Why I Love Baseball

We returned this week from our annual baseball park tour. 3 of the last 4 summers, Gabe, my dad, and I have gone to 3 or 4 baseball parks over several days. Our intent is to visit them all. There is really only 1 rule - the park only counts if all three of us have been to it together. So, for example, I have been to Anaheim, Boston, Miami, Tampa Bay - but not with both Gabe and my dad, so they're on the list. We've done 10 so far and next summer it looks like we might head to Boston (for Fenway's 100th anniversary) and both New York's.

It is a great tradition that, when I tell people, always elicits some reaction. Usually a "How cool!"

In front of the Kirby Puckett statue at Target Field, Minneapolis

It also works for us because we all love baseball. My father grew up in Cleveland and has been an Indians fan since day 1, but has never, with his own eyes, seen a championship from them. He seems to live and die by them daily. Often he'll call during a game and say something like, "They're up by a run and putting the closer in - I can't watch. Every time I do, they lose." As if his watching (or not watching) has an impact on the game. But often, he is right. My favorite, and most frustrating, memory of this was during the 1997 World Series. It was Game 7 and the Indians were 3 outs from their first World Series title in almost 50 years. They handed the ball to their closer, Jose Mesa (who my dad hated - with good reason), with a one run lead in the 9th. My dad called and said, "I am turning off the TV. Don't call me." He gave up the tying run that inning and they lost in the 11th. Gabe is a pretty serious baseball player and has an appreciation for the history, and strategy, of the game. And I have always loved baseball (despite being raised an Indians fan...) and have been coaching for the past 6 years or so.

So, as we made our way through the new Target Field in Minneapolis, Royals Stadium in Kansas City and Busch Stadium in St. Louis I took my time to look around. Baseball parks themselves are fantastic, magical places. Both in time and out of it. Look around any modern ballpark and you'll see flat screen TV's, Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and scoreboards showing highlights from that day. Modernity at its finest. But baseball, as a game, stands out of time. Not much has changed in the last 100 years. Batting helmets. The use of middle relievers. Non-wool uniforms. Unlike basketball, it hasn't added an extra run for REALLY long home runs. It doesn't change offensive and defensive schema almost every year, like football. It is what it has always been  - a game about throwing, catching, and hitting the ball. That is why it is, really, the only major sport that you can compare era to era. Argue with a friend over who the greatest running back is (Jim Brown) and you'll get a bunch of answers, most of which will be followed by "But if he had trained/played against players from this era..." Same goes for basketball. The game has changed so much - no one has a true center anymore - that you can't match people up next to each other who are more than 10 years apart! And baseball parks themselves are testaments to the game and history. All of the new parks - they're old school. I love that this is a sport that is working so hard to hold onto its past - not forget it and move on to the next best thing. Amenities are new and upgraded, but it's (usually) done tastefully and honoring the past.

Plus, the game literally exists outside of time. No other major sport does this. Golf and tennis do, but those are "man vs. self" sports. And, for me, the problem with "man vs. self" sports is that you REALLY have to care about and know the individuals for it to be truly compelling. And there aren't any truly compelling players out there - Tiger was a spectacle, not a compelling individual. In fact, he was one of the most bland and boring individuals. So the game exists without a clock. Which I love. You go to the game to be at the game and if it goes into extra's - great!

In front of the George Brett statue at Royals Stadium, Kansas City (with Uncle Jordan)

For me, half of the experience is just being at the game. Sitting. Yelling. Arguing or discussing a play. Beer is an integral part of the experience. You're there for 2.5-3.5 hours talking with friends/family on a warm summer afternoon or night. Enjoy yourself. Sit back. Watch the crowd. Watch the sun go down over the stadium.

I, personally, keep score at every game we go to. In part this is a way to stay focused, but it also appeals to me because of the intricate strategy involved in baseball. I know a lot of people find the game to be too boring, too slow - to them I say "You don't know or understand baseball at all." The strategy involved in baseball far surpasses any other sport. The double shift, the drawn in outfield, the pitch out, the pick off, the drag bunt - there are a million little things that happen during every game, offensively and defensively, that are calculated risks and attempts. It is fascinating to see small ball played by a team who lacks power, and the way it can infuriate and win out over a long ball team. And to see a 3 hitter or a 1 hitter - WOW. That's not boring, that is an artist at the top of his game giving a virtuoso performance. It is a thing of beauty. It is flirting with perfection. And it can't be done in football, basketball, or hockey.

Every sport is a game of inches, but I believe that baseball is the one where it matters most. The difference between a long pop fly and a home run is, literally, less than an inch on the bat. Many times, the difference between a walk and a strikeout is mere inches. A well timed jump and grab is amazing and replay worthy - a few inches off and you shake your head in shame and remorse. Incredible plays by a shortstop or 3rd baseman are often just "that close" from being a hit through the gap. In basketball an inch or two can mean a missed shot, but it could always bounce in or be rebounded for a put back. In football, an inch or two doesn't always matter so much - the ball is large and hands are big. In hockey - well, I have no idea. And it is this "flirting with perfection" that I love too. Every game, before it starts, has that ability to be "the one" - the perfect game, the no-hitter. To say you were there for one of those exceedingly rare and special events that are still talked about years later. And it all comes down to inches or less, dozens of times in any one game.

Baseball is the sport that most mirrors life. The season is extended and has many ups and downs - 162 games allows for a lot to happen. Teams start out strong and fade (see: Cleveland Indians, 2011), others start out poorly and right the ship (see: Boston Red Sox, 2011), others go through more of an up and down process, seeming to get better, then slipping, before fading out or recovering. But the length allows the growing, learning, and bonding process to happen. Football, at 18 games, is a sport where fortunes are made and sealed in any 3 or 4 week period. Lose 4 and you're done. For the season. In basketball, there's too much of a known quantity before the season starts. It's almost a foregone conclusion most years who will end up in the playoffs. The regular season is a (not so) entertaining diversion before we get there. Baseball always has surprises - the small market team that beats up on the big market (bully) one and goes far. The team that spent $100 million but can't buy a win. Aside from being an extended journey, it most mirrors life because it isn't easy. The best players in the world are unsuccessful 2/3 of the time (at batting). An average player is unsuccessful 3/4 of the time. No pitcher has ever been perfect over a season - everyone takes their lumps and loses multiple times - often badly no matter how great they are. And the dependance on the others on your team is instrumental. There is a moment, in every game, where every single individual has an opportunity to shine or fail and the fate of the entire game and team rests on one persons shoulders for that one moment - but the game is still a team game. In basketball those moments happen far more often, so become unspectacular. And in football, so much of what happens you never notice (line play) and is a protracted war versus a shining moment. Baseball, like life, is hard to master, dependent on others at times, but has enough individuality to be seen through so many different people's lenses.

In the end, I love baseball because of its history, honesty, artistry, timelessness, and because it is a shared experience. I have memories of baseball - from my youth as a fan, from my adult life as a parent, as a coach, and as a fan - that are special and shared. I share baseball with my son every summer - it is a right of passage and a symbol for us and for me - of time passing, of a shared experience, of hard work and growth - and I am lucky enough to share it every summer with my father and my son together. It is the glue that brings us together to spend time together - usually just the three of us - and is a shared love we have. So, for no other reason than that, I would love the game. But I think there are so many more reasons and so much more to love about it than that.

In front of the Stan Musial statue at Busch Stadium, St. Louis

Why 'The Help' and 'Rise of the Planet of the Apes' Are the Same Movie

I saw this weekend what I believe to be the 2 best movies of the summer - The Help and Rise of the Planet of the Apes. And they are remarkably similar despite one being historical fiction and one being science fiction.

To start with, both movies have a "true story" feel to them. The Help is presented as a biography of black housekeepers in the South and RoPA is presented as a historical accounting of a science experiment.

And both are human stories - evoking fear, hope, laughter, sadness, and pride. The stakes start out as very personal and individual for both, quickly evolve to encompass those around them and closest to them, and ultimately society at large. New relationships and worlds are opened to both Skeeter (The Help) and Will (RoPA) and by the end, neither are entirely what they were when they started.

Both are, essentially, stories about what pain and loss can drive us to. In The Help it is the loss of a maternal figure (Skeeter's housekeeper Constantine) who raised her and who was driven off by her family. While Skeeter does not know this at first, it motivates and propels her on her already burgeoning path to make sure the people around her are treated humanely. In RoPA it is the impending, and ultimate actual, loss of a father (Will's father Charles) to Alzheimer's that push Will to search for a cure. In creating a cure, he comes to understand that the other primates inhabiting our world with us are as aware, feeling, and capable of emotion as humans and deserve to be treated as such.

In the end, both portend a new world order. The Help takes place in the midst of the civil rights movement and documents (literally) the uncivilized treatment of blacks. By the end it is clear that American society will never be the same. And 50 years later that is still true - even if the hope of that movement has not yet been fully realized. RoPA takes place at the dawn of a new age for mankind - it's end as newly intelligent primates rise to the top of the food chain in a world destroyed by our own greed and failures to protect ourselves. It is a cautionary tale about power and the role it plays in corrupting those with it.

Both take a look at society, shine a harsh light on the unsavory underbelly (racism and animal cruelty), and show how they can be a cancer from the inside. Jarred Diamond has written some fascinating books about how and why societies fall and virtually all do so from the inside. Each movie looks at a potential cause of this society's collapse.

One final thought - the original Planet of the Apes movies from the 1960's were a tale of racism - which is clearly what The Help is about. All good science fiction is a means of exploring the world around us and talking about societal issues that are too sensitive to come out and discuss openly (Star Trek was groundbreaking in its time for so many reasons - but more on that another time...) I find is telling that the message behind that franchise has shifted significantly in 2011 to be about animal cruelty and the will of medtech companies to push for higher profits at the expense of consumer safety. Racism is not longer an ugly secret - it is an open one.

Two wonderfully done films that raise many questions about the world we live in, and the way we raise our "children" to think about themselves and those around us. See them both and enjoy them. But never forget that the best storytellers teach us something about ourselves.