Iām 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. Sheāll watch anything. She doesnāt need any allegiance to the teams or even to know the rules of the game (ahemā¦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 couldnāt help but notice my apparent addiction to online action during baseballās 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.
Iāve failed miserably.
The gameā¦isā¦sooooā¦slooooow. I just donāt have the patience to wait for the next thing to happen.
It didnāt 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 wasnāt much choice. Iām so old, the closest thing we had to a remote control was making the youngest child (me, for a time) change channels at their eldersā 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 Gleickās book, Faster: The Acceleration of Just About Everything. As evidence, he included an example that itās 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 āAdd 30 secondsā button. Or, even better, just hit the 2 and it will automatically set the timer for two minutes.
Iām pretty sure Lori doesnāt know any of these hacks. Because sheās 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 sheās 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 womenās 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 Iāll 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 canāt get out of my head. My inner voice of over-analysis runs nonstop. I too-often live in a world of āYes, butā¦ā. But when it comes to sports, those moments of thoughtless joy are glorious. And Iām 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 itās a lesson Iāve already learned beyond baseball (life can do that to you). But Iāve 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.
Part of the grace of baseball is that thereās always tomorrow. Or the game after that. And thereās always next year.
17 Responses
There’s no right or wrong way to watch baseball. I often have it on while I read (on my Kindle). If the announcers are good, their voices will give you more than enough time to look up and see the replays of a great defensive play, a base hit or a high fastball for a strikeout. It’s the same reason baseball is one of the best sports there is to listen to on the radio. As for baseball’s lessons, yes, there are many. Start with the fact that there’s no clock. There’s perhaps a sense of grace in that. Beyond that, baseball is a game of failure. The best hitters in baseball fail seven of 10 times, so baseball has a foundation of both humility and persistence. Baseball is a solitary sport in many ways, and it is a sport of stillness. Long stretches where seemingly nothing happens. Finally, former MLB commissioner Bart Giamatti has suggested that baseball is about coming home. Baseball’s offense is built on the idea of starting at home and safely returning, having gone all the way around. Maybe that metaphor is hard-wired into us and resonates in ways we might not fully understand when the boys of summer are toiling at their trade.
I love your opening line. It took me longer than it should have to learn that there’s no right way to fan. I also thought about pointing to the classic George Carlin bit about the difference between baseball and football, which includes a reference to no clock. But baseball does have a pitch clock, now. And the general consensus is that it’s a good thing. I remain unconvinced, even though I definitely enjoy that speeded up game that has resulted.
Thanks for posting. I loved your observations.
Ah, yes, good reminder re the pitch clock. It’s a very baseball thing: a small clock inside a game without a big clock. Probably some more metaphors to be found there!
Rather than giving you more lessons to be learned from baseball, I’m going to assure you that you are not alone and, as you have recognized, you can embrace joy, experience slowness, and savor life without watching baseball. My mother loved baseball, I suspect she had a not-so-secret crush on Sparky for years. I’ve never enjoyed the game, so why watch? Disclaimer: I did enjoy watching grandsons play except for the tedium of t-ball. Thank you for putting a smile on this face for the day.
Thanks for this. As for baseball crushes, I know that Lori, my wife, had a crush on Robin Yount for the Brewers back in the day. How could I possibly compete with that?! š¤£
I do think live baseball is the best baseball, whether that’s t-ball or MLB. We went to an Oriole’s game at Camden Yard with our daughter last month. Paid up for some nice seats (still cheaper than the NFL) and sat just a few rows behind Cal Ripken. Sitting next to my adult child for 9 innings made all those gaps a blessing rather than a curse. So much fun.
Jon-you aren’t the only one who has a problem with slowness. For 37 years, Ken has tried to have me give more patience. It hasn’t worked. I was antsy at the only I-Cubs game that I attended recently. Given the start time of 7:00, I probably won’t be back. Several times, I found myself texting Ken and my sister. I would have surfed but I didn’t want to be impolite.
lol. I feel your pain. Wish we could have been there, too.
It really was the phone thing that made me want to sit down and write this thing. Some people say that technology is neither good nor evil. But I do think that adoption comes with certain compulsions to action. And I’m pretty sure that I don’t like a lot of the consequences that having a smartphone entails. I can’t seem to stop actions, even though my thoughts tell me I should. Does blaming the technology represent me trying to give myself a free pass?
Aha, the struggling Mariners winning successive games in the bottom of the 9th. Pure joy!
And if your Brewers could beat out those greedy Dodgers–more joy.
Now the “Michigan Tigers” are coming to town, minus Skubal–some are grieving.
But there is something generously Reformed about apprehending the grace of Griffey chasing a fly ball, the physics of your young pitcher throwing 105, the eye/hand coordination of the a Judge’s homer.
Reminds me of Zechariah 8:4,5: “This is what the Lord Almighty says: āOnce again men and women of ripe old age will sit in the streets of Jerusalem, each of them with cane in hand because of their age. The city streets will be filled with boys and girls playing there.ā
Yes…Colt Emerson ‘s walk off win the other night was pure joy!
Preach.
I stumbled across the phrase “thoughtless joy” when writing this. That experience of living in the moment without overanalyzing the context or meaning of an experience.
I’d love to hear more about how that might be “something generously Reformed.” I am intrigued. š
The only sports events that some of us fellow curmudgeons watch are World Cup soccer matches, where the playing is fast and furious and the clock never stops. (Until this year’s “hydration breaks” for more ads — and let’s try to forget the Roman circus of cheesy songs and fireworks and billionaire buddies like Donald and Gianni making the game all about them.) But it can be an eternity between goals.
One of the lines that ended up on the cutting-room floor was: “Please, Lord, don’t ask me to live at the speed of soccer.” š¤£
As a baseball fan, I find a pitchers’ duel that ends 1-0 on a sacrifice fly in the bottom of the tenth absolutely gripping. On the other hand, a soccer match that ends 1-0 on a penalty kick in the sixth minute of second-half stoppage time bores me to tears. Go figure. Watching the World Cup this year did help me come to terms with the futbol version of “Nothing happened and the crowd went wild!”
I identify with this. A possible solution to our mental problem is to attend the game in person. Go to the park, preferably a Minor League Park. Buy a ticket and go sit in the bleachers. Unless your family member is on the field, you will most likely lose your concentration on the game itself (it’s soooo slooooow) and face the challenge of how to enjoy the infinitely relaxed environment of Minor League baseball. If you can’t enjoy this kind of fandom, attend a home game of Notre Dame Football and sit in the student section. Or rather, stand there, because if you sit, you won’t see a thing.
I agree that Minor League baseball has very little to do with the game. We sat most of a White Caps game watching a guy balancing everything on his nose!
Totally agree. I am very much not a Cubs fan. But I love going to Iowa Cubs games in Des Moines, especially with Lori and our daughters. So much fun.
Jon – baseball is seemingly the only sport I know where the defense has the ball. Like an immune system – or a fine Consistory – a strong defense will get you a long way.
Digital is easier than incarnation – your brewers package for $100 was a steal; I took my family of six to a Brewers game 3 weeks ago and with a parking pass, it was $750 to walk in the door (and $15 for a beer). Nonetheless, the experience together was worth a lot (gladly, my generous father-in-law [from Oostburg] footed the bill.). My grown kids still talk about how ābeing there in personā was so much better. Humanity beats a screen any day.
Last, every MLB ball is sacramentally marked with mud from the flats of a New Jersey river. I love that new baseballs arenāt perfect, but emerge from a clay, mud, and watery ash before they are ready for service. Thereās a lesson there.
– A Sheboygan-born Brewers fan who married a Paul Molitor-loving Oostburger