AQ REDUX: The boys of $ummer

<-- Me enjoying a Fenway Frank

Baseball is a huge part of my life. The following column was first published in the Aquinian in September 2007. I was supposed to write a pop culture column for the arts section but this is what my brain churned out. So instead of picking up where I left off, a sports wrench was thrown into the spokes of my arts column.

It had to be this way, it was in my head and it needed to be put on paper. So I did what anyone would do...I wrote it at work. My history of finding ways to kill time while working at a call center would fill a book -- a mostly uninteresting book, but a book nonetheless. That summer I had ordered MLB.TV, which allows you to watch every out of market baseball game live on the internet.

The call center scheduled me for a series of 5pm to 2am shifts. Around 10, all the authority figures left the asylum to the inmates. Probably because anyone of importance wouldn't agree to work such insane hours, but us mere peons grateful for their generosity of employment had no choice.

Being a nightowl as is, it wasn't a big deal to me especially since I had a corner cubicle where I could twist my monitor to face the wall. Facebook was blocked by the server but mlb.tv wasn't. So my late night shifts consisted of watching west coast teams like Oakland, LA, San Francisco, etc. Other than that I usually read at my desk once I realized I wasn't going to stay much longer. As long as the job was done -- and done right -- then what's the big deal?

Call centers and most menial jobs put the fear into the employees mostly because they'll hire anyone and anyone they hire is completely expendable. It's much more stressful an atmosphere than playing baseball for a living. Sure, the media scrutiny is insane but so is the payroll. So the amount you get paid should be somewhat relative to the interest the media pays to you, I guess. However, if the media didn't care about baseball, or sports in general, would the players make less? It's spiraled so far out of control now that my column probably seems a bit dated... judge for yourself.


The boys of $ummer
by Jason Wilson





















The crack of the bat; the pop of the mit; the smell of the grass blades kicked up in the air. The elements of baseball fill me with self-awareness and the uncanny realization it is summer.

Since I was young this game has represented a peace of mind that drifts to the outer reaches of consciousness for most of the year. Watching Joe Carter hit that fabled home run for the Toronto Blue Jays in the 1993 World Series -- TOUCH EM ALL JOE! -- remains one of the most pleasant memories of my childhood. Baseball represents more than a simple sport or a game. It represents joy, purity and innocence...or at least it used to.

"If you build it, he will come". Ray Kinsella heard these words whisper through the wind to his ear while walking through his corn field on his Iowa farm. An image of a baseball diamond appeared in the middle of the field. While Kinsella didn't know why, or who exactly was speaking, he needed to build it, he needed to follow the voice's advice.

When the field was built, the "ghost" of "Shoeless" Joe Jackson appeared in the field and was soon followed by others from baseball's yesteryear. Most notably along with Jackson were the other eight members from the 1919 Chicago Black Sox banned for life for cheating.

This is fantasy. Field of Dreams is not a testament of reality, but of what baseball has meant to North Americans for over a century. "Shoeless" Joe tells Kinsella when he first appears that he would have "played the game for food money" and even "for free" after hitting a few more balls for the first time since being banned for life. How many of today's (living) sports stars would do the same?

Somewhere along the line power and greed took hold of the sports world. Owners care more about winning than what the total is in their bank accounts. Most owners have come to the point where money is no object so they can afford the best players at whatever the cost. Free agency has put the ball in the players and agents courts to demand wages and the owners giddily pay whatever price is asked if they think a championship will soon follow.

More and more, players will hold out to demand better pay. It's painful to watch superstars like Alex Rodriguez play the game like it's a job. Yes he is getting paid the big bucks, but there is no joy in him on the field; he is all business. When Ken Griffey debuted with the Seattle Mariners in the late 80s, he was a kid and played with the verve of a boy his age. His smile represented everything baseball should. Since signing with Cincinnati (and a trade in 08 to the White Sox) before the 2000 season, his smile has faded as injuries have plagued him. The disappearance of joy is accompanied by the tainted purity of America's National pastime.

Steroids and big contracts have damaged the connection between the game and the die-hard fans. Sure, Barry Bonds has never tested positive for steroids, but his career is one of the most sscrutinized in the "steroid era" by those in the media and fans alike. Bonds breaking the home run record in 2007 should have been dramatic and celebrated. Instead it will forever be thought of hand in hand with speculation. Many label Bonds a cheater, having tainted a once-pure game -- I think Roger Clemens has done more to damage the game. Watching the allegations pile up, and the controversies mount, the innocence is gone.

There is no salary cap in baseball and there never will be. The player's association wouldn't allow it. They stand to make a killing, and why not? They retort that they travel so much and are away from their families over half the year and deserve those contracts. They have been consumed by their own celebrity and the fans and media are partially to blame along with the bottomless walleted owners. Would anyone in Major League Baseball play just to get by? The fun is lost. I love baseball, it means more to me than a sport should and yet it will potentially carry a cloud of corruption for all time.

Cue to four years ago. My dad and I sitting in the front row on the right field foul line in Fenway Park. A Fenway Frank in one hand and a beer in the other, sitting with my dad at Fenway experiencing my first Major League baseball game. A Canadian kid falling in love again with America's game seems almost blasphemous but to me it was joyful, pure and innocent. Hearing the crack of the bat, the pop of the mit and smelling the freshly cut grass brought back the magic of the game that to me at least represents the character of us.

Baseball, along with everything else now, is under a constant microscope calle the public eye. Sometimes we see beyond the looking glass into the harsh reality proving we are all human, even the baseball players we as children idolized. Even with this harsh reality it is comforting to know it can all disappear for an afternoon sitting in the stands chowing down on overpriced food and warm beer cherishing the game that has not changed much on the field in a hundred years.

On rare occasions, the magic is still there.