Notes on the World Series

San Francisco just won the World Series . . . .

Me and Baseball:

Though raised mostly in Mississippi, I was born in Detroit to Detroiters, so I proudly stood by my, and my dad's, Detroit Tigers. A lonely devotion this was, too; made fierce by the disdain Mississippian peers directed toward all things associated with Detroit, except cars. I followed the Tigers, and especially hall-of-famer Al Kaline, for years in box scores and watched avidly whenever the Tigers appeared on television -- a rarity in the days of one or two televised games per week. I saved my pennies and bought a satin team jacket . . . which I never wore because at the time, the late 60's, I was the only person other than a real professional athlete, who I'd ever seen wearing a team jacket.



I thrilled to Denny McLain's 31 wins in 1968 followed that Fall by the Tigers coming back from a 3 games to 1 deficit to win the World Series against the seemingly invincible Bob Gibson in the 7th game in St. Louis. And the pleasure of this was made more delicious by the fact that the most hated teacher in my junior high hailed proudly and loudly from St. Louis. Stough was his name. Can't believe I remember the name and him.

But . . . thanks to Pete Maravich, Bill Walton, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, the Georgetown Hoyas, and the Run TMC Golden State Warriors, my interest in baseball withered to be replaced by (if you didn't recognize that pantheon of stars) basketball. Like too many people, I misunderstood baseball and complained about the lack of "action" as if chess were solely about moving the pieces on the board. As the great Leo Durocher, the manager of the World Series winning 1954 New York Giants, aptly stated: "Baseball is like church. Many attend, few understand."


Just before this year's World Series, a report on NPR shared a study of baseball in which the "action" was timed in several games. Comes out to about 14 minutes. Even I, having forgotten baseball for so many years, knew that statistic to be misleading to the point of stupidity. Only someone ignorant of baseball could find such a statistic significant.


My Ignorance:

It was the second to last game of the National League Championship series between the Giants and the Phillies (a team I've always hated because in the 60's Philly, according to the appendix in the little Webster's dictionary I still possess, was the 4th largest city in America while Detroit was . . . fifth). 9th Inning. The Giants, at home, get a man to third. One out. Up comes (can't remember) either Juan Uribe or Pablo Sandoval. He hits a high fly to middle left field and my immediate reaction was . . . "Eh, a second out." But, in fact, as I realized almost immediately, it was a sacrifice fly that will win the game because the man on third came steaming home for the winning run.

Chagrined, I pondered how I had lost even the most fundamental baseball acumen. I thought it would be nice to "know" baseball again. Or did I ever really know it? Had I ever understood baseball? If I had, how could I possibly have switched to basketball? I used to envy writers like Roger Kahn and George Will and others who waxed rhapsodically about baseball. I watched Ken Burns's "Baseball" and secretly yearned for the love of baseball's pastoral pleasures (now, to my mind, sadly compromised by the noise and the commodification of every moment at the ballpark).


Been Away from the Game Too Long -- Baseball and 9/11:

In one of the Division Series' games, we're going into the bottom of the 7th Inning and the broadcast has not broken away for another set of commercials. Instead, we get "God Bless America."

My reaction was: Hey, what about "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"? Later, I was informed that "God Bless . . . " is televised, but "Take Me Out . . ." is still sung in the ball park and so I was initially placated.

Okay, so . . . 9/11, right? Right. However, I guess I'm really ignorant of the game because I have no memory of having heard "God Bless . . ." at the handful of games I've attended this decade.

And now that I've heard it 10+ times since the Giants entered post-season play, I'm convinced that "Take Me Out . . . " is more patriotic, more of a spit-in-the-eye to Al Qaeda. After all, we still have the National Anthem at the beginning of the game, right?

"Take Me Out . . ." proclaims a gospel of its own: the "good news" of the communal joyousness baseball bestows in a lovely ballpark; the joyousness of the American Pastime that cannot tarnished and certainly not defeated by some bloody nihilists. Every game of baseball, lovingly played and witnessed, tells Al Qaeda and its ilk that we are still here being Americans. Maybe that's not always pretty, but we are not bloody nihilists, that's for damn sure.



After the National Anthem, "God Bless . . . " just seems overwrought, the result of being far too earnest, and not sufficiently joyous. And there's the undertone, too, of darkness, of nativist triumphalism, a smugness. It's not the song. I wouldn't mind if the song replaced the National Anthem at games. No, it's not the song. It's the forced, sanctimonious communalism and the sense of it being a prayer for the validation of darker impulses.


Stats, Stats, and More Stats:

Seems like I heard a lot of not very dramatic, and even quite useless, stats on the broadcasts. I gather baseball is especially prone to stat-fetish. One of the following is a stat I heard on the broadcast. The others are made up:

First rookie to throw 5 scoreless innings in a World Series game since 1982.

Most broken bats in a World Series game by a team whose mascot is not an animal.

First team to win its first two games in the World Series by more than 5 runs
when both games were night games.

Dave First is the first first baseman named First in the first game of a World
Series when the winning run was scored in the first inning.

First shutout by a visiting pitcher with 3 syllables in his surname.

First time a rookie catcher is in the World Series when the play by play announcer
was himself a catcher.


Names:

I'm glad the World Series is still called the "World Series" and not the "WS". Why can't the National League Championship be called, well, "the National League Championship" instead of the "NLCS"? We've become acronym crazy in this culture. Words are mighty and often beautiful. We should use them, not reduce them to initials. (My students should now remind me of my own "WIR," my "ROL," and my "WWIOTFOWWT".)

Slightly related: I prefer "the 43rd Superbowl" to "Superbowl 43". (I use "43" because I think we're in the 40's with the Superbowl, but I'm not sure which 40. I did watch the Saints win last year. Made the Mississippian in me very happy.)

I prefer "September 11th" to "9/11".


Politics and Baseball:

On November 1st, the Giants of proudly liberal (YES! LIBERAL!!! You got a problem with that?!!?) San Francisco won the World Series. San Francisco dominated, repeatedly dominated teams, despite being deemed underdogs going into every post-season matchup. And in the end, a skinny hipster (or a hippie; can't decide) savaged the Texas Rangers; beat them deep in the heart of Texas, in the politically sclerotic heart of reactionary politics. Of course, this proves the superiority of San Francisco and our "life-style."



And so tomorrow, November 2nd, when we go to the polls for our nation's midterm elections, I will be inspired by our ragtag Giants when I yell on some street corner,
"LET'S GO DEMOCRATS!!!!" I might even throw in a "Fear the Obama!"








My Loyalties:

At the beginning of the season, I could have named one Giant: Tim Lincecum. And yet, I really couldn't have named even him because I wasn't sure how to pronounce "Lincecum."

I've lived in the Bay Area for 30 years, but I had to borrow a Giants cap when I went to Dallas for a wedding just before the World Series. Then, of course, gracious Texans seeing me in the cap would want to talk about players, stats, games, etc. I just had to admit, "The cap ain't mine and I just yesterday stepped up on this here bandwagon."

But on it I was. I was so on that bandwagon. So on it.

And now, we've won. We, that includes me, have won. Now, for the first time in maybe 25 some years, since the Tigers won in the 80s with Kirk Gibson, I can rattle off the starting lineup, and its variations, for a baseball team! And sitting alone in my home, I was strangely moved and overjoyed by the World Series triumph. So much so that it suddenly occurred to me that if the Giants had played the Tigers in this World Series . . . I would've rooted for the Giants.

Dear Detroit and Dear Tigers! Best Wishes, Greg