World Series - the Sweet Spot of Baseball's Beauty

“There are only three things that America will be remembered for 2000 years from now when they study this civilization: The Constitution, Jazz music, and Baseball. These are the 3 most beautiful things this culture ever created.”

Washington University professor and cultural critic Gerald Early delivers that assessment in Ken Burns fabulous baseball documentary, and it seems like a pretty reasonable conclusion. Even in a sport-crazy country where football and basketball seem to garner more attention, fans, and money, baseball remains the hallowed national past time, and this year's incredible World Series is testament to the significance and staying power of our game. 

And no sport has produced as much beautiful writing as baseball, the American pastoral game. That sentiment is perfectly summed up in Edward Hersch's recent New York Times guest essay "With Baseball, I don't Even Care Who Wins Anymore."  It could easily have been titled "The Sounds of the Game," for there is nothing so resounding in sports as the crack of the bat. And that's particularly significant for Hirsch who is writing from the unique position of no longer being able to watch baseball, as his eyesight is failing.

For the past 10 years I have been gradually losing my sight, not totally, but steadily, irreversibly. These days I can’t see much in the dark, but I can still make out things in the light, especially if they are right in front of me, and a baseball outing to a day game seemed like a good challenge, an overdue pleasure.

So, on a sparkling afternoon last month I took a field trip with my office mates to watch the Mets battle the Padres for a playoff spot. At the stadium in Queens, I was reassured by my first glimpse of the field. There is something timeless about a baseball diamond bathed in sunlight. Sure, there’s a pitch clock now and enlarged bases, but the basic pastoral feeling is the one I had as a kid. When you watch a ballgame, the outside world disappears.

For someone who grew up listening to Cardinals baseball games on KMOX radio, I can truly appreciate having a love of the game simply through the sounds of the game. Each spring, as I walked home from school across campus I would listen for the crack of the bat. I loved that in our community wooden bats are still part of the game. For there is nothing like the sound of the ball hitting that sweet spot. The chatter of baseball is also like birds chirping in springtime.

"Come on, kid." "Hey, there, let's turn two." "Good eye, get your pitch." 

Baseball is pure poetry. And honestly, this year's World Series is one for the ages. I didn't watch the incredible 18-inning marathon the other night, but I truly appreciated this description I read online:

That Dodgers win right there is why I love baseball. 18 innings. Ohtani on base, going 9 for 9 at bat. Freddie Freeman the first player in MLB history to hit two walk-off homers in the World Series. Clayton Kershaw coming in as a reliever at 37 years old in extra innings and saving the Dodgers from bases loaded. Will Klein throwing twice as many pitches as he's ever thrown in a single game. That game was layers and layers of history being made.

Baseball is also "poetry in motion," which is the primary focus of Hirsch's commentary. As he can no longer follow the ball clearly, he took notice of the choreographed movements of the players in what is so perfectly called "The Show":

The performance begins with the pitcher. He winds up, cocks the ball, strides forward and whips it to the plate, and the hitter instantly responds — he swings or doesn’t swing; he connects or doesn’t. Say, he slams a hard grounder to the left side of the infield. The third baseman dives to his left and misses, the shortstop goes deep into the hole, stabs the ball, pivots and throws while the runner races up the baseline and the first baseman reaches for the ball. I have seen first basemen who can practically do the splits. The umpire hovers nearby to make the call: an infield hit.

Now the runner dances off first. The right-handed pitcher looks over his shoulder; he turns quickly and tosses to first. Safe. The runner glides off the base again, only this time he takes off when the pitcher throws to the plate. The batter steps forward but doesn’t swing, the catcher gloves the ball and throws all in one motion, the second baseman darts to cover second, the runner slides headfirst into the bag. The fielder tags his hand, and the umpire raises a clenched right fist — it always seems to be his right fist. The runner is out. The third-base coach runs onto the field to protest — it’s almost required — but the call stands. The runner jogs back to the dugout, the infielders toss the pill around and the dance begins again.