Dying pastime of baseball

Baseball as a pastime is dying; however, the business of baseball is, of course, thriving. When I was a kid growing up in Louisville, there were many and afternoon that several of us would gather the field of Jacob Elementary School. Situated between two giant sycamore trees, which served as a makeshift dugout, home plate faced the back of the school. A monumental blast would hit the school; however, we did not consider this a home run. On rare occasions, when somebody pulled the ball slightly to the left, one could hit a window on the second or third floor and still be a fair ball.  That would be considered a home run. The problem would be that we would lose a valuable ball with which to play the game. In the aftermath of such an event there would always be recriminations; usually, a warning filtered through the neighborhood that the school longer wanted us to play baseball in the schoolyard. Yet, within a week or two, we always wandered back and the games continued. It was on this field, more than any other, that what skills I did have as a baseball player, were developed (this and the backyard games of catch with my father). Sure I played little league baseball; however, the once a week practice and once a week game only provided instruction. It took these pick-up games to further my skills.

It is my observation the kids today don't often play pickup games of baseball. All games (and practices) are organized events. Spontaneous pick-up games are a thing of the past. The places were kids could have a game, consequently, are beginning to disappear as well. I have watched over the past few years as Schan Field in Shippensburg has been gradually dismantled. Slowly, but surely, different components of the field have disappeared: the scoreboard and the benches have vanished; the base paths have grown weeds. I had a warm spot in my heart for this field because, although it was mediocre ball diamond, it reminded me of one of the places I played little league baseball as a kid. That field was on Wathen Lane, which is what we called the ball field. Like the field in Louisville, Schan field has brick warehouses as its backdrop; however, Wathen did not have an outfield fence. In Shippensburg, the warehouses appear to be underutilized, in Louisville they are filled with aging whiskey, which produced a strong, sweet aroma on hot summer evenings. The infield was more cinder than grass. Playing third base one game, a hard routine grounder was hit directly at me. The ball took an odd hop on the uneven field and caught me right in the throat. It is the most memorable injury that I received on the baseball field as I recall. (Unless you count the time I broke my thumb catching a softball barehanded at an end-of-the-year picnic in seventh grade.)

Don’t get me wrong, baseball is still a thriving enterprise – it makes more money today, than at any point in its history. Yet, the game seems to be more about money than as a hobby or pastime. Of course, I do not begrudge people from making money, but if something is a national treasure, an indicator of what it means to be American, then baseball has to be more. It must be protected from the impulses that rob it of its soul. 

The Ghost of the Cubs

Marker noting the location of West Side
Grounds (1893-1915)

Early October 2016 found me in the Chicago area. With my commitments finished at a conference, I put on my 1914 Cubs logo t-shirt and went in search of the location of West Side Grounds, the last (and, thus far, only) stadium to host a World Series championship for the Cubs. In the process I toured the city from the perspective of a Cubs fan and relived many of my own nostalgic memories.

Only a small sign indicates where a stadium once stood over a century ago. I sat down for a few minutes in the beautiful courtyard of the UIC medical campus. It was a peaceful place; there were very few people around that late-morning Saturday. It was a perfect blue sky, untouched by clouds, and there was a cool breeze with the temperature in the upper fifties. I imagined a time, almost 108 years to the day, when the Cubs last won the World Series. The 1908 Series between the Cubs and the Detroit Tigers featured five future hall of famers. With an absence of motion pictures, and a Cubs team that is favored to make it deep into the 2016 playoffs, it is tempting to think about what that championship would have looked like. I spent some time trying to recreate in my mind and imagining those October days at West Side Grounds. While sitting there, I jotted a few notes and had a quiet reflection. Three people walked by during the twenty minutes or so that I was there. Each moved from one building to another, and smiled an acknowledgment. Did they know the real reason for my visit, or were they simply engaging in what they thought was a professional courtesy?

Where center field once was...

The Cubs won the series four games to one, splitting the two games played at West Side Grounds on October 11 and 12. During the October 11 game (game 2 of the series), the Cubs broke a scoreless tie on the bottom of the eighth when Joe Tinker hit a two-run homer. The Cubs would go one to score four more runs in the inning and won the game in an hour and a half. The next day, Detroit beat the Cubs by a score 8-3. During the game, future Detroit hall of famer, Ty Cobb hit three singles and a double. He had two stolen bases, and was thrown out trying to steal home in the ninth inning.

I sat on a bench, which I estimated to be somewhere in left-center field based on where the sign indicating the centerfield entrance was located. If my guess was correct, it would have been near where Jimmy Sheckard would have played. Across the field, at first base, player/manager and future Hall of Famer, Frank Chance would play for several seasons. He would go on to coach and play for the Chicago Whales of the Federal League, the first occupants of Weeghman Field, later known as Wrigley Field. But Chance is more famous for anchoring the double play combination with Evers and Tinker. The combination of Tinkers, Ever and Chance was the bedevilment of early twentieth century National League teams. Famously, in 1910 as the Cubs approached yet another World Series appearance, New York columnist Franklin Pierce Adams penned the poem, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon.” The poem would be published in the New York Evening Mail, 12 July 1910.

“Three Finger” Mordecai Brown did not appear at West Side Grounds during the 1908 World Series. Brown, who had been injured in a farm accident as an adolescent, was the star pitcher of the team. He would go on to play for the Chicago Whales, with Frank Chance during the 1915 season at Weeghman Field.  

We often forget how much baseball has shaped our language. “Hitting a home run,” or to do really well, is not an idiom known outside of North America. It is also used as a euphemism for sexual intercourse as well. The idiom, “out in left field,” a term which means “crazy” or completely unexpected and one that was often used by my father, originated at West Side Grounds. By today’s standards, the West Side was oddly shaped with an exaggerated outfield wall. Beyond the left field wall, a home for the mentally ill patients once stood. One account noted that the patients would often yell at the fans causing much consternation.

Ron Santo outside Wrigley

I am increasingly ambivalent about my feelings toward major league baseball. Much of the joy of the game has given way to marketing and hype. The changes in the Cubs, the organization and even beloved Wrigley have contributed to my ambivalence. Some of these changes are and were unavoidable. The death of Ron Santo, famous third baseman and later beloved radio announcer, was difficult. His life-long battle with diabetes was an inspiration to many and hits close to my family. It is difficult to replace him for loyal listeners like myself. His enthusiasm, optimism and exasperation are sorely missed. As the Cubs continue to do well, I think how he would have been in the booth and on the field with the guys. There is my own sense of nostalgia as well. When I see a game these days I note that Kris Bryant is wearing Mark Grace’s number; Jon Lester is wearing Kerry Wood’s. As the Cubs creep inevitably closer to ending the long drought of World Series Championships, after all “anyone can have a bad century,” I remember many of the players I wish had had an opportunity to play for the team in the World Series.

Harry outside the bleacher entrance at
Sheffield and Waveland

I think back to the death of Harry Caray and his closing words on his final broadcast on WGN: “Next year maybe will be the year we all have been waiting for forever.” Caray was a primary reason for becoming a Cubs fan. I would often tune into Cubs broadcast in the afternoon after coming home from school, just to hear what he had to say. Harry was famous for leading the Wrigley Field faithful in his rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballpark,” seemingly inevitably, followed up with him shouting: “Let’s get some runs!” Even today, every once in a while, I find a clip of Harry singing just to give myself a lift. One of the most memorable renditions did not occur at Wrigley, but across town when Harry was announcing for the White Sox in 1979. He tried to calm a rowdy crowd who had stormed the field in the aftermath of the Disco Demolition Night promotion. In vain, Harry sang while the crowd started fires and began to tear the stadium apart. Watching replays of the event, Harry’s effort never fails to make me laugh, albeit with a little embarrassment for him.

After all these years, it is still a thrill to see Wrigley from the Addison L station, even as the area becomes increasingly gentrified. One of the great things about Wrigley was that it was in the midst of a neighborhood. I remember watching Cubs games in high school and college wishing I could stand out on Waveland Avenue to shag home run balls as they left the park. Yes, I too would have thrown balls from opposing players back. Many of the buildings on Addison, across the street from the stadium, have been demolished to make way for luxury apartments. The changes seem too much. I wanted the Cubs to win the World Series based on the city that prided itself on hard work. Increasingly baseball seems more willing to sell anything to make a buck. History and identity is lost. Yet, my love of the game’s history and the social impact of the game remains. While there is a temptation to look away, I just can’t.

Two weeks to the day after my visit to West Side Grounds (and Wrigley), the Cubs met the Los Angeles Dodgers in the decisive game 6 of the National League Championship Series. The game was never in doubt, but watching there was a worry that the Cubs could implode at any minute. They did not. As the game moved to the ninth inning, it became increasingly clear that North Siders would appear in the first World Series in seventy-one years.

As the game ended, I received texts and phone calls from friends. I pictured myself with a rueful smile on my face as I watched the celebration, thankful that no one was pointlessly talking over the traditional playing of Steve Goodwin’s, “Go, Cubs, Go.” I held my composure, thinking about Goodwin who died in 1984, sitting alone surveying the stadium and its fans. Then, Joe Buck noted that there were probably a lot of Cubs fans who were thinking about their parents, grandparents, and loved ones who were no longer here to witness this. I broke down and cried.

For me there is a great irony to this season: 2016 was the first summer in thirty years that I did not attend a major league game. As I was contemplating this, what little superstition I do have surfaced: If that was all it took for the Cubs to make it to the World Series…