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.

Where Would You Be Drafted?

Tomorrow night, the NFL will begin its annual right of passage for collegiate heroes who hope to trade their alma mater’s adulation for professional riches. Millions of fans will tune in to ESPN to hear Mel Kiper, Jr. (was Mel Kiper, Sr. a draft guru, too?), Todd McShay and others gush over the prowess of various prospects.

The NFL Draft has become so big, this year for the first time it’s opening on a Thursday during prime time and being extended through Friday and Saturday. If a two-day draft is good, a three-day draft should be great, right?

Besides who will be the top picks, other questions awaiting answers include: How high will Tim Tebow (“Tim Terrific”) be drafted? Which seemingly can’t-miss prospect will see his draft stock plummet? And who will be “Mr. Irrelevant,” the very last pick of the seven-round draft? Keep calm – soon all those questions will have proper answers!

But what if a national draft were conducted for your profession, whether it be sales, medicine, homemaking, business administration, clerical work, engineering, truck driving, accounting, teaching, mechanical trades, or whatever role you happen to fill? Where would you be drafted?

Based on performance – or potential – do you think you would be a top-round pick, maybe even one of the very first draft choices? Or would your name be called in a later round? Would it be called at all?

For most of us, playing in the NFL is not even a dream or a fantasy, much less a hope or a goal. But we can resolve to be the best we can be at whatever God has equipped and called us to do. “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10).

Infidelity and Devotion

Sports – like all of life – is often a study in contrasts and contradictions. We witnessed a vivid example in yesterday’s closing round of The Masters.

The week started with tongues wagging about the return of Tiger Woods to the PGA golf circuit after his much-publicized violations of his marriage vows. How would Tiger perform on the biggest stage of all in the professional golf world? How would the spectators respond to the seemingly repentant superstar? Would Elin attend?

Each question was answered over the course of the tournament’s four days, but slowly – almost imperceptibly – another story emerged. Phil Mickelson, once known as the greatest golfer never to have won a major golf championship, made one phenomenal shot after another to snatch attention – and victory (his third at the Masters) – away from Tiger and other contenders.

After sinking his final shot for a birdie on the 18th hole, Mickelson’s poignant, tearful embrace of his wife, Amy, could not have been more fitting. Eleven months after being diagnosed with breast cancer, Amy has been fighting a battle even more fierce than the one her husband waged over the four days at Augusta National.

For sports purists, Tiger Woods’ 11-under par, fourth-place finish satisfied expectations, and Mickelson’s demonstration of golfing artistry – 16 under par – was a glowing addition to the Masters’ legend.

But the real story was the elevation of love over a sordid tale of lust. While the fate of Tiger and Elin’s marriage appears still in doubt, the devotion between Phil and Amy was obvious. He had prevailed in an epic battle, and all observers were hoping she would as well.

The Bible says, “Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man who can find?” (Proverbs 20:6). On Sunday, I think we saw one donning the fabled green jacket.

Who Is 'the Greatest'?

Life used to be much simpler. We didn’t have to debate, “Who’s the greatest?” Muhammad Ali boldly told us: “I am the greatest!” Who were we to question that?

Alas, like all athletes, Ali’s prime years faded and no longer could he make such an outlandish declaration. So the debate is renewed, “Who is the greatest?” Not only in boxing, but in every sport: pro football, college football, baseball, basketball (college and pro), motor racing. Maybe bowling, snow skiing, or even curling?

Certainly such discussions can be entertaining. They give us something to talk about – as if we didn’t have enough already. But how can you realistically compare athletes from different eras? Whenever I see films of a roly-poly Babe Ruth rounding the bases after a homerun in the 1920s or ‘30s, I think, “No way he could have been as good as Albert Pujols, Alex Rodriguez or Joe Mauer.” But who knows?

In those days they traversed the countryside in trains. Sports venues then were hardly a shadow of what modern athletes enjoy. Nutrition and medical science certainly weren’t close to what they are now; the same with conditioning and strength training. Would a “buff” Babe be a superstar today?

This reality would apply to comparisons between Johnny Unitas, John Elway and Peyton Manning; or Oscar Robertson and Elgin Baylor with Kobe Bryant and Lebron James. How can you accurately evaluate how Jerry Lucas, who starred for Ohio State in the early 1960s, and Evan Turner, leaving one year early for the NBA after winning virtually every NCAA individual honor, would fare head to head?

So who really is the greatest? It’s a chicken-and-the-egg argument – no definitive answer or resolution. Only ardent, often dogmatic opinions; some well-reasoned, some not.

If each could say, “I did the best I could,” that’s all that truly matters. If they were the greatest of their time, isn’t that enough?

The College Football Playoff Fallacy

If you practice Bracketology – the science of predicting which teams will advance in the NCAA Basketball Championship Tournament – your life has probably been turned upside-down. Few envisioned Butler marching past Syracuse and Kansas State, and fewer imagined Northern Iowa upending Kansas. Many people’s favorite Kentucky got bounced out – by West Virginia, without its starting point guard. Georgetown lost to Ohio (not Ohio State)!

Commentators crow about how wonderful it is seeing have-nots prevail against the haves. The adage, “on any given day, one team can beat another,” is affirmed. Hooray for the little guy!

But this year’s topsiest-turviest tournament of all points out the fallacy of arguments advocating a college football playoff. The goal, we’re told, would be to resolve once and for all who the preeminent team is each year. But would it?

What true fan honestly contends Northern Iowa is truly a better team than Kansas. If they were to play 10 times, how many times would the directional school win – maybe twice? And who would be so bold to declare the Bobcats as talented as the Hoyas? Yes, winners advance fair and square, but does that ultimately convince us which team is superior day in and day out?

The same would hold true in a Division I (or whatever the academics insist on labeling it) college football playoff. On that given day, the lesser team could prevail. A fortuitous bounce here, a costly penalty there, a key injury somewhere else and a game’s outcome could hang in the balance.

I would favor a “plus one” matchup, in which following the bowl games the two best teams (chosen by consensus) would battle for national bragging rights.

But even then, so what? We would still have wars wrecking nations; economic woes putting people in financial ruin; diseases ravaging bodies. Sports championships are fun to argue about, but little more than diversions. Fifty years from now, who will really care?

Thousands of years ago, Israel’s King Solomon penned some words that apply here. He wasn’t writing about athletic tournaments, but might well have been when he said, “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14).

Any Volunteers for the Buckeyes?

Ohio State’s Buckeyes have advanced to the Sweet Sixteen. Friday night they will play the Tennessee Volunteers. The Bucks better win or I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s tough being a Buckeye in the Land of Orange, despite our small and zealous contingent of OSU faithful.

It’s bad enough people down here think the SEC invented football. (Actually, the first collegiate football game was played by Rutgers and Princeton. But don’t tell that to folks in Dixie.) When they convene for Saturday afternoon in the hallowed stadia of the South, they take great pride in their pigskins.

So Buckeyes, don’t let them have any quarter on the basketball court. Kentucky’s Wildcats have excelled on the hard-court for decades, but they’re not really Southern – after all, Kentucky does border Ohio and Indiana.

Nevertheless, the contest in St. Louis will be for Big Ten and Southeastern Conference pride. Having never advanced beyond the Sweet Sixteen, the Vols look to achieve a first. Ohio State has made the NCAA Tournament Finals five times, winning one national championship, so the Buckeyes know the way there.

I’m confident the Bucks won’t drop their guard – after all, the starting five includes four guards. And they have an ironman mentality. All four play virtually the entire game, apparently without getting tired. Since they’re only about 20 years old, they shouldn’t. If it were me, I’d be on life support.

All season OSU has epitomized teamwork. If one player has a subpar game, another takes up the slack. Realize it or not, they have modeled Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work…. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” As a team of five strands, they have been virtually unbreakable. Hope they keep it up.