Who are these jokers, anyway?

***

Today the Baseball Writers Association of America had their annual vote for potential Hall of Fame candidates. Out of 37 candidates on the ballot, 24 of whom were on there for the first time, the BBWAA failed to elect even a single player. The prevailing issue at stake during today’s vote, and the controversy that will loom over many future votes for these and other eligible players, was the use of steroids. Many of the eligible players, most notably Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, are alleged to have participated in the use of steroids during their time as a player, so their accomplishments are in question.

I have no idea whether these players are guilty of PED use. What I do know, however, is that there was at least one person on the ballot whose character and performance has never been in question: Craig Biggio. Of all the players on the ballot today, he came closest to receiving the requisite percentage of votes, falling short by less than 7%. I suppose my question to the 32% who did not vote for him would be, “What in the dickens are you thinking?”

His stats speak for themselves. He was an All-Star seven times, often leading the league in multiple categories, including stolen bases, doubles, runs, and defensive assists, and consistently ranked among the top ten in many additional categories. He was the recipient of four Gold Gloves and five Silver Slugger awards. Reaching the 3000 hit plateau is very nearly enough of an accomplishment alone. Of the players who have done this, only 4 are not members of the Hall of Fame. The first is Pete Rose, whose notorious gambling activities have rendered him ineligible. The second is Rafael Palmeiro, one of the more highly publicized players connected with steroid use. The third is Derek Jeter, who is not yet eligible because he is still active in the league. Biggio has numerous other statistical accomplishments as well, but no success is more notable than his refusal to participate in steroid usage despite its prevalence in the league. Granted, I may be a bit biased here: I grew up an Astros fan, and remain one to this day, despite the doldrums they find themselves in currently. But that does not make his accomplishments any less significant. Many, many times I can recall Biggio saying, “I just got out there and played the game the right way.” And he did. He was a selfless team player, even unto the point of moving to center field to accommodate the acquisition of Jeff Kent, not to mention being willing to literally “take one for the team” (he is second all-time in hit-by-pitch). He hustled, ran out every ground ball, was a clubhouse leader, and perhaps most importantly no one has ever had even the slightest inkling of a notion that he was a steroid user.

I can only guess at the motivations of the BBWAA voters, and of course each of the writers had their own reasons for voting as they did. The vast majority of speculation in the sports talk world is that writers wanted to make a statement about PED use in baseball with this vote. And they certainly did that. Many of the other eligible candidates did not even scratch the surface of the 75% necessary to get in. Bonds and Clemens both finished with about 37%, McGuire with 16%, and Sosa with only 12%. While I do applaud the integrity of the BBWAA in this regard, in my opinion, they missed a grand opportunity today. In an age sullied with accusations of cheating, failing to elect a man of exemplary character, a man who persevered through the age where many players around him were using PEDs to get ahead, is an absolute travesty. After all, what better way to send a message to cheaters than to elect on the first ballot (a rarity these days) a player whose reputation remains unsullied?

I have no doubt Biggio will find his way into the Hall of Fame eventually, perhaps even next year. I am just puzzled a little by the particular tendency among the voters to refuse to elect someone on the first ballot. After all, it is not as if his stats will improve from this year to next. So let’s get it together, jokers. You dropped the ball today. Next year let’s get it right.

***

Variations: Psalm 131

***

Sitting spectatorially in

sofa stands, i watch as two October wars

rage. Through glass eyes, glass screen

i patricianly observe, black box in hand to

mediate. The third, the visceral, in me:

which to settle upon? Both will

make history, both will be assessed,

tossed around analyzed up and down for

years to come. In the first conflict i at least

have a voice, but using it seems only

quietly gurgling: it drowns in ideology rivers and

policy rain converging in

halftrue stewy sea whose water is mostly

salt. My heart finds it

undrinkable, instead just floats upon it

recklessly abandoned like

an oar that used to steer someone else’s boat.

In the other i have

no say, no power, no

stake even. The outcome changes

nothing, no lives are trampled or

saved, no schools closed or

opened. And yet i am compelled,

entrapped; disabled by bomb blasts of

awe. It sucks me in smartly, tightly, like a

fat man’s belly near a pretty girl.

There is an elation here, an

involvement, a genuine

hope. I opt finally for

this innocence, this nowness, this

momentary onliness:

the crucial importance of baseball. i

smile, and remember what it was like

to play as a boy.

i couldn’t tell you

who won the debate, but i am

pretty sure it wasn’t

you or me.

***

shine on, you crazy diamond

***

Most of us have done it. Holding a bat, a friend tossing balls to us, we have called our shot. As our buddy is getting ready to throw, one of the two of us says: “Bottom of the ninth. Two on, two out. Two strikes on the batter, down by two.”

Then the ball comes hurtling in, and we swing for the fence. What else, after all, could we do?

Generally speaking, we miss the ball entirely.

***

The crowds are dwindling at most Major League parks these days. You can hardly find a baseball game on network TV, even on the weekends. Most people i talk to don’t seem to get the game anymore. It doesn’t have the flash, the pizzazz, the glitz that basketball and football seem to contain. For the most part, it doesn’t have the divas either. I think there is a pretty substantial reason for this: there’s too much work to be done for people to have time to diva-ize. The great Ted Williams put it this way: “Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer.” Even he, considered by some to be the greatest hitter ever (not the flashiest, but the most consistent), during his best season was successful a little more than 40% of the time. Hard to be too much of a diva if that’s your success ratio. Unless you are the Babe, of course.

Kids still play baseball as they once did, but somehow they start to lose interest sometime around age twelve. Football is now widely considered America’s spectator sport of choice, having kicked baseball off its throne some time back. But whether or not America wants baseball as its token athletic competition, the game is still representative of the human condition more so than any other contest. Obviously, i don’t believe baseball is intended to have this purpose, but nevertheless there is something old world and universal and endearing about baseball that i hope will never go away. Sure, its slower than football and basketball, slower than hockey, has less action, less impact than these games. But that is exactly why it is truer. Our action-movie CGI-explosion culture has taught us to thrill-seek among the stadiums of the Michael Bay sports and has caused us to begin rejecting the Terrence Malick one.

Thus, i would like to express a few reasons why baseball is still, in my book, the greatest sport in the world, and why for so long it meant so much to a growing America. First of all, it is the the only sport that i know in which the defense has control of the ball. In many sports, you can control your own destiny offensively. If you do things right, you can be very hard to stop. This is not so much the case in baseball. Offense is a matter of fending off the attack that is hurled at you. In a sense, scoring runs in baseball is actually defense, since the pitcher is the one in control and on the hunt. Baseball is also among a handful of sports in which hitting the mark of perfection for a game is actually possible, even if it is exquisitely rare. The idea that it can be done though, that it is actually something to shoot for, the mark of being among the greats of all time, is what drives pitchers to go out there and fail much of the time.

There are few sports in which you are not essentially on offense and defense at the same time. Most sports are simply variations on territorial war. There are two sides, two home zones, and your role is to defend one and attack the other. Footbal does, of course, have offensive and defensive teams, but everything else holds true.

Even tennis, the only other sport even remotely similar to baseball in its principles, is still played on two sides of a standard sized territory. Baseball is unique in this regard. There is absolutely nothing symmetrical about the game. The rules, in fact, seem almost arbitrary at times. Three strikes, four balls, three outs, nine innings. The mound is 60 feet 6 inches away. The games not played in a back-and-forth-across-the-field fashion but in a milling-around-like-crazy-ants fashion. There is not even a standard field size or shape: outfield fences can be practically any distance away and any height, and knowing how to use the field shape is a huge advantage for the home team.

Home field also plays a significant role in the drama of the game. One of the three or four greatest plays in baseball is the walk-off home run. This can only happen at home, and of course the excitement is redoubled because a walk-off is always in front of a home crowd. There are no exceptions. In most other sports home field provides you with nothing more than the cheering of the fans. In baseball it is actually a legitimate advantage: not only is the crowd on your side, not only is the field the one you are most familiar with, but the rules allow you to always have the last chance to score.

Which brings up perhaps the greatest aspect of baseball, phrased so eloquently in typical nonsensical fashion by Yogi Berra: “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.” Baseball is not at the mercy of time. It is, if you will, not only a pastime, but simply past time. You can never be mathematically excluded from winning a baseball game. Never. I will concede that there are undoubtedly exciting endings to timed sports, and that buzzer-beating finishes are exhilarating. But many times when a clock is involved, it is physically impossible for a team to win, and the last few minutes are some kind of farce, some simulacrum of sport, and guys you have never heard of are playing because the game is over before its over. Not so in baseball. This is why it truly is the sport of the human spirit: if at any time you pull yourself up and just get out there, no matter how bad the odds, and start hitting the ball, you can still win. It is never too late in baseball. There is always a chance to win, no matter how far behind you are, and there is no limit to how much you can score if you apply yourself. Every territorial sport limits scoring to once per possession. The potential for success in baseball, on the other hand, is legitimately unlimited.

i am uncertain how “slow” came to be equated with “bad” or “boring.” If it weren’t for the slow moments in life, we wouldn’t really appreciate the boon of excitement. Baseball exemplifies this perfectly. Most of it is a grind, a struggle, a fight in the trenches. Players must maintain their focus, their drive, even when they aren’t involved in the play, because at any moment they might be called upon to be the hero. (Plus, fans can go to the bathroom without missing much.)

Most sports, you pretty much know who the hero is going to be. If it comes down to a last second play in football, it will either be the quarterback or the kicker. And in basketball, the rock is going in the hands of Lebron James every time if they are down by 1 with 2 seconds to play. Baseball does not allow for such deck-stacking. You can’t pick your fate. If the ball is hit to you, you have to make the play when it matters. And if it is your turn to bat, you have to hit the ball when it matters.

In baseball, anyone can be a hero, and it is never too late to begin. A late comer in life myself, i have spent 8 1/2 innings picking daisies in right. But now i am up to bat. Let’s see what i can do.

***