Baseball and the Art of Detachment

Just now, I’m sitting in a Starbucks in Clearwater, FL., close enough to Tampa Bay you can hear the fish splashing if you listen well enough. The hometown Tampa Bay Rays are trying to stave off elimination at the hands of the Texas Rangers in the third game of their Division Series. And I’ll tell you something: I couldn’t care less if the Rays win or not.

Let me repeat that for you, if I may. I couldn’t care less if the Rays win or not.

That is not to say that I wouldn’t be pleased if the Rays won; I would. But if they lose, I won’t be calling for the manager’s head on a spit, I won’t demand the team disband and move to Oklahoma City, I will not smash the car windows of absolute strangers and I will be empathetic to their plight. And here’s something else: if the New York Yankees and the Philadelphia Phillies, the two teams I’ve followed my whole life, fall in the postseason, I would feel the exact same way. I’m happy for them all the same.

You see, I love baseball with all my heart. I tell people this is my wheelhouse time of the year, and the postseason in baseball is one of the many reasons. I listen to or watch most of the Yankees games, some of the Phillies games, some of the Rays games, and they lift my worries and cares as few things do. The one thing I am not is rabid. I do not live or die by the double play, the strikeout, the three-run homer or the umpire’s sketchy eyesight. Baseball is as human as the people who play it, and that is why I love it.

That is also why it makes me sad that people around this time of year seem to do nothing but complain about the double play, the strikeout, the three-run homer and especially the umpire’s sketchy eyesight. I read too many columns by (mostly) men whose job it is to stir up phony controversy so people can hold endless and unwinnable debates, over the airwaves and otherwise. I go on TBS’S Facebook page for its baseball coverage only to find an almost endless litany of complaints and grievances from people who seem to have nothing better to do. They complain about everything from the graphics to the commentators to the Phillies fan whistling where the field mike can pick it up. These are the kind of people who would go to a French restaurant and complain that the Chicken Cordon Bleu wasn’t served within ten minutes.

And to them, and to anyone else who complains about baseball (or any sport for that matter), let me say one word to you:

Detach.

Detach yourself from the result of the game. Cheer your team when they do well; don’t cry in your beer when they don’t. Stop needling the umpires and the officials; they should be relaxed to do their jobs well and you should be relaxed when you see them doing it. Forget the whining about how bad the commentators are, because trust me on this, the Kalases and Harwells and the Scullys of this world are irreplaceable. You don’t like them; put your favorite CD on, but leave me out of it. You should be treasuring every moment. Revel in the success. Don’t dwell on the slights or failures. Take a deep breath and enjoy it.

The people who don’t enjoy these games are the ones starting riots when the home team loses. They’re the ones setting cars on fire, looting groceries and beating strangers. And they’re also the ones demanding instant replay in baseball. Can you imagine every ball and every strike being endlessly debated? Can you imagine people pulling their hair out over a bang-bang play at first base in an all-but-meaningless game in June, whether a perfect game was on the line or not? Can you imagine lawyers, arbitrators and magistrates deciding the outcome of baseball games? Football, yes; it seems we’re well on our way. But the day that happens in baseball is the day I leave it for good.

So I say again: Detach. Remember that old chestnut from Grantland Rice: “It mattered not who won or lost, but how the game was played.” October would be such a happier month if everyone had that in mind. So open your mind, unclutter your heart, and enjoy it. That’s why you paid for the ticket, after all.