A few weeks ago, I was at the hair salon getting a fresh coat of blond when the girl who sweeps the hair off the floor ran through the gauntlet of chairs, bleating, “I’m going to Opening Day!!” (This being Boston, she obviously was referring to the Red Sox’s Opening Day at Fenway Park.)
“When is it?” one stylist asked, and a half-dozen voices simultaneously answered: “Easter Sunday.” Then a conversation began about whether the Red Sox would re-ignite another curse for having Opening Day on Easter. And yes, it was a serious discussion, with one woman who was enduring foil highlights expressing grave concerns for any team that would dare impinge on arguably the most holy day on the Christian calendar.
Well, despite baseball’s audaciously impious scheduling, yesterday the Red Sox beat their most hated rivals, the New York Yankees, 9-7. The Red Sox have risen! They have risen… from the off-season!
I’m a non-believer in baseball. Sometimes I wish that I was afflicted with whatever mental malaise that allows baseball fans to see something truly momentous and magical within this insufferably lame sport. I mean, if I could be entertained by watching pitchers pace around the mound, confer with the catchers, and dart glances at the base runners while the batters fix their gloves and hats in preparation to hit yet another foul ball, then life in general must be so eventful, filled with nonstop merriment, like Wow, look at that dog next to that tree!
Perhaps if I felt that the game mattered, I would care. There are 162 games in the regular season of baseball. How can anyone get excited about a single game? Watching a baseball game is like watching a glacier move, because every out, every inning, every game is mere inches on the glacier’s journey to the sea.
The New York Times‘ recap of yesterday’s Opening Day game starts off : Just think, there are 17 more of these games. The Yankees play the Red Sox 17 more times, which means 17 more chances to witness baseball played at its most exhilarating, frustrating or downright maddening (here).
Just think! The Red Sox and the Yankees play 18 games in one season. That is two more games than an NFL team’s entire regular season. Every single game in football matters. And that’s how it should be: If you’re giving up your Sunday afternoon for a sports game, dammit, the outcome should matter.
Of course, it makes economic sense for MLB teams to play as many games as possible. I’m sure the NFL would play more games if it could, but can you imagine if the football season was as punishingly long as the baseball season? American would need a conscription just to keep the NFL ranks stocked with able-bodied men.
A former co-worker once explained baseball to me by saying “It’s all about the stats.” Yes, they say that the lifeblood of baseball is statistics, meaning that the game of baseball’s sole purpose is to churn out numbers with which to please mathematicians. That explains why the geeks get excited for baseball… but what about the girl who sweeps the hair off the floor at my hair salon? I have a feeling its… Wow, look at that dog next to that tree!
