“Although golf was originally restricted to wealthy, overweight Protestants, today it's open to anyone who owns hideous clothing.”
- Dave Barry
Here's something that's long irritated me: Can anyone explain why absolute silence and zero spectator movement are required in golf and tennis? Why are those two sports so different and precious? Is hitting a golf ball, that's sitting still, mind you, more difficult than trying to hit a 103 MPH fastball with 40,000 fans roaring at you? Is volleying a tennis ball more challenging than shooting a free throw with the stands packed full of hostile fans behind the backboard, screaming and waving objects? Is total stillness and library silence demanded of 60,000 spectators when a placekicker's attempting a 50-yard field goal?
We all know the answers. No one I've ever asked about this has ever offered anything other than that it's just the culture that golf and tennis came from. You know, aristocrats with decorum and etiquette hangups. That's fine, conduct your sport however you like, just don't tell me they have some special skill that requires immaculate silence from stock-still fans.
Memphis had a men's pro tennis tournament every February for many years called The Memphis Open. Elite players competed in it often: Jimmy Connors, Andre Agassi, Stefan Edberg, Pete Sampras, Andy Roddick and others. Not long after I moved there a gentleman I knew from work asked if I'd like to attend the tourney. He was an avid fan and went every year. I didn't know or care anything about tennis, but it was a nice gesture so I said, sure. He gave me his extra ticket and said he'd see me there. I go to the place and walk into the arena where a tennis match is going on down below. I see the man across the way in his seat and he sees me. He raises his hand slightly to let me know he's there. I begin to walk his direction. If there's such a thing as waving frantically in a subdued way, that's what he was attempting, and he was wide-eyed in alarm. Also, the people seated close by where I was made huffy sounds of displeasure. “What?” I mouthed. Apparently, a volley was ongoing and I was about to commit one of tennis' most heinous infractions. When I was allowed to go to my seat, my friend explained my near faux pas; no movement when a ball's in play. I took it with what I hope was some grace, but inside me was a smoldering redneck's indigence. I felt like a rube who'd been called down for licking a butter knife at the country club brunch. “What are you talkin' about?" I thought, “How ridiculous!” Obviously, I've been carrying my annoyance around with me for 40 years now.
I'll let it go for the moment and talk about my favorite sport, the blue collar kind, baseball. The All Star Break is upon us. The season is a little over half finished. The All Star Game carry's none of the importance and passion among players and fans that it once did. Safe to say you won't see any 12th inning Pete Rose/Ray Fosse type home plate collisions to decide this year's game. There are lots of reasons for the decline in significance. As many as possible, I blame on the current baseball commissioner.
*** Oh, a late addition and exhibit: Did you witness MLB's Home Run Derby last night? 24-year old St. Louis Cardinal, Jordan Walker, with a diamond thief's calm, strolled into Philadelphia's Citizen Bank Park and snatched the trophy from Philly's home town guy, Kyle Schwarber. It was the ultimate do or die clutch performance. Despite 40,000 rude and hostile Philadelphia fans (do other types exist there?) raining down boos and invectives on him, Walker blasted his way to the title with a nonchalant “Ain't no thang” composure. The only silence that occurred in the stadium was after Walker hit his winning dinger. Then you could have played a tennis match.
By far, baseball has the most songs written about it. It has a 150-year history full of colorful characters, and its slower pace and nostalgia lends itself to rich lore and storytelling.
Todd Snider tells one of baseball's most fantastical mind-bending stories. Pitcher Doc Ellis of the Pittsburg Pirates threw a no-hitter while trippin' on LSD. Show me another sport that can top that tale.
Jim “Catfish” Hunter was a Hall of Fame pitcher for the Oakland A's and New York Yankees. His nickname is generally attribute to the A's eccentric owner, Charles Finely, who devised it as a marketing ploy. Hunter died of ALS in 1999 at the age of 53.
Moe Berg played 15 major league seasons. He was a Jewish American who was also a spy for the OSS and the CIA during and after WWII. He was known as “the brainiest guy in baseball” and manager Casey Stengel once described him as “the strangest man ever to play baseball.”