The World Series of spectator sports

My sincere apologies to my baseball-fan friends who are certain that what I'm about to write is sacrilegious.

I find baseball boring.

The pitcher throws 100 pitches over a two or three hour stretch, and the batters hit six. Yes sir, that's excitement. My heart can't take it.

A former co-worker, Pat Abdalla, knows more about baseball than most men know about their wives. He's amazing, but even Pat's vast library of knowledge didn't help.
I enjoy photographing baseball, not watching it.


Baseball is America's game. For that reason, if no other, I've tried to like watching baseball. Really. First, I can't sit in one place for that long-- a good reason for getting up to find another hot dog. And, I fall asleep. In hockey, players at least skate up and down the ice a few times before they sit down. That's Canada's game, and I don't feel un-American for not watching hockey.  I've sat through dozens of gawd-awful 1-0 soccer games too, but at least there is some action somewhere on the field. And that's Europe's game.

Trying to understand baseball fans' love of the game, I've read a few baseball books. "Three Nights in August", is a book about St. Louis Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa taking his team through the 2003 season. Once finished, I was convinced I could manage a major league baseball team. Or so could my four-year old neighbor kid, a hunk of granite or my cat-- if it could speak in f-bombs.


Then I read Bob Gibson and Reggie Jackson's "Sixty Feet, Six Inches". That didn't help either. Apparently, baseball is played by big, physical tough athletes who can't play football.


In the interest of true disclosure, I admit I thoroughly enjoyed some baseball films. "A League of Their Own", "Bull Durham", and "Field of Dreams" are among my favorites. I'll see Moneyball soon. Maybe baseball is shown best not on a baseball field, but in one's imagination on a big screen.

I remember my grandfather sitting in front of the television watching Cleveland Indians game, and listening to it on the radio (he didn't like Cleveland's TV announcer). He logged a lot of games with names like Rocky Colavito, Sudden Sam McDowell, Bob Lemon and Early Wynn.  He enjoyed the complete relaxation of it all. I wonder if he ever fell asleep.

Anyway, I visited York Revolution Darrell Henry's home Thursday night to listen to him think out loud. Explain the intricacies of the game, the strategy, the hidden Mensa logic behind it all. I listened, videoed his thoughts and the game. His wife Kristyn and six-week old daughter Peyton fell asleep watching the game. I understood.

I really want to love baseball, just like I love Mom and apple pie. But it's not happening.