Talkin' Baseball: Still the national pastime

Loving my country hasn’t always been easy. I don’t blame America; I blame the marketing. Not to imply that jingoistic country songs, yellow ribbon bumper magnets, and Sean Hannity are bad things necessarily—it’s just that what’s commonly associated with patriotism doesn’t come close to representing the America I care about. I love the America that gave the world rock 'n' roll, Hollywood, and bad TV shows that can only be enjoyed ironically. My America is a land of thick and juicy cheeseburgers, and thick and juicy Midwesterners who eat too many thick and juicy cheeseburgers. It’s where you go to find everything that’s wondrous and special about the world, and everything that’s awful and annoying.

It’s home.

One of my favorite things about America—as you’ve probably guessed—is baseball. It’s pretty much accepted these days that pro football has usurped pro baseball as the national pastime, which makes sense even though it’s wrong. Football is superficially a more enjoyable game, promising more “action” and a satisfying sense of order imposed by a game clock and referees who call penalties every other play. The football season is shorter, so every game until at least the end of October is important (unless you’re the Detroit Lions). Football is also a better television sport, with a championship game that’s usually one of the highest-rated shows of the year.

(Before I go any further with this baseball-football comparison, I better post this George Carlin clip lest anyone accuse me of plagiarism.)

Football might be more popular than baseball, but that shouldn’t make it the national pastime. I don’t think there’s a less American sport than football. Football players are treated like replaceable cogs in a machine that are grinded up and spat out every three or four years. Dissension is discouraged both internally and in the public; rabble-rousers like Terrell Owens and Chad (gulp) Ochocinco aren’t only crucified in the media, they're marginalized in their jobs in spite of their obvious talents because they don’t toe the “shut up and play” party line. Only the coach and upper management have any power in football: Bill Parcells is probably the single biggest power-hungry asshole on the entire planet—yes, that’s including Iran—and he’s somehow beloved because of this. I love the NFL—but the “F” might as well stand for “fascist.”

(Can you imagine what would have happened to Thomas Jefferson if he had been born centuries later and drafted by the Pittsburgh Steelers? After one whiff of this “independence” business, “anonymous” sources would suddenly be calling our man T.J. a “diva” who puts himself above the team. He’d be drummed out after the second exhibition game and end up hanging out with Ryan Leaf.)

Baseball, on the other hand, has always been a haven for miscreants and cheaters, oddballs and weirdos, and all the other unshaven and unwashed dregs of humanity improbably gifted with the ability to smash a 95-mph fastball the length of four football fields. Vince Lombardi—who ruled the ’60s Packers with the softness of Mussolini and the empathy of Michael Savage—perfectly embodies everything you need to know about pro football, just as that fat, drunken, womanizing layabout named Babe Ruth encapsulates pro baseball. To paraphrase Billy Joe Shaver, baseball has always been home to “lovable losers and no-account boozers,” and those are the kinds of Americans who inspire me to reach hard for the high notes whenever I hear “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Recently, I talked to Todd Snider, one of my favorite singer-songwriters, about “America’s Favorite Pastime,” a track off his new album, The Excitement Plan, about Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher Dock Ellis throwing a no-hitter while under the influence of LSD. (Yes, it really happened.) If Snider doesn't have a problem with a player using acid, I figured he’d probably have a similarly lax attitude about a somewhat less harmful performance enhancer like steroids. “I’m into rock 'n' roll, right? I’m not a big integrity freak,” he told me. “If a guy wants to ruin his life trying to hit balls out of the park, why can’t he? I love it. Every time he does it, they shoot off the fireworks … I like baseball, but I’m not a purist. I’m there for the fireworks and hot dogs and shit.”

I think Snider summed up how most baseball fans feel better than any self-righteous sportswriter ever could. Baseball history is riddled with gambling scandals, racial segregation, drug abuse, and outspoken bigots who have embarrassed the game time and time again. That baseball might be less than perfect isn’t news. But after all the hand-wringing and fist-pounding about baseball’s latest fuck up, we’re still left with homeruns and fireworks and hot dogs and shit. If that’s doesn’t satisfy your pursuit of happiness, I don’t know what does.