Once the undisputed national pastime, baseball has slipped in popularity and influence in the United States, overtaken first by football and then basketball.
The reason most commonly cited for baseball’s leveling off in popularity is the game’s tendency to drag. Hitters often dawdle in and out of the batter’s box, and too many pitchers work the mound with the alacrity of a Galapagos turtle.
In today’s faster-paced world, instant gratification is the thing. Not everyone can commit four hours to watch a game, as was explained to me by a sports-nut friend visiting from Northern Ireland a few years ago.
During his stay, he played a round of golf at one of our municipal courses. U.S. golf courses are generally better than over there, and much less expensive to play. He also took in a baseball game.
He knew coming in that baseball was similar to the game of cricket that he played as a kid, but understood that baseball was more entertaining.
One would hope so. For sheer, pulse-pounding action, cricket is about as exciting as washing the dishes. On some televised matches, spectators can be seen doing needlepoint. True story. They may look silly, having paid for the seat and all, but if it prevents their dying of boredom, it’s actually not too bad a move.
Upon returning from the baseball game, however, the visitor reported that baseball was only slightly more riveting than cricket, this due to the slow pace and lack of action between pitches and innings.
Even worse, he said, “They wouldn’t let you drink after the seventh inning.”
It may not be a coincidence that during baseball’s heyday as the national pastime, a typical game would be completed in a lollygag-free two hours or less.
The biggest culprit in the game’s slide toward slow motion is the wholesale pitching changes — and the mound-conference pondering thereof — that routinely occur in every game.
Once upon a time a pitcher would regard his being removed as a sign of failure, that he was unable to finish the job he was given at the start of the game. These days it is considered a “quality start” if he’s thrown six innings and allowed three runs or fewer.
This is the modern era, though, and through the emergence of applied algorithms and advanced statistics, we’ve learned that once a pitcher hits the 100-pitch mark, he may turn into a pumpkin. Pitch count, and not effectiveness, is the barometer for determining whether the ball has ended and it’s time to get in the carriage and go home.
The reason for the kid-glove handling of pitchers is the same reason that drives everything in professional sports today, which is the pure love of the game.
Wait, no — wrong century. The reason is money. Teams today fork out staggering sums of cash to elite players — sometimes to even just pretty good players, when the situation lines up right for them — and from a business standpoint it’s wise for the franchise to protect those into whom they have sunk the most dough.
So it’s not unusual to see a pitcher get yanked when he’s reached or passed the 100-pitch mark, even if he’s throwing a shutout.
How so many pitchers of the bygone era ever managed to throw all those complete games over 12 to 15 seasons is a mystery as baffling as the pyramids.
It’s also a little curious, given today’s pitch-count mania, why pitchers are allowed to throw so many warm-up tosses. Warm-ups are pitches, too, and they count toward wear-and-tear on the arm. Can’t be too careful.
Maybe one day that will be addressed. That, and the seventh-inning cutoff thing.
