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.”

Money, Sex and Power

Americans are fascinated by violence. Crime dramas consistently rank high in TV ratings. News shows typically lead with mayhem and tragedy. So is it any wonder one of the primary appeals of the National Football League is its weekly menu of violent collisions?

This week league officials have begun taking steps to curtail the inevitable consequences of mass plus force plus speed, first by levying large fines and second by threatening suspensions to offenders of rules designed to protect opposing players.

The problem is, horrific impacts are a big part of the NFL’s phenomenal appeal. Along with money – countless millions of dollars at stake through gambling and fantasy leagues, and sex – scantily clad cheerleaders stationed along sidelines for whatever purpose, the sheer power of muscled athlete crashing into muscled athlete has captivated the American male psyche. ESPN used to have a feature, “Jacked-Up,” that replayed the week’s most violent tackles. Will the NFL’s appeal remain as strong if it becomes a safer, gentler sport?

It could be argued the popularity of NASCAR, which grew steadily for a couple of decades, began to decline when it began imposing stringent safety measures after the tragic death of Dale Earnhardt, along with other drivers. Races still feature spectacular wrecks, but the macabre link with death has been virtually eliminated. Perhaps in the minds of some observers, if there’s no real danger, where’s the fun?

This isn’t to say the NFL shouldn’t step up to protect players from ferocious hits that could leave them being permanently maimed, even killed. No amount of compensation can offset disabilities – immediate or delayed – or loss of life.

But if the “greatest hits,” the ones that evoke the ooh’s and ahh’s from voyeuristic viewers, are subtracted from the equation, will the NFL sustain its attraction? Only time will tell.

Give Me Reality, Not Fantasy!

When I was a boy, we played several fantasy-type sports games – dice baseball, with numbers on the dice representing hits and outs; another game in which you placed cards of Hall of Fame baseball players over a spinner; and a vibrating, electric football game that literally shook the miniature players up and down the field.

I’ve never played “fantasy football,” but last week witnessed firsthand what it involves. That happened to be the night my alma mater, Ohio State, was opening its season against Marshall and I went to a local sports bar where fellow Buckeye fans here in Chattanooga often gather to share in the thrill of victory.

Our accustomed long table in front of the big TV screen, however, had been absconded by a group of fantasy football fanatics. I know they were fanatics because they each clutched stacks of paper containing team rosters and statistics from last year, and were also armed with laptops for collecting and correlating other relevant performance data.

Judging by the intensity and somberness of this group, you might have thought these people were negotiating a world peace agreement, or at least a hostile takeover of Microsoft, rather than forming make-believe football teams.

I admit to being miffed because their presence relegated many of us Buckeyes to a far corner of the restaurant, out of sight of the big screen, but had to wonder about the many hours these fantasy devotees were investing on the startup of an annual but essentially inconsequential pastime.

Perhaps these gridiron dreamers had visions of winning big bucks at season’s end, but it seemed like a strange way to spend time. Of course, I do my own things to consume time in silly ways. But at least they don’t deprive ardent OSU fans from enjoying the big screen!

It’s Football Time in . . .

As Monday Night Football’s opener inquires, “Are you ready for some football?!”

Tomorrow night, football – college version – will unwrap its season when Ohio State, my alma mater, hosts Marshall. South Carolina hosts Southern Mississippi in another notable opener. That will be what more people will see because it’s on ESPN, since the Buckeyes circa 2010 debut on the Big Ten Network.

For the moment, all football fans are euphoric – their favorite teams all are undefeated. (At least they haven’t lost yet.) For many, however, it will be downhill right after opening kickoff.

My hopes are especially high since the Bucks are a consensus No. 2 in preseason polls, and defending champ Alabama will face all kinds of challenges repeating. But that’s why they play the games. After weeks and months of “too much talk, not enough action,” every squad will have the opportunity to show what they can do.

Here in the South where I live, most fans seem convinced the SEC again will reign once everything in the season’s said and done. I imagine some of them even think the game was invented below the Mason-Dixon line. Actually the first football game was played between Rutgers and Princeton in 1869 in New Brunswick, N.J., just a few miles from where I grew up. The game then, of course, bore little resemblance to what we see today.

Since the NFL starts its season one week later, for one weekend college football will reign as king of the hill. And for the next four months we’ll listen to non-stop debates about who’s the real No. 1, who will win the Heisman this year, and whether anyone in the sluggish North can even compete with any team in the speedy South.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some football!

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.

Bouncing Down Buckeye Memory Lane: Clarett and Tatum

Reading this week’s sports section has been almost like being visited by ghosts of Buckeyes past.
Maurice Clarett, who largely contributed to Ohio State’s 2002 BCS Championship Game victory over Miami, is back on campus in Columbus. Having served several years in prison for armed robbery, Clarett again is a student at The Ohio State University, although his football eligibility is long gone.

I’m sure there are those who question what right he has to set foot on campus again after putting the football program into disgrace, but head coach Jim Tressel has welcomed Clarett, still a young man. Personally, I think “Mo” has done the time for the crime. If he’s trying to get his life back on track, why not? Too often prison sentences are only about punishment, and not about restoration and rehabilitation.

One other Buckeye was sadly in the news, Jack Tatum, who died of a heart attack at 61 after years of other health issues. Supposedly nicknamed “The Assassin,” which apparently was not true during his pro career, Tatum is infamously remembered for the savage hit he made as an Oakland Raider on New England receiver Darryl Stingley in 1978, leaving him a near-quadriplegic.

“A bad guy” is the instant assessment of many sports observers. But in 1969, while I was a reporter for Ohio State’s student newspaper, The Lantern, Tatum struck me as anything but that. He had been a member of the National Championship team the preceding year, the centerpiece of a fierce defensive backfield for the Buckeyes. Experts say that had he played on offense, Tatum could have been a stellar running back, but Woody Hayes liked to keep his best athletes on defense.

I spoke little to Tatum, because he was a quiet guy. He would stroll through the locker room hallway in pads and cleats, look you in the eye and offer a slight smile, then move on. Like me, he had come to OSU from New Jersey, but from a background very unlike my own.

What Tatum was really like, I can’t say. Without question, despite his NFL celebrity – and notoriety, his life wasn’t an easy one. Since I just turned 62 myself, I can honestly say that 61 seems too young to leave this life. My only hope and prayer is that he has found peace and joy in the next.

Carrying the Weight of Leadership

Not long ago, life was good for University of Georgia athletic director Damon Evans. He held a prestigious job and had the distinction of being the first African-American to hold that role in the Southeastern Conference. He also was about to receive a new contract and pay increase to $550,000 annually. Yes, life was good.

Then Evans, married and the father of two, got caught in the devastating mix of late hours, too much alcohol, an attractive young woman not his wife – and the police.

Suddenly he’s jobless, his career is in jeopardy, and his marriage and family might be as well. Situations like this are so common we’re no longer shocked. A much-higher profile sports figure, Tiger Woods, drew similar attention not long ago. But the same question arises: “What was he thinking?!”

Whether this was a singular act of poor judgment, or a case of finally being caught in bad behavior, we don’t know. What we do know is Evans betrayed the university’s trust and failed as a role model for hundreds of athletes at UGA who constantly are receiving warnings about being in wrong places with wrong people at the wrong time.

Some may scoff, saying Evans’ termination was harsh, but he wasn’t merely an employee. He headed Georgia’s athletic program. Leadership brings privilege – and a price: As Jesus admonished, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked” (Luke 12:48).

The Bible also cautions, “If anyone sets his heart on being an overseer, he desires a noble task. Now the overseer must be above reproach…self-controlled, respectable…not given to drunkenness” (1 Timothy 3:1-3).

Those are wise words for us all, even if we don’t hold prominent, visible roles in sports.