November 6, 2008 Issue                                       

©2007 The Chestnut Hill Local

A few suggestions to make baseball much more exciting
by JIM HARRIS

This year’s World Series was certainly a strange one. Mother Nature managed to suck a lot of the fun and spontaneity out of it, but at least we in Philadelphia kept watching. And in the end we were rewarded with a championship. I was so happy I threw a newspaper box through a store window. And as if that weren’t enough, I was able to loot $275 from the store’s cash register. A good day all around.

Judging by the Nielsen ratings, however, the rest of America was not quite as euphoric. That’s a shame, too, because this Phillies team is a great bunch of guys, apparently unspoiled by the trappings of fame and fortune. And therein lies a big part of the ratings problem. If there are no massive egos, no prancing, posturing fops, then America does not tune in. If there’s no dissension or squabbling, it’s simply not good TV.

Let’s face it, football is now our national pastime — a game of conquest and domination. Baseball, by contrast, is a game of nuance and subtlety, and, sad to say, it is becoming an elitist sport. That is, a game both played and watched only by eggheads — people who know the meaning of words like “nuance” and “subtlety.”

I consider myself a baseball missionary, and after much serious prayer, meditation and medication, I have come up with what I believe to be changes to the game which could make baseball more appealing to the average American of today, especially our precious young people. Here are my ideas:

Bigger bats. Semi-naked cheerleaders. More Mohawks, dreadlocks and nose rings. Have outfielders ride on skateboards. Umpires should have podiums and gavels, and trash-talkin’ ways of calling people out, like, “Hit the road, loser; you suck!” A player scoring a run should always do a unique, quirky little dance at home plate, and in every game at least one movie star would be required to pinch-hit to add a little excitement.

We definitely need more crotch grabbing. How about having a retrospective “Crotch grab of the game” segment at the end of every broadcast, sponsored by some sort of medicated powder.

There should be more spitting of more substances, not just sunflower seeds and tobacco goo. If the players could spit fire, that might persuade some of the young “Harry Potter” types to start watching. Along those same lines, have the players carry swords. There’s nothing like a spirited sword-fight when some evil scoundrel attempts to steal a base. Capes would be nice, too. They would look great flapping in the wind. 

Get rid of relief pitchers. No more bringing in a pitcher just to scowl, fiddle with his gold chain, throw one pitch and then leave, forcing us to sit through 12 commercials while the next guy warms up. The starting pitcher should never be allowed to leave the game under any circumstances, not even death.

Expand fair territory to include the entire stadium, and allow spectators to participate when a ball comes into the stands. Imagine the thrill of seeing Joe the plumber catch a towering fly ball or Rosie the riveter throw out a runner at first base.

Have all televised games begin with a video montage about the proud shared history of America and baseball, and try not to have it narrated by a Canadian, like Kiefer Sutherland did in game two of the World Series this year.

Only real American cities should have major league teams. Franchises should never be awarded to nebulous locales like “bays,” “watersheds,” “metropolitan areas” or any place where French is spoken. There is no French in baseball. And finally, here’s a no-brainer: don’t run ads for football during baseball games.

Okay, I need to hibernate now, until football season is over. I think I’m suffering from post-baseball-partum depression, but before I set the alarm for Spring, I just want to say this: America might not give a hoot about Philadelphia — after all, all we did was give birth to her — but for at least the next 12 months, we’ve got the best damn team in the best damn sport in the world.

Ed. Note: Not only is Jim Harris an expert on baseball but also on other aspects of American History. For example, he was the first historian to uncover the fact that J. Edgar Hoover’s last act as FBI Director was to write the warning that appears at the beginning of every rental movie … And, sad to say, even Jim is being devastated by the current economic crisis. His financial situation is so bad that he can only afford to buy a Two Musketeers candy bar … And when Jim went to a Delaware Avenue strip joint last week, he put a dollar bill in the G-string of a stripper and then asked her for 75 cents change.