Excuse me if this piece is not a warm, cozy fireside chat on the state of the union of baseball. But if the ranks of these literary submissions are mainly filled with poignant tame recollections of the hallowed past, let that be a hint or warning as to what is in store for baseball fans this fall.
Granted, purists like me still follow the game even though we know baseballs are juiced, there are signs of reverse discrimination and the money end of baseball has taken over to the point where many players are nothing more than businessmen in suits who only show emotion, character or passion after games, playoffs and series are won or lost, their careers are over and it's time for a tell all book. Everywhere but on the field where it counts.
Outside the box scores and the Xs and Os, the ominous threat of another strike may be a blessing in disguise for the future health of the game. If this is another wasted year where records fall, lots of players and teams overachieve and all the hoopla ends in another foolish "men at work" stoppage that may result in yet another Fall Classic cancelation, then fans at least deserve a MLB house cleaning so the game is worth our time and money after the dust has settled.
While academic critics won't rock the boat and would rather downplay the situation out of professional apathy, fans and laymen who pay to support the game without industrial bias or press carte blanche know better. There is so much that is wrong with baseball, that a strike would only hurt the game if the powers that be did not make use of the time off to fix it.
In order to see what baseball has become we need to look at the national pastime through the crystal clarity of the past. While it can't be said that old timers are any better than the new kids, what with the mass exodus and proliferation of better athletes and bigger men, superior equipment and juiced baseballs, videotape and sports psychologists, the game as our fathers knew it was a better product overall.
It was because most of the time rosters and starting lineups were set in stone, the field of play was not a revolving door for rookies fighting for a job and utility players riding the bench for an at-bat. On average, 9 men started games and seasons and 9 men finished them with the remainer of rosters on reserve in case of injury. And of course most good pitchers were responsible for 9 innings and not 3 outs.
In short, baseball was a team sport where you could remember who's who and not a transient, casual party time for athletic mercenaries. Teams did not change with the wind, primadonna status or losing seasons. Instead, they grew together as families long enough to allow for chemistry to ripen, blossom and build a winner.
Once upon a time, this allowed you to follow a team where the GM or field skipper did not play musical chairs with the staff in order to force the instant gratification of short term victory. Moreover, your favorite player would not be sent down to AAA if he went into a slump. The city team concept meant something because local farmclub talent took presidence over megabuck free agents with big stats and little leadership ability.
Life did not imitate art. 150 pound players did not hit 50 homeruns and the offense did not resemble a pinball game. It was still the chess match it was meant to be. Not anymore. The only good thing about the game today is that full opportunity for and participation of all colors, races and creeds has transformed it into a United Nations sport providing you have good translators or interpretors.
In order to fix the game, two things need to done. One, baseball needs a salary cap. And two, it needs a change in the rules to even the playing field for the defense. This can mean only one thing. Do away with the balk rule and let pitchers stop, start and contort like Louie Tiant, Hideo Nomo or Jerry Lewis so as to better fool the batter.
The history of the baseball rule book
is an unconscionable excuse to up the offense and protect the hitter. The balk rule ridiculously hails back to the shortcomings of the past where baseball bigwigs did not take kindly to the curveball, lowered the pitching mound and would stymie anything else that made it more difficult for the batter up.
This needs to be rectified so that diamond box scores no longer resemble gridiron stats. The national pastime needs to grow and stop looking like a video game. When TV graphic displays mimic baseball on the PC, then you know something's wrong. If there's a strike, this time the game needs to be fixed once and for all so that fans and critics alike can say, "Never Again!"
» I'm a 39-year-old freelance writer first published at the age of 21 in the September 1984 issue of World Tennis magazine. I've since worked as a film critic and general commentator. But I welcome any work or jobs that stem from those who share my purist baseball beliefs.
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Copyright © 2002 by Hank Festa. Posted May 29, 2002.
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