The eCrozier

Spring Training is nearly over and the start of another baseball season is almost here. For all right-thinking people, namely, devout fans of the Cincinnati Reds, this time of the year is full of promise and hope, but also fear and dread that we’ll be afflicted with another 90-loss season. But it’s still March, when every team is undefeated and every fan can dream of what might be. There’s a reason baseball begins in the spring and ends in the fall. Like in nature, baseball runs the cycle from new life to certain death. Every new leaf on a tree in the spring will be one that’s raked up dead in the fall and placed in a yard-waste sarcophagus destined for mulch, which will aid in the new life and growth of other living things. Baseball reminds us of this cycle. It helps us see things clearly while also “hoping against hope” (Romans 4:18) that this year will, as legendary sportscaster Marty Brenneman would say, “belongs to the Reds!”

The brain trust of Major League Baseball, however, has decided to make changes in the game, unwittingly acknowledging that they don’t really appreciate baseball’s true metaphysical significance to the world. Commissioner Rob Manfred wants to speed up the pace of play. He points out that the average nine-inning game last year lasted three hours, which was 14 minutes longer than a decade ago. We modern folk, apparently, can’t enjoy being out in a “park” for three hours anymore. We demand our food fast and our entertainment faster. So, to combat this, Major League Baseball has instituted rule changes that limits the number of times a catcher or coach can visit the pitcher’s mound during a game (from six times to five time). They will also reduce the time between innings from 2:05 minutes to 2:00 minutes. That change alone will shave off 45 seconds from the length of the game. Progress! Other changes to speed up the game are coming in the future, like a “pitch clock” (sort of like the “shot clock” in basketball), which will require the pitcher to deliver his pitch under a certain time or have the umpire penalize the team with a called “ball.”

I get it. I understand the pressures the game is under in a culture that more and more has its attention challenged and is impatient for the next stimuli. But for me baseball has always been counter-cultural to these impulses. Part of the draw of a baseball game is to smell the hotdogs and stale beer and to hear and feel the crunch of discarded peanut shells under your feet as you make your way to your seat. It’s watching the other people who have come to game, particularly the more entertaining ones, and wonder what life is like for them. It’s loudly questioning the eyesight of the umpire when he makes a call against your team (but never questioning his parentage). But most of all, it’s watching amazingly skilled players do remarkable things, all with a break for relaxation and conversation with your friends between innings.

If we allow it, baseball will help us slow down and enjoy our time with friends and family. It’s one of the few sports that has no clock where the whole purpose of the game, with all props to George Carlin, is to come “home.” And for Cincinnati Reds fans like me, it has the highest of Christian aspirations (“the last shall be first and the first shall be last” – Matthew 20:16). Play ball!