No Joy in Mudville

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No Joy in Mudville
by Robert Yoho, Associate Editor

July 12, 2002

"Eye on Conservatism"

Columnist Robert Yoho The other day, I was watching the movie "61*", produced by Billy Crystal. It was obvious that the film was made by somebody truly in love with the game.

The movie told the story of the dramatic 1961 baseball season. Two members of the New York Yankees, Roger Maris and the legendary Mickey Mantle were both chasing Babe Ruth's record of 60 homeruns in a single season. The pressures of that season were hard on both men, particularly on Roger Maris.

Mickey Mantle was the fair-haired boy of the Big Apple. He was the hometown favorite. In the minds of many New Yorkers, Maris was illegitimate. The beleaguered big leaguer was not worthy to unseat the Babe or to overshadow Mantle.

Commissioner Ford Frick did everything he could to undermine Maris’ attempt to break the record. Many of the baseball writers were openly hostile to Maris. His hair began to fall out. Despite these obstacles, Roger Maris had his one bright shining moment in the sun when he eclipsed the immortal Babe Ruth. And he did it without the aid of performance enhancing drugs. Moreover, it is still one of the greatest injustices of sport that Maris has not been selected to enter the Hall of Fame.

The point I am trying to make is this: In those days, baseball still mattered to people! It mattered to the fans; it mattered to the sportswriters; it mattered to the commissioner. It was still a game, played by men who loved it.

As a child, I positively loved baseball. That was in the days before free agency. That was the time before strikes and steroids. Those were the days before Bud Selig and ties in the All Star Game.

Many were the nights I climbed into bed, my radio on the nightstand. The dials of the radio would glow late into the night and, sometimes early into the next morning as I listened to the games on the West Coast. The Cincinnati Reds and the Los Angeles were in the same division. Every one of their confrontations meant something then. They were all exciting and ultimately crucial to the league's final standings. I loved the Cincinnati Reds and the game of baseball. The game also loved its fans back then.

However then, the hometown boy - Pete Rose, began his incessant whining and left the Reds for more money. Not long after, the strikes came and the work stoppages began. The standings were thrown in turmoil. One year, the team with baseball's best record, the Cincinnati Reds, did not even make the playoffs. It was then that my love for the game began to wane and my loyalty was severely tested.

When they returned from the strike, attendance was down. Revenues were down. And there was no joy in Mudville. The game was quickly being overshadowed by basketball and football. The slower paced sport no longer enjoyed the popularity it once knew.

The homerun made Babe Ruth legendary and it revived a legendary game. Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, and Sammy Sosa all unseated Roger Maris in the record books for home runs in a single season. The game was brought back from the dead largely on the strength of a "juiced up" baseball or the strength of better hitting through chemistry.

But with Bud Selig at the helm, baseball is once again doing its best to self-destruct. In a year when spoiled players are screaming for yet another strike, the All Star Game was allowed to end in a tie. It reminded me of my children’s early tee ball games. Nobody kept score and everybody was allowed to play. After all, this is what they do with little kids. They don’t keep score, so that nobody’s precious self-esteem will be irreparably damaged.

Now that "The Boys of Summer" have been transformed into a collection of pampered, overpaid sissy boys, perhaps we should get them some short pants, their sister’s knee socks, and a soccer ball.

I certainly don't begrudge the players their high salaries. By the same token, I do not think they should be complaining to us about them either. Their pay and working conditions would be the envy of many of us. They are men routinely earning a living playing the games of their childhood. Are we supposed to feel sorry for them? Another strike would guarantee that "America's Pastime" would soon be a game whose time has passed.

Mighty Baseball has struck out. ***

Photo of Robert Yoho courtesy of staff files