“You’re not going to believe this, Houston, but up close here at Tranquility, the moon appears to have, and I’m really not kidding, red-stitched seams on it. It looks … well, it looks exactly like a … baseball… a big, beautiful celestial baseball…”

 

By TW McDermott

“You’re not going to believe this, Houston, but up close here at Tranquility, the moon appears to have, and I’m really not kidding, red-stitched seams on it. It looks … well, it looks exactly like a … baseball… a big, beautiful celestial baseball…”
— Neil Armstrong, “The Secret Tapes”, July 20, 1969

Okay, so I made up that quote. But man’s first moonwalk served as the only possible explanation for an otherwise inexplicable event that occurred later that same year: the New York Mets, victory in the World Series.

Who could blame them? There was simply no rational explanation for baseball’s sorriest franchise winning a Series in only its eighth year of existence, previously notable for far-less-than-stellar accomplishments. The Mets left the Cubs, who had blown the division lead behind in a swoon; the Braves, whom they whipped 3-0 in the playoff; and the Orioles, whom they defeated in that Series, calling the whole thing totally loony.
And then, there is always divine intervention, which does happen with some frequency in baseball, particularly, one way or the other, with the Boston Red Sox. Think 2004, Buckner’s legs, or this year.

 

On September 28, the Yankees, leading Tampa Bay 7-6, had two outs and two strikes on a .108 pinch-hitter, Dan Johnson. In Baltimore, at about the same time, ace reliever Jonathan Papelbon and the Red Sox led the Orioles 3-2 with two out and two strikes in the bottom of the ninth. Back in Tampa (actually St. Pete), Johnson hit a curve ball that hung above the plate like a moon-size shiny, bright ornament for an “improbable” homer. The Orioles got two straight doubles and a single and won; Rays in playoffs, Sox into history books.

 

And consider the same exact date in 1941. On the last day of the season, Ted Williams heroically chose to hit in a double-header and went six for eight to finish with a .406 batting average, the last time any player batted .400 or better. Did he win the MVP Award that decisive year in history? He did not. Joe DiMaggio of the Yankees hit in 56 straight games that same year. Was it a coincidence that a few months before Pearl Harbor, baseball provided fans with the sustenance of two miracles? Unlikely.

 

A baseball, of course, is not really a heavenly sphere. On the other hand, perhaps only a supreme being could have created the game itself. Note that we refer to baseball almost exclusively as a game, unlike, football, which we generally refer to as a sport (except in the case of “The Game”, the Rye/Harrison match-up, which takes place October 15 at Harrison).

 

Clearly, baseball’s creator wanted us to play games and enjoy ourselves in a leisurely fashion, rather than try to crash into each other with the intent of doing grievous harm to another person’s body parts, or jump up and down as if some kind of nasty ants were biting us after something as simple as a tackle.

 

October is upon us, bringing with it the mighty confluence of two currents running through the American culture: baseball and football. And yes, we might go so far as to say that one is born into this world seeing through baseball eyes or football eyes.

 

Are the two so very different? Glad you asked.? ? ?“… All boys and many girls are born into this world with either baseball eyes or football eyes…. And there is little that parents can do about it.”

 

 — Dr. Benjamin Spock, from the non-existent “Unexpurgated

 

BabyAnd Child Care”Football appeals to our inner corporate side and might even have been created by a corporate strategy team. There are four quarters, a CEO-like quarterback, a 100-yard field, a 10-yard first down, meeting after meeting called “huddles”, and playbooks in binders.

 

And, there’s that college draft thing, where football team HR departments hire players; and, thereafter, their college is mentioned just about every time they introduce themselves, touch the ball, make a tackle, or just plain run out of bounds. Why should we care which college these guys didn’t graduate from after failing “Intro to Parks & Rec” four times?

 

Baseball drives upright corporate-types nuts, which is why MLB’s own suits try and fail to straighten it out all the time. Why nine innings, when eight or ten would have been so much more sensible? Bases are 90-feet apart, not 100. The pitcher’s mound stands 60 feet, 6 inches from home plate; that final 6 inches is perhaps the most important piece of real estate on the field, since it is the most critical part of every pitch’s path to home plate. How did we know to do that?

 

And, what about the fact that after the proper infield has been laid out and the correct foul line angles set, every ballpark’s outfield can be different? Think of the magnificent Wrigley, the Fenway Monster, or the Mets’ new loony-bin, Citi Field, a homer-less child if there ever was one.

 

Time is notably less significant in baseball than in football. Football’s clock is an integral part of just about every play, is constantly mentioned by announcers, and, indeed, can even decide what plays to run. Baseball has no clock, needs no clock, and answers to no clock. A game meanders, players wait in the field, on deck, in the dugout, and bullpen. Baseball is a game of waiting and patience, while football is frenetic; hence the work for a run.

 

Can football’s most exciting plays, a long run or a pass for a touchdown, rival the home run? Like many corporations, far too often football teams stall when nearing the goal (unlike a big business, teams can’t lie about this) and have to settle for a field goal. In baseball, as in life, we call that “Getting to Third Base,” which is not the real thing itself at all. There is no substitute for a home run, no such thing as settling for half a homer.

 

We are entering a season in which pairs of local football teams around the country will face each other in rivalries that have recurred for decades, even a century, as in the case of my own high school and its bumbling rival, Fordham Prep. Some fans’ whole year will be made or broken by the outcome of these games. Many valiant or silly things might happen during the game on the field or in the stands. This is fine stuff as far as it goes.
But, if you were brought into this world with baseball eyes, these will be incidental events, emotional and heightened to be sure, but, in the end, merely human, with very few exceptions for miracle finishes, immaculate receptions.

 

October baseball and its new cousin, an MLB corporate invention if there ever was one, November baseball, is much more likely to show you something that might never have happened before and which will have no rational purpose for happening when it does, causing you to look to the heavens in search of understanding.The author wishes to point out that the Mets traded Tommy Davis to the White Sox in 1967, bringing Al Weiss and another Tommy, Agee, to the Mets, both of whom played important roles in that 1969 victory. Agee made one of the Series’ most famous catches of all time. Without Tommy Davis, no Agee: no Agee, maybe no miracle.