I'm not sure what the rules are on "pay" material, so moderators, if this isn't kosher, feel free to delete or modify. Also, all but the last two paragraphs of this portion that I'm quoting are available to non-subscribers. Finally, I strongly encourage any baseball fan to suscribe. It's the best internet money a sports fan can spend (in addition to footballguys, of course).
Anyway, this is the first 1/3rd of Joe Sheehan's column from Baseball Prospectus today. I thought baseball fans, and Phillies fans in particular, might like it:
Prospectus Today
The Champions
by Joe Sheehan
Baseball is just fine. Rain, cold weather, long games, late games, poor TV ratings, worse umpiring... none of it matters. Nothing that makes this many people this happy is ever going to go away.
Watching your favorite team win a championship isn’t the highlight of anyone’s life. We love, we marry, we parent, we achieve, we have all of these experiences with family and friends. These are the things that make up a life.
Your team, though... you share that with everyone. You don’t go through that alone, with your spouse or your kids, with your friends or your business partners. You live that passion in public, in a stadium, with thousands, tens of thousands of others, and your heart goes out on your sleeve and stays there, no matter how badly it gets bruised. Everyone around you, walking around for years—28 of them, say—all of you with a shared history of joy and pain, of almost and not-quite-almost, memories of the great third baseman or the scrappy center fielder, but also of a left-handed reliever gone awry, and the other guys jumping up and down, spiking your ill-placed heart, pain you’d try to forget if only those damned highlights people would let you.
And in a moment, you’re healed. In the time it takes for a reliever—a perfect reliever—to drop to his knees and raise his arms to the sky, it all goes away. There’s no disappointment, there’s no pain, there’s no frustration, there’s just you and 46,000 like you, screaming into the night sky with that reliever, a building full of happy, surrounded by a city of joy, all looking at one thing: baseball.
That moment is why baseball is just fine. Baseball makes people happy, so happy that they hug strangers, cry in public, scream at the top of their lungs, or just sit, slumped, shaking, relieved, disbelieving.
Just after the game, maybe three minutes, I was walking through the stadium down to the field, probably half as fast as I needed to be moving. I couldn’t rush through all that happy, couldn’t walk through the crowd and not read every face, soak in the expressions as the ruddy-cheeked, apple-nosed Philadelphians shouted gleefully to no one in particular, demanding high-fives, high-tens, a high-twenty if you stalled in front of the right person.
There was this girl—23, 24, maybe?—brunette, curly-haired, 5'5", and based on her outfit, a ballpark employee. She had the standard T-shirt and Dickies outfit we’ve been seeing here all week. She was walking slightly off from the crowd, dialing a flip phone, crying openly, not the clenched-jaw tears of someone hiding something, but just weeping, sobbing. God knows who she was calling... a boyfriend, a mother, a coach, a sister... but the raw emotion she was showing was compelling. She was maybe nine or 10 when Joe Carter sliced a knife through a city, scarring it for 15 years, and she cried that night, too, cried herself to sleep the way little girls do—big, choking sobs that shook her body until she had nothing left.
Not last night. Last night the tears were happy, defiant almost, shaking a wet fist back in time to that night in 1993, the one that broke her heart, but maybe formed it as well, with little seams, and a darker red hue, and a small curlicue "P" forever branded in one corner.
Yes, baseball is just fine, and maybe we’re all a little bit too close to it, we know too much, see the trees and miss the forest. Maybe that’s not even all that bad, because some people need to know how the trees grow and what kinds there are and how best to keep them tall and florid, but not everyone does. Some people can just breathe the oxygen and sit in the shade and appreciate the beauty. On a night like tonight, when that beauty fills a space so fully that you can’t imagine a world without it, you envy those people a little, the ones who express their love in a crowd, hearts on their sleeve, tears on their cheeks, and filled with all the passion this game inspires.
Baseball is just fine.