Baseball is fun?
An apology, and why the home run derby highlights what we love about the stupid game of baseball.
If you’ve been wondering where I am, I don’t blame you.
I’ve kind of been wondering that too.
Over the past two months, I’ve lost myself, found myself, and lost myself again.I’m not entirely sure I have found myself again, but I’m here and I’m ready to write. An unexpected job change and the stresses that come with it took me away from producing the newsletter I promised you. For that, I’m sorry.
For the purpose of openness, know that I am a teacher outside of my baseball fandom. I went from substitute teaching to full-time teaching for the months of May and June. The class was a whirlwind of students who I ultimately learned to love, but needed a long time to adjust to.
This isn’t to make excuses. I promised you a newsletter in your inbox at least once a week and I should have delivered on that. If you put your faith and finances into this project, please know that I apologize for the delay between posts. There will be a renewed focus on giving you what you have invested in: my weekly, sappy baseball coverage. I sincerely appreciate your faith in me and plan to repay it in full.
Now, onto other things:
Baseball is a silly game. Stupid, even. Want proof? Take your friend to a baseball game who is very unfamiliar with the sport. The less they know, the better. Have a conversation about what they think is happening and what is actually happening. It is a sport that is amended from other sports, but with even less logic.
Soccer, basketball, hockey; the goal is clear: put the item in the net. But baseball has bases, fouls, innings, mounds and more. It is, in my opinion, the least intuitive game there is.
Baseball isn’t obvious. Neither is the reason we love it. People often ask me why I love baseball. I fumble over my words, hoping to produce some poetic answer and usually settling on some mumble about sunshine, radio and strategy.
Sometimes I try to convince myself that life without baseball would be okay. I’m wrong.
On Tuesday we were reminded why, despite this game's failings, it has the capacity for magic and beauty that no other sport can produce on a regular basis. The home run derby is the simplest distillation of a complicated game. The concept is simple: hit the ball as far as you can for an allotted amount of time. Whoever hits the most, wins.
We saw veterans like Albert Pujols look their age, young stars like Julio Rodríguez go from recognizable names to superstars and legends in the making like Juan Soto show their dominance.
Most importantly, we saw these athletes worth millions upon millions of dollars having fun. They greeted each other with kindness and generosity in a way that is so rare in the highly-competitive world of professional sports. Especially baseball where we’ve allowed intentionally plunking each other and bench-clearing brawls to prevail for far too long.
It was a distinct reminder that, not long ago, these athletes were all kids who just wanted to play a game and have fun with their friends, just like you and me.
If you grew up with baseball, your after school routine might have looked a little like mine. Hats on backwards (the Griffey Jr. influence), we would hop off the bus, rush home to grab our glove and bats and head down to the diamonds with our bats and balls. If we didn’t have the allotted number of players needed for a full-game, which we almost never did, we did the next best thing: our own version of the home-run derby. In our case, it was mostly to get the ball past the infield dirt without it bouncing.
For as serious as we take baseball, sometimes we need a reminder of the frivolity and joy that baseball can bring. And perhaps now more than ever, we need a little fun in our lives.
The world is, quite literally, burning around us. I don’t know if it’s the end times or not, but what I do know is that it is important to lean into the things and people you love. Spend time with the people and activities that will love you back.
Baseball won’t say I love you in so many words, but it does show up everyday and give us a reason to keep going. My baseball friends and I talk regularly about how the rhythm of the sport is saving our lives. Dramatic? Maybe, but it is a reason to wake up and see what the day brings.
Have a baseball memory from your youth? Feel free to leave in the comments. I’ll be back Monday with another post. Until then, thank you for your continued support.
My routine was playing back yard baseball (hitting a tennis ball) with the kid across the street, using an old wooden vegetable crate as a strike zone, throw to the target at the bases to get him out running. A hit over one fence was a home run, over two and you were out.
If we were lucky enough to have three players, we would play "running bases" in the front lawn, between the driveways, trying to throw each other out stealing. We wore the grass down to dirt where we played.
First of all great article.
Also - I am not a teacher now but I went to school to be one and did two stints of practicum, the second one lasting 5 weeks. Those five weeks were *exhausting*. Maybe the hardest I've ever worked at a single job in my life. Being with the kids, even when they are fun and rewarding to be around (which is most of the time) is still mentally exhausting, and then you have to mark and plan and all that? I'd leave school, go home, nap until dinner, eat, then work for about 3-4 solid hours before going straight to bed. I'm sure it gets easier with experience but if while I was doing curriculum you'd asked me to also write a baseball blog, I would've punted you into next Tuesday.
All of that to say, I reject your apology and embrace a new installment of the JBLC