Baseball: American Pastime, American Fantasy

Every spring, renewed warmth and sun are accompanied by nostalgic aromas and sights that many Americans know all too well: the scent of hotdogs, stale peanuts, overpriced beer and sunscreen reemerge for the summer months. As opening day ceremonies kicked off around the country last Wednesday, I found it appropriate to write a piece (albeit unorthodox) regarding the sport that has maintained the most yearly ticket sales in America since its inception. This fixture of American culture has become so central to the nation’s summer activities that is has garnered the title of “America’s Pastime,” a label engineered exclusively for the purpose of describing baseball’s relationship to America. It doesn’t seem too farfetched, as millions flood stadiums from Anaheim to Atlanta to catch nine innings of pulse pounding action as up to four hundred pitches unfold over the course of three to five hours.

Although the game has become ingrained in our national psyche and has a plethora of devoted followers, I will never understand how a sport that combines the repetition of NASCAR, the “hit a ball with a piece wood” theme of cricket, and the velocity of a glacier can be enthralling or enjoyable. There’s really no point in dancing around it: baseball is inconceivably boring.

Baseball is a sport in which a fan can whip out a copy of Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, read throughout the entire course of the game and still not miss a single thing. The pace of the sport can most accurately be described as golf on cocaine or lacrosse on ambien. However, this tempo is too fast for long-term leisure and too slow to really engage observers and keep them captivated. The limbo that ensues consists of a monotonous cycle of pitch, catch, pitch, hit, pitch, pitch, catch in which the viewer is stuck for an extended period of time. Nine innings isn’t just an endurance test for the players, but for the sanity of the crowd.

When watching a game, it doesn’t take long to realize that baseball requires the least athleticism out of nearly any popular sport. The fact that David Ortiz couldn’t outrun a pack of shih tzu puppies doesn’t instill much confidence in that athletic composition of the MLB. If Lebron James stepped onto a baseball field, he would most likely excel with some time and dedication. In contrast, if Tony Gwynne were put on the ice he would most like turn into a piñata, and if Mo Vaughn stepped onto the court he would pass out in the first thirty seconds. This is not to say that all baseball players are out of shape, or that playing baseball does not take talent. Strength and skill are integral components of making it to the big league, but the players must only meet a minimum requirement of athleticism to do so. Pitchers are paid because one of their limbs can perform a function that separates them from the rest of the pack.

In spite of its lack of excitement, Americans love baseball. From the onerous ordeal of sitting through the game to the deified experience of participating, the sport is the truest manifestation of the American spirit that you can find in athletics. The experience of baseball most clearly resembles watching a PG movie with the family: it is non-threatening, non-violent, and the quantity of action is enough to keep a child engrossed (for a while) and an adult sedated. It can even be posited that this “positive” atmosphere for family “bonding” endorses true American family values to a far greater extent than any Republican candidate ever has. This is because watching baseball doesn’t even require viewers to pay close, active attention to a television screen.

Some read newspapers, others read magazines. Children lose attention and play with their toys, adults play with their cell phones. The point is that every viewer is at some point absorbed by activities that have nothing to do with the game, because, like a PG movie, it can only entertain us to a certain degree. Some viewers take measures to the point of idiocy: keeping score of the games (balls, strike, and all) on a formatted score sheet rather than looking at the gigantic scoreboard that is present at every stadium, or listening to the home team commentary via radio to contextualize the game even though you’re watching it.

These methods only further buttress this new conception of the baseball viewing experience. Baseball games are in fact a space where all fans, including families, can operate under the illusion that they are collectively engaged in something. However, the lack of interesting material or formidable action forces individuals to occupy themselves on their own terms, much like passive television viewing, and the daily activities of suburban America. Why did the originators of baseball implement the seventh inning stretch? For fans to make sure the elderly are breathing, the kids aren’t missing, to get up out of that seat for brief second before the latter segment of the show commences—nearly identical to the home viewing experience.

It is also my belief that baseball is uniquely positioned, more than any other sport in America, to encourage fan participation in another American pastime: gratuitous consumption. The connection with over-consumption can at times be displayed quite explicitly, as it is with ballpark cuisine. Certain foods have become so deeply woven into the fabric of the baseball scene that they are as relevant as the game itself. I have never attended a hockey or football game and felt the sharp urge to purchase an item simply because it is integral to the viewing experience. Peanuts, Cracker Jack and hot dogs are foods so closely linked with baseball that huge numbers of fans feel compelled to buy them to complete their viewing experience.

Another item that seems like a logical acquisition during a ball game would be alcohol. The mundane routine and non-existent momentum of the game is very much conducive to individuals wanting to chemically shift their perceptions to augment amusement. Alcohol creates the mirage of accelerated time, and has gotten me through some horrifically exhausting duels. Baseball befriends alcohol, and its structure advocates its use. The fact that many Americans are immune to this subconscious advertising and sit through games stone cold sober reflects another one of our obvious collective qualities as a people: a satisfaction with the static, metamorphic structures we are accustomed to, and a determination to enjoy them.

Another form of consumption is through clothing, specifically the baseball cap. Unlike football jerseys, hockey jerseys, and to an extent basketball jerseys (which have taken off in certain social circles), baseball caps have permeated nearly every level of the fashion industry. From the hip-hop artist to the lacrosse player, the Nantucket vacationer to the surfer, baseball caps are found in every stratum of American society. The game has cultivated one of the largest-grossing businesses in America, making it a true proponent of consumption if there ever was one.

In comparing baseball to the American lifestyle, it becomes clear that the sport represents more of a fantasy than a reality. This is especially true when we examine the logistics of the sport. A home team spends the top half of an inning out on the field, by and large standing around and watching, and adjusting position when there is action. Players spend almost the entire bottom half of the inning sitting on a bench waiting to bat. If a player succeeds three out of ten times in the batter’s box, he is considered successful. This is the only sport, the only profession, in which a thirty percent success rate is considered adequate. Can you imagine if Kobe shot thirty percent? Or if Peyton completed thirty percent of his passes?

I am not saying that it is easy to swing a bat and hit a ball, but this serves as an example of how something seemingly subpar can be conceptualized as superb. And how much do baseball’s athletes get paid for their “outstanding” performances? Ask A-Rod while he’s in one of his four mansions, K-Rod while he’s rejuvenating at his expansive estate or any other player whose name has been irritatingly abbreviated by some imbecile on ESPN. Or don’t ask, because most of the time the answer is higher than Americans are taught to count to.

The attributes associated with playing baseball paint a portrait remarkably similar to the modern American dream: little exertion leads to wealth and triumph. Who would not want to be a baseball player? They are exorbitantly paid for playing a game outside all summer. And most of the time, they’re just sitting or standing around. Additionally, baseball is the only sport where mediocrity (by all conventional standards) is not only expected, but also awarded. Most Americans would kill for these positions, and I would maintain that spectators watch these games to live vicariously through players’ conquests on the field, as well as covet the lifestyles they perpetuate off the field. While they play, we envy the idea they represent: a notion that effort and skill can still be rewarded even if the result is not astonishing or exceptional.

So why do we love baseball as a nation? Because the game is just as American as we are. Baseball viewing is the quintessential American affair, a combination of ADD, consumption and boredom during which one can daydream about a bountiful lifestyle achieved by mediocre performance. It is an escape from the cruel realities of our country, a getaway from the inescapable fact that effort and talent are rarely rewarded absent of a positive outcome. Even though I will never comprehend why folks find the sport interesting, the subconscious reasons for becoming a spectator are numerous. Playing baseball is the American fantasy, and watching baseball is the embodiment of American life. •