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A slow curve

Though I assumed the duties of a columnist this semester, I think I managed to evade the usual expectations of the office: to convince you of how I view the world of sports. I enjoy attending college football games for the intensity and atmosphere — and because many of first sports memories are of Joe Jurevicius streaking across the secondary and Aaron Harris rumbling up the middle.

I think baseball appeals to me more, however, because I grew up playing the game, because of the statistics and because of the aura (for better and worse) that seems to follow the game. And like most of the sports industry — in practice, physical and business contests — baseball seems poised at the edge of politics, science and popular culture, sometimes bordering on the spiritual.

For instance, I hesitate from trying to convince you that Major League Baseball and the players’ union should pursue transparent drug policy because my intuition denies that could happen in the near future or all at once. On a larger scale, I think this because drug policy involves much more than steroids, politically and medically. Also, such a position assumes that power and money drive the ambition of athletes to succeed, and to succumb to that position means that we, fans and media, do not trust athletes to keep the show on the field. And though you may not, I want to trust those guys not to cheat or lie — which is something I’m not optimistic about these days in part because we can’t even trust instant replay equipment.

The MLB’s first use of replay this season came after Yankees catcher Jorge Posada’s pinch-hit home run at Yankee Stadium, during which it looked like a fan barely missed interfering with the glove of Indians outfielder Trevor Crowe. From what I saw on the television, I think replay exemplifies how physically close the fans are to the stage on which baseball is played, as compared to the NFL.

Being close to the action does not equate to affluence concerning the game itself, but it does seem to frame how I view several parts of the game.

If we want baseball to remain pure in one sense, short of demanding more from the players, we could change how the game is played. Fences at ballparks could be made larger, rather than shorter — though if home run totals continue to decline this particular problem may not be as striking an issue. Directly related to the Posada home run, perhaps baseball stadiums could provide, say, two arms’ length of out of play space between fans and the field. Or simply make fences higher — but that puts those nice, low outfield seats in danger.

This brings us to a broader, more philosophical question about whether fans are spectators or participants. Why do people want to sit so close to the field, anyway? I think it is because they can see better, obviously, and because they feel like they are a part of the game. What worries me about this feeling, though, is that we are headed toward a game where being the best fan is itself a sport, and I think the sports media facilitates this.

I mean, people are being paid to play video games; why not pay them to play fantasy baseball? Or to go to games in a big costume ... oh yeah, that’s the mascot. But fans do have costumes. And they compare the best games they’ve attended or watched at a bar. And I can’t help but wonder why sports generate such a discourse dominated by virtual participation.

I suppose an alternative to discussing sports experiences would look like this: for instance, when relating a home run in the slow-pitch softball league you play in every summer, rather than comparing your swing to Ken Griffey, Jr., you compare it to a guy you used to play with.

Also in terms of bringing sports coverage increasingly close to fans, the recent expansion of ESPN to Los Angeles and Chicago seems potentially ominous. I picture this division leading to concurrent networks covering smaller geographic areas of sports, with much more specific and detailed sports information to fill all that air space. With a national digital package, you could watch SportsCenter on the east coast from Connecticut, Chicago and Los Angeles nightly at 6, 7 and 8, and watch significantly different coverage. There also probably would be a national ESPN channel that hit the overall hot spots. This kind of growth seems to lead toward different, localized ways of talking about sports, which probably already exist to a certain extent.

I can’t see a bridge, though, between this kind of divergence and the slow-pitch softball example. Amateur softball as sports news seems more unlikely because, I think, most people don’t consider local games that big of a deal and are self-conscious. In fact, I think we sit on the sidelines of professional games to see people play the sport well. To go back to the slow-pitch example, I understand why we don’t speak with local sports examples: because it is easier to communicate with recognizable symbols, because we don’t all share the same experiences. I just wonder what amateur and professional sports (and the nation, itself, moreover) would be like if spectators valued playing the sports they love more than watching them.

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