A BASEBALL DIATRIBE

Tonight I want to write about something that probably won’t interest anyone but me. I think it’s time I got this off my chest. It’s about baseball. If you want to stop reading right now, feel free. I won’t feel hurt and I wouldn’t blame you.

I’ve been a huge baseball fan all my life. I attended my first Major League baseball game in 1961 at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles. That’s right, Los Angeles, not Chicago. A brand new expansion team was playing its first season in that venerable old stadium which no longer exists. The Los Angeles Angels (formerly the Triple A minor league team of the Chicago Cubs) played the Detroit Tigers. My dad was still a big fan of the Tigers whom he had followed all his life in Michigan.

But it was the Dodgers that stole my heart. I used to sit and listen to the games on the radio and score them and save all the score sheets. I loved Maury Wills, Willie Davis, Tommie Davis, Jim Gilliam, Don Drysdale, Sandy Koufax, John Roseboro and all the old Dodgers. You could say I lived and breathed Dodgers baseball.

Then I started collecting Topps baseball cards when they were still just a nickel a pack. I saved up my allowance and lawn mowing money and rode my bike to the Seven Eleven to spend it all on baseball cards. I would go in my bedroom and close the door so I could open the packs of cards in private. The smell of the fresh cards and the hard bubble gum still bounces around in my brain somewhere. I collected full sets of Topps cards starting in 1964. (I still have them. Wonder what they’re worth?)

Throughout high school I was in the right centerfield bleachers with my buddies at least once or twice during every home stand. Five bucks used to get you into the bleachers with enough left over for a Dodger dog and a Coke. When I got to Wheaton I started going to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs. I was truly happy when my beloved Dodgers came to town. I loved sitting in the left field bleachers in the sun. Sometimes when we felt adventurous we would go down to old Comiskey Park and catch a White Sox game. That was a thrill because I could imagine Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and Joe DiMaggio patrolling that very outfield.

I still love the Dodgers. I check on them every day to see what they did the night before. Our local papers never cover the Dodgers. The sports page always says, “Dodgers-late game.” So I have to get their scores off the internet. But baseball has changed forever.

Steroids have all but ruined baseball for me. What really matters to a real baseball fan? I’ll tell you, all those tiny lines of print on the back of baseball cards that record all the records and statistics of a player. All the fun of debating with your buddies whether Willie Mays or Mickey Mantle was better. The biggest debate of my life, until recently, was whether Roger Maris’ 61 home runs in 162 games should be the home run record or Babe Ruth’s 60 home runs in 154 games. That debate was worth hours of good-natured arguing.

But what do statistics mean anymore? One could always argue about the fact that the Babe played before there were any black players or Latino players so he didn’t face the best. Or one could argue that massive expansion has so diluted pitching that today’s hitters don’t have to face pitchers as good as Babe faced. You could argue forever about the dead ball era and the juiced ball of modern times. But now the players themselves are juiced and the records seem to be nothing at all. Is Barry Bonds really better than Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams, Willie Mays, and Mickey Mantle? Were Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire as great as their records show? We’ll never know.

It makes me sick. Barry should have been banned from playing another baseball game ever. So should any player who has used steroids. Track and field doesn’t tolerate cheaters. Why should baseball? Maybe I’m just old-fashioned. Or maybe I’m grieving the loss of one of the great joys of my childhood and youth. I just hope Barry Bonds is out of baseball before he passes a real gentleman, Henry Aaron, for the all time home run record.

Thanks for stopping by. You’re very kind.