I’m not much of a baseball fan. I grew up in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, played little league baseball a long, long time ago, and have been a passive, fair-weather fan of the Milwaukee Brewers ever since.

Lori, my wife, an Oostburg, Wisconsin native, is a sports addict. She’ll watch anything. She doesn’t need any allegiance to the teams or even to know the rules of the game (ahem…lacrosse). It just gives her joy. Who can quibble with that?

So, this year, as a gift, I bought Lori, the Brewers TV package. It was only $99 and it provides streaming access to 140+ games this year. 

She loves watching. I get distracted.

I regularly find myself reaching for my phone between innings. Between batters. Between pitches. Sometimes whole innings fly by without me looking up. Eventually, even I couldn’t help but notice my apparent addiction to online action during baseball’s interminable gaps.

So, I set myself a challenge: make it through an entire baseball game without picking up my phone. Initially, at least, I would allow myself other distractions, just none that were digital. So, reading a book, magazine, or newspaper was within bounds. Doing the dishes was fine. Vacuuming the floor was fine. Writing (on actual paper) was fine. Calling friends and family was fine. Just no surfing the Internet for corgi videos or falling down rabbit-hole threads on Bluesky. Not even ebooks. 

I’ve failed miserably.

The game…is…soooo…slooooow. I just don’t have the patience to wait for the next thing to happen. 

It didn’t used to be this way. I used to be able to watch sporting events and TV shows from start to finish without ever thinking about changing channels or diverting my attention during commercials. Of course, back then, there wasn’t much choice. I’m so old, the closest thing we had to a remote control was making the youngest child (me, for a time) change channels at their elders’ command. 

Lots has changed since then. Most of it, technological. I figured baseball was giving me a chance at some kind of redemption. And I was blowing it.

In a previous attempt at understanding the frenetic pace of our modern lives, I read James Gleick’s book, Faster: The Acceleration of Just About Everything. As evidence, he included an example that it’s quicker on a microwave to press 33, 44, or 55 seconds than 30, 45, or 60. It was like a virus invaded my brain. I still do this today. Of course, Big Microwave has since provided an even quicker “Add 30 seconds” button. Or, even better, just hit the 2 and it will automatically set the timer for two minutes. 

I’m pretty sure Lori doesn’t know any of these hacks. Because she’s way more patient than I am. She moves through her days with a kind of elegant slowness that sometimes drives me crazy. I want to get going. And she’s willing to take the time to be sure things are done right. At a much more human pace. Lori has the capacity to just sit on the couch, crochet, and watch whatever sport ESPN manages to dish up. Or wash the dishes with the Wisconsin women’s volleyball game on as a soundtrack to her life.

Even though my attempts so far have been an unmitigated disaster, I have managed to anticipate some lessons I might learn, if only I could find the time.

Embracing slowness: This is the one I anticipated most going into this. I knew I was addicted to my phone, that I have a tendency to pick it up at the slightest gap in the action of any show I might be watching, or, even more sadly, any conversation I might be having. I continue to hope that I’ll be able to live in the moment those pauses present. To find some contentment in the non-action, a kind of peace that passes some understanding that such moments can provide.

Embracing joy: One of the gifts watching baseball has given me is to better appreciate the thoughtless joy of ecstatic moments. That fleeting experience of sheer, unfiltered, unapologetic happiness that an over-the-shoulder catch, a 104 mile-per-hour Jacob Misiorowski third strike for a third out, a walk-off, game-winning hit provide. Most of the time, I can’t get out of my head. My inner voice of over-analysis runs nonstop. I too-often live in a world of “Yes, but…”. But when it comes to sports, those moments of thoughtless joy are glorious. And I’m learning to do a better job leaning into them when they happen. 

Embracing loss: I struggle with this one most of all. I find myself turning off the game if the Brewers get behind. Or, if the game has started and they are already losing 3-0, not even turning it on. I want to have more faith that they can turn the game around. Even more, I want to better learn that joy can still be found, even in a loss. I feel like it’s a lesson I’ve already learned beyond baseball (life can do that to you). But I’ve not yet been able to convert it into my sports fandom. 

There are, I have no doubt, many other lessons to learn from baseball. Feel free to include those in the comments.