Because it's not football

Chase Field, July 4, 2012

"Like watching paint dry." "Like watching grass grow." "Like watching glaciers move." And other similes of things that move really, really slowly, or not at all.  This is how most (normal) people see the game of baseball. It's also part of the litany of reasons I get from non-fans who feel compelled to explain to me why they do not, in fact, enjoy the game of baseball. It's too slow. It makes no sense. The rules are too complicated. Pitchers are easy outs (hence the evil Designated Hitter rule that separates the National and American Leagues). They often cite other reasons for disliking the sport that have to do with the business of baseball: the players make too much money; they cheat with steroids and pine-tarred and/or corked bats;  they are arrogant and entitled (a charge that could easily be levied against all professional athletes, not just baseball players). And on and on it goes. There's no shortage of the reasons for not liking the sport. 

It's also very clear to me, every fall, that football is the preferred American pastime. It gets a huge amount of media coverage, from the opening of training camp to the last snap of the season.  Even hapless, perennial losers get a huge amount of attention from sportscasters. I grew up in a town with consistent losers in both the Houston Astros and the Houston Oilers, until the 1980s when the Astros got Nolan Ryan, Craig Biggio, and Ken Caminetti, and the Oilers got Bum Phillips and Earl Campbell. Even then, with such enormously talented players, neither team could bring home a trophy, even though they taunted us by coming very close a couple of times. 

There's a lot of reasons for the preference for football.  I think tailgating is a huge one. People just love hanging out in the huge parking lots with their RVs and barbecues, drinking beer. Any excuse will do. Another one is that you don't have to be a scholar of the game to enjoy the game. It's a pretty simple game, after all. You get to watch hulking bruisers beat each other up over a small strip of real estate for an hour that takes 3 hours to play.  While execution is important, the strategy for winning stays the same from team to team.  You put together the two elements of a raucous party in the parking lot and cheering on gladiators in the coliseum, and you've got Romans who enjoy a good show, cheering a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down, as their whims and the amount of beer they've consumed dictate. Yeah, football is The Game. 

Meanwhile, across town, some pitcher is communicating his acceptance or rejection of a pitch from his catcher with barely perceptible head movements, while the batter is trying to remember what the sign for "bunt" is today. The runner on first is trying to read the pitcher's body language and ignore the first baseman whispering in his ear to run. The skipper is already thinking three batters ahead, and whom he will substitute in the pitcher's line-up slot, should he fail to get out of this jam with no runs scored against him. He's considering who is available in the bull-pen, who has closed out the game for the last three nights, who is good against the upcoming left-handers who can't lay off the down and away slider. He's thinking about whom to use as a pinch-hitter, and the likelihood of his getting on base, and if he does, should he bring in a pinch-runner to run for him?  The infield is ready, waiting on the balls of their feet; the outfield is also ready to run, either up or back or way over to the foul pole line, where a ball can get lost in the corner. All 10 players and all 4 umpires are running through the possible scenarios of where to play the ball with only one out, but the short stop, second baseman and first baseman are all anticipating the double-play grounder that will save their pitcher's bacon. Lots and lots of thinking going on here. 

And there you have it. If you do not see all that thinking going on on the field, then yeah, it just looks like a dull, slow, nothing-happening game; it's like watching paint dry.  Joe Garagiola, the Elder Statesman for the game of baseball who, at 84, still occasionally sits in the broadcast booth and chats with the play-by-play announcer at Chase Field in downtown Phoenix, has famously declared (on more than one occasion) that "people do not come to the ball field to watch the manager think." Well, I have started this blog, in part, in order to disagree with you, Mr. Garagiola.  Watching the manager (as well as all the other players) think is the whole fun of it. It's why I watch. 

To come: How baseball gave me the best childhood in the world.