Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Last night was actually a pretty big night in baseball, because Matt Garza of the Tampa Bay Rays threw a no-hitter. Now there might be some of you out there who aren’t aware this has happened. Then again, there are probably a lot of you out there that aren’t aware the baseball season had even started.

It’s not really anyone’s fault. Sure they call it America’s Pastime, but that’s only because video games and recreational drugs weren’t readily available back then. It’s just that baseball can get, well… boring, especially for casual sports fans. Now I’m a hardcore sports fan and I love baseball, but even I admit that baseball sometimes puts me to sleep. Which is actually why I like it. There is nothing like watching a midday game on your couch, falling asleep after the second inning, and then waking up to infomercials for something called “Brazil Butt-Lift.”

The main problem with baseball is that it just moves so slow. I mean, think about what happens in the average at-bat. The batter will go through his routine, which normally involves adjusting his gloves, grabbing his crotch, swinging his bat, tapping his shoes, grabbing his crotch, filing his taxes, and then finally stepping into the box while grabbing his crotch. The pitcher will then go through his routine, which normally involves circling the mound at least five times like some sort of malfunctioning helicopter, playing with the rosin bag, grabbing his crotch, kicking the dirt, adjusting his grip on the ball, grabbing his crotch, reenacting the final scene of “Hamlet,” and finally staring at the catcher. The catcher then gives the pitcher his signs, which involves about five minutes of random finger pointing that makes him look like he’s trying to flick ants off of his inner thighs. And then, finally the pitcher will wind up and… the umpire will call for time, because he needs to grab his crotch too.

I mean the very rules of the game are meant to encourage mediocrity (just like our country’s educational system). Think about it, if a batter succeeds once every three times, he is considered awesome. Imagine if that were the standard for other professions, like say, brain surgeons. Plus there is the whole three strikes system and the fact that the season lasts what seems like the entire year. So you can see why many people have a hard time caring what the heck the Kansas City Royals are doing on a Monday afternoon in the middle of July (probably losing).

That’s why the game was fun back in the 90’s when they let the players use steroids and they use to hit homeruns out of the stadium every five minutes. I mean, last night’s no-hitter was a big story, but when you think about it, a no-hitter essentially means that nothing happened. Now I’m not suggesting that they bring back steroids, because I don’t appreciate that people who are already stronger and richer than me can afford drugs that make them even stronger and richer.

Another thing I don’t like about baseball is all the stats. Nowadays watching baseball feels like going through Algebra all over again in the sense that they are assigning random numbers to random collections of letters that mean nothing to me. To know if a player is good, I have to know his WHIP plus his OBP plus his OPS and his VORP plus his YMCA and PETA. For me, these numbers don’t tell me how good a player is. I want my announcers to be very simple. For instance, “this guy sucks.” will do. Or “this pitcher couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a bazooka,” or “he swings the bat like a little girl swatting bees in a phone booth.”

Actually, those last few statements were things that my coaches used to describe me when I used to play baseball. Okay, it was actually T-ball. For those of you who aren’t aware of what T-ball is, it’s like baseball for uncoordinated children. They put the ball on a tee and just let you swing away at it. And like everything I tried when I was a little kid, I was horrible at it. I once struck out in T-ball. Do you realize how hard that is? I mean you don’t even need to really hit the ball, you could just knock the tee over with your bat and you at least get a single. Although, in my defense, I wasn’t using steroids like those other kids.