Baseball and men.
A woman friend who (I think) is watching the World Series this year because the men around her are so interested, writes to say her seven-year-old son seems, to her, to have a very special liking for the sport, and she posits that it's male hormones at work, and this set me thinking. Is it? Maybe, but probably not in the way she thinks.
Baseball may be the male equivalent of a sewing circle, but like Yiddish concepts converted to English, something may be lost in the translation. More accurately, baseball may be the equivalent of the great tales told at a campfire by hunter-gatherer man. Our team is our village. The stories of Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Lou Gehrig, Joe Dimaggio, Jackie Robinson, Roger Maris, Hank Aaron, Nolan Ryan, Tommy Agee, Mookie Wilson, Cal Ripkin, are stories of great warriors, who, even if they lost on the field of battle, did so with great honor and courage. There's also Pete Rose, the fallen hero. And Baker and Soscia, the chiefs, the elder statesman who led today's courageous warriors into battle, with dignity, strength and honor; and take their place among the great chiefs of all time.
Baseball is about nothing if not history. That's why the business of baseball is so disconcerting, it spoils the illusion that it's some greater cause we support. When one stops and thinks, really, there is nothing going on, but why does it feel so good?
It may be male hormones that makes us such suckers for the schmaltz, or it might be the male heart, who loves the greatness of his gender and finds today so few ways to express it. Some argue that there are no real differences between the genders, but it's impossible to argue that baseball isn't a male thing; and while women may enjoy watching, they can never really get it. It's ours alone. Nothing wrong with that.
[Scripting News]
