Baseball vs. Football - A Joint Post

I did a post recently about baseball; and, Pos, of Niagaran Pebbles, see Recommended sidebar, left a comment suggesting that I write about something interesting, though he said it in a kinder way. Pos, from Philadelphia, is a football fan and is salivating in anticipation of the coming season. I’m in the middle of my annual, about to be disappointed, following of the Atlanta Braves.

We decided to do a “joint” series of posts about why we are the way we are. Some of you are reading this on my blog and some of you are reading this at Pos’ place.

Pos’ response is found further down. Kind of a point/counterpoint thing. It may go further than that, maybe not.

Me:

You need to look to history to understand the present, an academic once said. I’ve been exposed to both baseball and football, but baseball “took.”

I grew up in a Detroit, blue-collar suburb. We had the Tigers, the Lions and the Red Wings. The Pistons were in town, but weren’t on my young radar. None of the teams had distinguished itself by the time I got to the point that sports became important. They were really just a backdrop for what kids did back then.

The kids in the neighborhood had a “community” ball and bat. I was the owner of the ball. Bobby, who lived across the street, supplied the bat. Most of us had a glove.

So when you don't you have enough guys for a game? You don’t need more than three. Each is his own team. A batter who throws the ball up and hits it. Two guys in the "field" which, since we were all right handed, was everything to the left of "second" which usually was some object found in the real field. One of the guys played nominal short and the other guy was a kind of Texas League outfielder. You were out if the guy fielding the ball threw to the other guy before you got to first. There weren't any home runs because the one ball was a bit mushy and we were all, how to put it, untalented.

Bobby’s Uncle was a groundskeeper at Briggs Stadium where the Tigers and the Lions played back then. Two summers when I was about eleven or twelve, Bobby and I got to go to a day game with his Uncle when he went to work in the morning. We got to go on the field before the players came out to warm up and after the game when the stadium was empty again. “Don’t bother the players if they come out.” But we did get to see them up close.In 1968 Denny McClain won 31 games, and the Tigers, featuring Mickey Lolich, Willie Horton, Bill Freehan and the one and only Al Kaline, beat Bob Gibson and the St. Louis Cardinals in seven games for the World Championship. This was big stuff in Detroit. The last time had been in the Forties.

So, I grew up playing and watching baseball. Football was there, but only once a week; and, back then there were only fourteen weeks in a season and no Super Bowl until later on.

As an adult, I went to law school at the University of Miami, then and now with a very successful baseball team. Mark Light Stadium was just down the street from the law school. A student ID and a couple of bucks got you in. Good baseball, pretty girls in skimpy clothing. If all else failed the stadium lights were good enough to read by. Miami baseball was as much a social as a sporting event. And that is probably the heart of my attraction to it over other sports.

It’s there. But, it doesn’t intrude on whatever else is going on at that moment. You can space out at a game and not miss much. You can have it on the TV, read a book, clean the kitchen. If something happens, and it probably won’t, the crowd roar will alert you. If you have TiVo, you are living in a perfect world.

Football requires more attention. Too many players doing too many things. Some may think I’ve just made a case for the superiority of football. Maybe, if you are a fervent sports fan; but, I am not. Baseball is just my speed.

Pos:

At the risk of sounding as though I am making age jokes here, as I read Dave’s explanation, it seemed to me that he and I are simply products of our respective generations. I grew up in the Super Bowl/NFL era. He missed it by a few years.

I don’t want to dismiss the allure of baseball to a young child, hanging out with friends, tossing the ball, hitting the ball, etc. there certainly was that, but I was and still am a decidedly uncoordinated person. Woefully so.

My memories of baseball were not ones of camaraderie, but instead were opportunities to have some fun at my expense. My father was not interested in sports at all, and I remember a single time when he took me to a local ball field to hit the ball a bit. It was a bit like the old story about the dancing elephant – it wasn’t a matter of how well he danced, but merely a wonder that he was able to dance at all.

Later, in preparation for moving from Boston area to Pennsylvania, where my mother knew everyone was “into baseball,” (she was wrong – they were into sports of every kind) she enrolled me in the Instructional League of the town’s Little League Baseball program. I was three years older than everyone else on the team. And I still just plain and simple did not get it. I was placed in the outfield where I could do the least damage. The only real memory of that experience that I have that was positive – a teammate’s father owned an Italian restaurant just on the other side of the big green monster at Fenway. And he treated the whole team to a meal and one Red Sox souvenir item.

When I got to Philadelphia, I found it impossible to cheer for a “philly.” Just sounded a bit less than manly or something. But I was a big kid for my age, and was well suited for being a football lineman, and there was a contact football team at the school I was attending.

I was no better at football than at baseball, but at least now I was not expected to catch or throw or anything like that. And I continued to play until my Junior year of High School when I broke my arm during a game.

So, why do I watch football and not baseball? Initially, it was the Super Bowl. Super Bowl XII to be exact. I was 10. Dallas vs Denver. I watched with my mother’s mother on her big console color TV. And when I went to school the next day, I was able to speak intelligently about the game. And for a brief moment, I wasn’t a social freak.

Fast forward a few years. Many many years. I was living in Hawaii, serving in the Air Force. I had many co-workers and friends from all over. Joe was a Giants fan. Sean and John were Dolphins fans. Dale was a Cowboys fan. In an effort to be a part of the group, I chose a team to follow. Although I was ostensibly from Philadelphia, I had no real connection with the Eagles. But my best friend lived in Pittsburgh, and I knew his wife was a Steelers fan. And they were from Pennsylvania too. It just worked out.

It didn’t hurt that they were in the playoff hunt that year.

And, as Dave says about baseball, it just took.

When I got out of the service, my new best friend (also my brother-in-law at the time) was a Broncos fan. Just about every one of my best friends now has some favorite team. The Broncos, the Eagles, the Packers, the Steelers, etc. Very few of my close friends are indifferent to football. The people (my age) that I know now who are baseball fans, I just don’t get along with as well. Generally.

I now have a fantasy football team. I am running an office NFL pick ‘em pool. I go to Super Bowl parties. I watch the Eagles at the local watering hole. My circle of friends and acquaintances has grown exponentially through a common enjoyment of football.

And now, a word about football itself. In baseball, there are a couple of dominant teams every year. You just know that one of the big spending teams like the Yankees is going to win the pennant. In the NFL, they have a salary cap that allows small market teams to be as competitive as big market teams. They have a thing called free agency that allows a more even distribution of talent, and guarantees that on any given Sunday, any team can compete with any other team. So even a fan of the lowly Browns has something to look for every year. In 2003, the Steelers went 6-10. The next, with very nearly the same exact team, they went 15-1. And didn’t win the Super Bowl.

That my friends is drama.

Attending a game in person is a special event. It better be for $250 per ticket! The tailgating, the cheers, the absolute elation after a big play that causes you to hug a complete stranger. I have been to hundreds of baseball games, and love watching them in person, but never experienced the same sort of, dare I say, religious reverence seen in the football stadium. And because there are fewer games each season, each game matters that much more than each individual baseball game in a season.

I am not a football guru. Don’t ask me to tell you the difference between a nickel or dime defensive package (actually, that one I know), or what an end route is, as opposed to a skinny post. But I know that when Willie Parker breaks out into the flat and is outpacing all the nearest defenders, there is a feeling of joy that is simply unmatched. Even the grand slam home run my son and I saw against the Florida Marlins last year didn’t feel that good.

I could get sucked into baseball. If the Phillies went on a tear and I was lucky enough to see a few games in person, that would be cool. Maybe if they were to win the World Series. But for now, football is enough joy for me.