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Still Baseballhead

Michael Cox

This is both the hardest and easiest column I've ever had to write. Easiest because, as a writer both by trade and by nature, there is so much to say. Hardest because I don't want to veer off course. I could say a lot about politics or TV sensationalism or the need to embrace our friends throughout the world instead of becoming too nationalistic, but that isn't why you entered Strikethree.com's URL in your browser.

What you are probably expecting is some sort of perspective on how this affects the American (and world) subculture that is baseball, beyond that of the big media, where they seem to be really careful not to make anybody angry right now.

How do I feel? Note that in the preceding paragraph I didn't call baseball a "game" or "pastime." Baseball is in fact an ingrained part of our culture, of national history.

Baseball's tradition is our tradition. Baseball has a long history of helping people cope with events, from two World Wars to national tragedies. Baseball is hope for people with little else to hope for, in places like Venezuela and the Dominican Republic. Baseball provides a livelihood for tens of thousands, from players to the guy pirating t-shirts down the street from the ballpark.

The Black Sox scandal caused Congress to appoint a special guardian for baseball (notwithstanding that the owners eventually managed to install a puppet regime named Bud Selig). Jackie Robinson's debut in Brooklyn was a breakthrough in race relations. All this belies any assertion that it's "just a game."

That's why it makes me a little bit angry when someone refers to baseball as "trivial" or "unimportant." What people mean when they say that is that baseball is trivial to them. Unfortunately, as I have so often pointed out in this column, many in positions where thousands or millions can hear them don't think before they write, like one columnist who told us that anyone who might have attended a MLB game before Sept. 17 should "perhaps reconsider their priorities."

What should those priorities be? Sitting in a darkened room and sobbing? When do we have permission from government and media to have our lives back?

Apparently, that day is Monday, Sept. 17. Why? Because it "feels right." Does it feel right because six days is a reasonable period of mourning? No, it's because in our culture each Monday is the beginning of a new week. The reality is that every one of us has our own way and time of grieving, and our own way of returning to our lives. No newspaper or government official can change that, so Monday becomes an easy-to-understand reference point without requiring a lot of explanation.

For MLB, there were also logistical issues of travel which were unlikely to be resolved before the 17th, so it was as much a practical decision as it was one of "sensitivity." Selig made the right choice (how weird is it that I just wrote that?), but he didn't have much of a choice.

The next question is whether, to quote W.P. Kinsella, people will come. There's already plenty of evidence that they will, and that they would have days ago.

I know how pro wrestling is derided by many (although I occasionally find it damn funny), but the WWF broadcast a live show last Thursday, and a packed house in Houston was cheering and smiling. Refunds were offered to any who didn't want to attend, but only a couple hundred took the offer. Madonna played to capacity crowds on Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

The past weekend saw a 45% increase in moviegoers over the same time last year, and most of those moviegoers went to see...a baseball movie. A pedestrian baseball flick starring Keanu Reeves, even, despite the current run of "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Musketeer." Hell, we even had a fairly average week, readership-wise.

Is this a case of thousands of insensitive people refusing to properly consider the events of the week? Do we need to ask?

As the Mets worked out, volunteer firefighters who were sleeping in Shea Stadium gathered around the batting cage and smiled. The Yankees went to an armory where families of missing persons had gathered, and were swarmed for autographs. Baseball seemed to be pretty important to those people.

I think many folks will be ready, and have been ready, to watch baseball or to hear their favorite musicians or to do whatever else gives them strength and makes them feel alive again. Not all people right now, but many of them. Parks that were full two weeks ago will be close to full this week, because for each person who doesn't feel up to attending, there will be someone more than willing to use the unwanted ticket.

Another good question: will the players' hearts be in their work? Yes and no, in the same way your heart may or may not be in your work on Monday. Some will embrace the opportunity to temporarily clear outside thoughts from their minds as they concentrate on hitting or pitch selection or getting a good break on a fly ball. Others may be distracted, feeling guilty about doing anything but grieving. But they will go to work, because this is what they have worked their whole lives for.

And with that we return to the thought of baseball as "trivial." In the wake of disaster, whether that disaster is man-made or natural, in New York or Turkey or the subways of Tokyo, certainly baseball is of lesser importance, like a million other things.

But compared to having nothing, compared to the option of living every moment paralyzed by fear or overwhelmed by grief, baseball is very, very important.

The choice to attend or not attend, to smile or cry, to cheer or even boo (even to boo a Met or Yankee -- trust me, they'll know you don't really hate them), should be yours and yours alone.

 

That said, I'd like you to do me two favors. First, if you'll be attending a major-league game this week, send me a note at mc@strikethree.com and let me know your experiences. I'd like to share them in an upcoming column.

Second, give blood, money, and time. Give blood every two months, and don't stop. Give money and time, both to charities aiding the victims in New York and Washington, and to local charities in your city -- every day of every week, there are people right where you live who feel the sting of tragedy and could use your help. The world goes on, both the bad and the good.

about the author

Michael Cox will be first in line when Safeco Field opens this week. Let him know that lining up without a ticket just to have his bag searched is just weird at mc@strikethree.com.