this moment, every team holds high expectations. The Kansas City Royals and Cleveland Indians have as many regular season victories at this point as the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox: Zero. In April that will change, but right now, hope springs eternal (or for another three weeks, whichever comes first). Whether you’re a fan of the Marlins, the Astros, the Diamondbacks…or even the Cubs, you’re thinking, “This could be our year.”

Spring training also is the time when we hear and read so much about the next phenoms, the sure-fire Hall of Famers yet to play their first major-league games. This year the list includes Washington’s Stephen Strasburg and Atlanta’s Jason Heyward. Whether they will one day join baseball’s “Who’s Who” or fade into “who’s he?” remains to be seen. But one thing they have for certain – potential. And that’s what spring training is all about.

So if you’re a baseball fan, enjoy the moment. Come September, things will probably be very different, but for now your team’s as good as the next!