People complain about the lack of baseball–some of them do, anyway–but I don’t know what they’re talking about. Why, just this week I saw Frank Thomas hitting a long homer to right center. There was Greg Maddux sending a change-up dipping into the lower inside corner against a right-handed batter–Matt Williams, I think it was. And what do you know, there was even Ryne Sandberg ranging into short right field to scoop up a grounder, pirouetting, and throwing out the batter at first. And there was Bill Mazeroski turning a double play with stunning swiftness.
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That’s why baseball has a unique ability to be freeze-dried into box scores that can be defrosted by fans over the morning coffee. Its images spring to life at the beck and call of numbers and names on a page. “Nine strikeouts, no walks, and one run for Maddux last night!” And we can see that he must have had a good fastball, heading for the center of the plate and then swaying outside beyond the reach of the left-handed batter, in addition to the usual called third strikes on change-ups dipping for the corner. I can see him touching the glove to the nape of his neck, kicking down the mound with his left leg straightened and chest thrown out, and giving that distinctive little hop in the follow-through to get himself into fielding position–and it’s all been projected out of numbers in a box score that doesn’t even exist, that was made up at this moment for this purpose.
That’s why these so-called fantasy seasons the newspapers are dallying in have proved to be an interesting experiment, even as they have been something of a flop. I tend to agree with Jim Litke, of the Associated Press, who in one column called these computer-generated statistics methadone for baseball fanatics. Yet I plead guilty to checking in on them every few days to see if Matt Williams is going to break Roger Maris’s home-run record, if Tony Gwynn is going to hit .400, and if Frank Thomas is going to win the triple crown (no on all three counts, it appears, although Gwynn and Williams are still in the running). This make-believe baseball has helped us weather the strike because it has kept the pictures fresh in our minds.
That’s what’s getting us through the strike, our imaginations, and it looks as if very much more imagination is going to be required of us before it’s all over. The reports a week ago Thursday that talks had broken off between players and owners–just when it appeared a settlement might possibly save the season in time for Labor Day–were shattering news. A season-ending strike now seems quite possible and increasingly probable, opening a Pandora’s box for baseball.
All of which boils down to two conclusions: those who don’t study history are doomed to repeat it; and for a baseball fan with imagination, the upcoming events, if the strike ends the season, will be as exciting as they are uncertain.
