If I had my way, I’d park my arse in a comfy chair starting
Friday for the first Major League Baseball playoff game and not get up unless it
was to feed my face or pay a visit the little boys room until the final out was
made in Game 7 of the World Series. Of course, I don’t have my way, and odds
are I won’t get to watch even a good chunk of the playoffs, but someday . . .
someday I will make the wish a reality. You mark my words. Baseball is my
favorite sport. The baseball playoff season is my favorite time of year
sporting-wise. Yes, dear family, it’s that time of year ago, when the leaves
turn fabulous colors, the air gets nippy, winter clothes come out of storage,
and dad/spouse stays up way too late way too often watching inning after
glorious inning.
Look, I’m not stupid and I’m certainly not a baseball
evangelist. I’ll be the first to admit that the baseball season does stretch on
too long, and baseball probably is a boring sport to the casual fan. I
understand why football wins out as American’s pastime these days. I understand
why the Super Bowl is a national holiday. I understand that baseball will never
again reach such heights. It’s destined to be the little brother that no one
pays quite enough attention to or bothers to pick first. Baseball is a
slow-moving game. There are too many meaningless games. Managers in their
retirement years do look silly dressed in uniforms. Players are overpaid.
Tickets are too expensive. Yet, I’m a believer in baseball. And here’s why:
- - Baseball played on autumn-fueled nights are not only brilliant in their visual presentation, they’re full of the most enjoyable stress and pressure that’s ever been cooked up. “On-the-edge-of-my-seat” originated during a baseball game, or at least I envision it did.
- - Baseball playoffs are all about matchups, and matchups matter. It’s chess played out in a team format. It’s manipulation. It’s tricks and treats. It’s preparation and intelligence. It’s two generals plotting out a game plan and using their armies to execute it. There are no ties. No sudden playoffs. No overtimes. We’ll play all night if we have to.
- - Baseball playoffs are all about surprises. The unexpected does occur. The home run no one saw coming does leave the yard. The base that could never be stolen does get snatched. Dominate pitchers do make mistakes. Overpowering hitters do come through. Stars are born before our eyes. Goats are, too. Heroes rise to the occasion, and they just as often fall short of their mark. Players do carry their teams to victory.
- - Baseball has a universal audience. Mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, acquaintances, and strangers unite to root for the home team. They rise in the middle of the seventh together. They sing together, too. They pass each other’s beers and peanuts down the line. Community.
- - Baseball is tradition, and no other sport possesses and enjoys as much. It’s the unspoken. It’s the situations. It’s the records. It’s the statistics. It’s the Green Wall, the Ivy, the Cove, the Bronx, the Subway, the hotdogs, peanuts, foul pole, and white chalk. It’s the double play and put out and K. It’s the sacrifice bunt. It’s the hit and run. The playoffs only make each all the more calculated and important.
- - Baseball playoffs are all about leisure. Hours to bask in the competition. There is no clock governing time. There’s no time out on the field for review. There’s no flag. No whistle. No penalty box. There’s no technical foul. No jump ball. The most difficult task and skill that baseball requires of its fans is recognizing a balk.
Baseball playoffs have been a major
part of my life since I was a grade schooler when my dad let me stay up late on
school nights to watch the Royals and Yankees battle deep into the night. When
George Brett was a warrior. When Billy Martin became my hero. When I dreamed of
playing in the show one day. When I fell off to sleep peacefully and happily
when the Yanks won and despondent and angry when they didn’t. Baseball playoffs
has been on my car radio via AM stations. They’ve been on my television and
computer screens, too. They’ve been in my head and heart, and they always will
be.
In truth, I wished I loved all aspects of my life as much as I love
baseball and the playoffs. I’d probably be a better person.
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