This week in baseball seemed anything but. A hometown hero changed cities in a move that seemed more fitting of Lex Luther than Superman, and the NL MVP's positive test for a banned substance was like finding out the Hulk had calf implants.
If the World Series - and, really, the entire final two months of baseball - hadn't ended in such spectacular fashion, I'd feel a bit more taken aback by this. The fact is, this past week was the embodiment of why fans should be careful to tiptoe the line between fanship and worship, between fantasy and reality, between being human and what it means to be human.
I think it's akin to a gladiator effect, like looking down at a pair of gladiators from the upper bowl of the Coliseum. The perspective is shifted towards what we want them to be, to do, to say, to think, to feel. All perspective looking up from the ring is lost because no one is down there with them. Likewise, we have a tendency to strip athletes of who they are and try to turn them into who we want them to be.
I'm guilty of it. I know this because it's a by-product of what sports are supposed to be - a departure from our own reality to a world where the biggest concern is defeating another team with a bat and ball. We romanticize it and tie a bow on it. Baseball lets us escape to a different perspective where we no longer have to stand in the gladiator ring but can instead sit up top and watch.
To see an athlete we've revered seemingly depart from the virtues we've bestowed upon him is just another sad reality that the escape doesn't apply past the playing field. For God's sake, we called Albert a "Machine". Baseball, despite its beauty and wonder and fantasy, is still played by humans. I think people are upset (although most seem to be coming to terms now) because they saw a player act on his own human emotions rather than ours.
It's tough, I know, but it's the truth. Albert is not who we want him to be. Ryan Braun is not who we want him to be. That doesn't make them any less of a person or the game of baseball any less of a sport. If anything, it magnifies the fact that it is the game of baseball that we should revere in such high a fashion, not the players. To place expectations on a person that most of us don't even know is unjust and, quite simply, a waste of time.
So, Albert isn't who we thought he was. That's not his fault. The takeaway is that no athlete is who we think they ought to be. That's ok. They're human. We're human. We each have different wants, desires, thoughts, and feelings that pertain to our own circumstances. Keep that in mind the next time an athlete makes comments to the media. If you're prone to judge, you can make your judgment accordingly. In the end, no matter who signs next week or who tests positive next month, the game of baseball will live on and be there to let us escape for a while. No more, no less.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Albert's Time to Say Goodbye
First, a moment of silence.
The deed is done. Albert Pujols, our "El Hombre", is leaving for the west coast. I don't necessarily want to discuss the specifics of the transaction just yet. I believe the Cardinals will move on for the better, given the magnitude of Albert's price tag and the flexibility his departure gives us now. However, I do have a few thoughts on the departure in general.
A lot has been made that this was a "business" decision, a choice Albert made that netted him an extra $40 or so million over 10 years. I don't deny that he took the better monetary deal. I've heard, however, that Cardinals fans are being "irrational" by being upset over Albert's decision to leave. The apologists argue that when given a potential 25% pay increase over the next best option, anyone would leave their current situation, whether it's for thousands or millions. The problem is that sports athletes like Albert are operating under a different reality. What applies to us doesn't apply to them. We have a right to be upset. Let me explain.
Many of us have normal jobs. We go to work everyday and have modest incomes. There is a certain cost of living that we all must support: the ability to pay for food, our home, our car, health insurance, water and electric, etc. For us, the value of a dollar, especially in this economy, is high. It brings a certain utility to us with each incremental gain, utility that we need to support the basic necessities of life. There's a concept in economics called the law of diminishing marginal utility, which basically means that your first dollar provides more utility than the second, third, and so on. Paying for a modest cost of living represents a pretty high utility for our income. Essentially, we need the money.
At a certain point, however, you reach a threshold that divides those that have a high utility for money in a normal cost of living and those that don't. Albert, like most other baseball players, falls into that second category. The marginal utility of the money he makes - and will make under his new deal - is incredibly low in relation to what one needs to cover the basic necessities of life. That's what makes him different than us. A 25% pay increase over the next biggest offer when you're making hundreds of millions is nowhere near the same amount of utility as moving from $40,000 to $50,000 or even $100,000 to $125,000. Albert doesn't need the money as much because no one needs the money when you're talking in that high of figures.
Therefore, I think people do have a right to be mad in some aspects. His business decision, no matter how you color it, was how he could make the most money. Money at that level, though, is nowhere near as important as it looks on paper. When factoring in the comments Albert made about wanting to be a lifelong Cardinal, about loving the city and wanting to end his career here, a case could be made that St. Louis still represented the best opportunity for El Hombre, all things considered. Given the low difference in actual utility between the two offers, it makes the comments seem like a sham. I suspect he was speaking from the heart at the time, but they were, regrettably, a sham.
So, Albert, I have a few words. Thank you for all that you gave to St. Louis. Thank you for the World Series rings, the three-home run masterpieces, the versatility to be an All-Star at three different positions, the miraculous recoveries from injury, the charity given back to the community, and the insatiable desire to be a winner every season. I have a jersey with your name on it in my closet. We owe you for the memories, big time. You, after all these years, owe us very little. You were our future Hall of Famer, the crowning jewel of an incredible era of winning in franchise history. We would have loved to watch you fade into the sunset as you entered the twilight of your career, even if it meant a decline in production.
The people of Greater Los Angeles, however, owe you absolutely nothing. You, on the other hand, owe them a quarter of a billion dollars and a whole bunch of presently unrealized expectations. Better make it worth the money.
The deed is done. Albert Pujols, our "El Hombre", is leaving for the west coast. I don't necessarily want to discuss the specifics of the transaction just yet. I believe the Cardinals will move on for the better, given the magnitude of Albert's price tag and the flexibility his departure gives us now. However, I do have a few thoughts on the departure in general.
A lot has been made that this was a "business" decision, a choice Albert made that netted him an extra $40 or so million over 10 years. I don't deny that he took the better monetary deal. I've heard, however, that Cardinals fans are being "irrational" by being upset over Albert's decision to leave. The apologists argue that when given a potential 25% pay increase over the next best option, anyone would leave their current situation, whether it's for thousands or millions. The problem is that sports athletes like Albert are operating under a different reality. What applies to us doesn't apply to them. We have a right to be upset. Let me explain.
Many of us have normal jobs. We go to work everyday and have modest incomes. There is a certain cost of living that we all must support: the ability to pay for food, our home, our car, health insurance, water and electric, etc. For us, the value of a dollar, especially in this economy, is high. It brings a certain utility to us with each incremental gain, utility that we need to support the basic necessities of life. There's a concept in economics called the law of diminishing marginal utility, which basically means that your first dollar provides more utility than the second, third, and so on. Paying for a modest cost of living represents a pretty high utility for our income. Essentially, we need the money.
At a certain point, however, you reach a threshold that divides those that have a high utility for money in a normal cost of living and those that don't. Albert, like most other baseball players, falls into that second category. The marginal utility of the money he makes - and will make under his new deal - is incredibly low in relation to what one needs to cover the basic necessities of life. That's what makes him different than us. A 25% pay increase over the next biggest offer when you're making hundreds of millions is nowhere near the same amount of utility as moving from $40,000 to $50,000 or even $100,000 to $125,000. Albert doesn't need the money as much because no one needs the money when you're talking in that high of figures.
Therefore, I think people do have a right to be mad in some aspects. His business decision, no matter how you color it, was how he could make the most money. Money at that level, though, is nowhere near as important as it looks on paper. When factoring in the comments Albert made about wanting to be a lifelong Cardinal, about loving the city and wanting to end his career here, a case could be made that St. Louis still represented the best opportunity for El Hombre, all things considered. Given the low difference in actual utility between the two offers, it makes the comments seem like a sham. I suspect he was speaking from the heart at the time, but they were, regrettably, a sham.
So, Albert, I have a few words. Thank you for all that you gave to St. Louis. Thank you for the World Series rings, the three-home run masterpieces, the versatility to be an All-Star at three different positions, the miraculous recoveries from injury, the charity given back to the community, and the insatiable desire to be a winner every season. I have a jersey with your name on it in my closet. We owe you for the memories, big time. You, after all these years, owe us very little. You were our future Hall of Famer, the crowning jewel of an incredible era of winning in franchise history. We would have loved to watch you fade into the sunset as you entered the twilight of your career, even if it meant a decline in production.
The people of Greater Los Angeles, however, owe you absolutely nothing. You, on the other hand, owe them a quarter of a billion dollars and a whole bunch of presently unrealized expectations. Better make it worth the money.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
2011 World Series Champions!
So long a journey, so winding a road, yet we all had a feeling, in our heart of hearts, that it might just lead to this. Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable.
Congratulations, Cardinal Nation.
-Bryan
Congratulations, Cardinal Nation.
-Bryan
Friday, October 28, 2011
World Series Game 6 Recap... Wow
Any type of analysis of tonight's game would be like trying to explain why puppies are cute. This game, amid its flops, mishaps, bobbles, and blunders, was baseball at its very finest, one of those instant classics that might just fall under the "legendary" category a few years from now... like, tomorrow.
It had all the side stories and manufactured intrigue that make Joe Buck salivate, but beyond the fluff, this was an incredible example of the random and unforgiving nature of America's pastime. The up-and-down roller coaster ride of emotion is woven into the very fabric of the sport, but the beauty in what we just saw tonight is that we never see it. Quite frankly, 99% of the time, this never happens. We all know those moments: the called third strikes, the inning-ending double-plays, the pop outs to the warning track.
We don't live for nights like tonight, and that's OK. Baseball is a great game in its anti-climatic nature. It's what we're used to, a metaphor for the anti-climatic nature of life in an overly-dramaticized culture. (Thanks for the inspiration, Joe Posnanski) No, we live for the hope of nights like tonight, even if it often ends fruitless. It's in our human nature to run on hope; without it, there wouldn't be a whole lot to live for.
However, every once in a while, we have our hopes confirmed. The fact that we actually got to see the fruition of the collective wishes of several million Cardinals fans is what makes baseball the greatest sport in the world. I honestly didn't think there would be anything that topped that Wednesday Night of Baseball on the last day of the season, when we saw two walk-offs and an extra-inning win to squeak the Cards into the post-season, but in Game 6 of the World Series, we sure did.
Tonight was remarkable. There's not much more to say other than that. A remarkable night of baseball, and we could not have expected anything less in a game that is built to drain our emotions and, every once in a while, blow our minds away.
Have a fantastic Game 7, Cardinal Nation.
-Bryan
It had all the side stories and manufactured intrigue that make Joe Buck salivate, but beyond the fluff, this was an incredible example of the random and unforgiving nature of America's pastime. The up-and-down roller coaster ride of emotion is woven into the very fabric of the sport, but the beauty in what we just saw tonight is that we never see it. Quite frankly, 99% of the time, this never happens. We all know those moments: the called third strikes, the inning-ending double-plays, the pop outs to the warning track.
We don't live for nights like tonight, and that's OK. Baseball is a great game in its anti-climatic nature. It's what we're used to, a metaphor for the anti-climatic nature of life in an overly-dramaticized culture. (Thanks for the inspiration, Joe Posnanski) No, we live for the hope of nights like tonight, even if it often ends fruitless. It's in our human nature to run on hope; without it, there wouldn't be a whole lot to live for.
However, every once in a while, we have our hopes confirmed. The fact that we actually got to see the fruition of the collective wishes of several million Cardinals fans is what makes baseball the greatest sport in the world. I honestly didn't think there would be anything that topped that Wednesday Night of Baseball on the last day of the season, when we saw two walk-offs and an extra-inning win to squeak the Cards into the post-season, but in Game 6 of the World Series, we sure did.
Tonight was remarkable. There's not much more to say other than that. A remarkable night of baseball, and we could not have expected anything less in a game that is built to drain our emotions and, every once in a while, blow our minds away.
Have a fantastic Game 7, Cardinal Nation.
-Bryan
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