Take me out to the ball game…

Somewhere in the heart of America, a group of boys is walking alongside a chain-link fence, kicking up a cloud of dust with worn-down cleats. Their hands and shoulders bare the weapons of battle: faded brown gloves, aluminum bats, and a baseball whose red seams spray outward like the wayward hairs on their heads. The boys act out the epic plays of the day, their jubilation undaunted by the crisp October air or the knowledge that this ritual will soon disappear for the long winter months. But that thought doesn’t cross their minds as the setting summer sun casts its last rays upon their backs before dusk comes; no, only this very moment matters.

When I was growing up, I played several sports as many children do, and the game I loved more than any other was baseball. When I say that, I mean it; I lived baseball from about age 6 to age 14. I watched the Reds on television, went to games at Riverfront Stadium, collected baseball cards, and the whole shebang. Even now, my baseball cards are in albums in my closet. If I close my eyes, I can see myself diving in the outfield to make a catch, exchanging a smirk with my friend while he walked to the batter’s box to face my pitching, or sliding into home plate safely for the only home run I ever hit. The scent of the summer air, the nervous excitement before a game, and the satisfying jolt that ran up through my arms when I hit the ball on the sweet spot of the bat are all fond memories of my youth, inexplicably delightful to those who never played the game.

My enchantment with baseball ended with two particular events, but only one of them is relevant here: the 1994 player’s strike which caused the World Series to be canceled. Among other things, baseball owners wanted a salary cap to try to even the disparity among the teams, and the players’ union refused to accept any sort of salary cap. You can read more about the affair here and here. After the ’94 strike, I awoke to the reality that professional baseball, in many ways, was simply not the same baseball I had played. Professional baseball was a business.

Major League Baseball has grown in popularity and revenue. For example, an article in Forbes noted that 2007 marked the fourth consecutive season that Major League Baseball broke its yearly attendance record. In 2007, team revenues grossed $5.5 billion. Players are making more and more money as well. According to an article on MLB.com, the average salary for a professional baseball player is now over $3 million, which is up from $512,804, the salary that CBS Sports reports that players made in 1989. Baseball stars make outrageous sums of money. Alex Rodriguez, an admitted steroid user, made $33 million in 2009, for example.

The unbelievable salaries, the steroids scandals, and the constant changing of uniforms and hats (merchandising) are all facets of professional baseball that stain an otherwise enjoyable experience. Yet, somewhere behind the marketing stunts, the monstrous egos, and the juiced megastars lies the game I used to play. Numerous films and books have tried to capture the spirit of baseball and the fondness it leaves in its fans. Sometimes, when I watch a game, the excitement of the moment captures even a jaded fan like me, and I forget what I dislike about the business of professional baseball; namely, that it is a business.