For the Love of the Game
Baseball.
The word rolls off my tongue like a prayer. Reverently. Whispered. And with more than a hint of breathy anticipation.
Into the squint-worthy sun of Florida’s west coast, Red Sox players, coaches, and fans have made their annual pilgrimage to Fort Myers for the start of Spring Training. For more than a century, the Grapefruit League has played host to this time-honored tradition. With fifteen teams scattered across the Sunshine State, a ballpark is always just a stone’s throw away.
Despite its moniker as our “national pastime,” a growing number of sports enthusiasts have grown disenchanted with my beloved avocation. I can’t say I blame them. The tripartite magic of hit, run, and catch has strained under the weight of baseball’s three-headed hydra; free agency, steroids, and though it pains me to admit it, tedium.
First up in the batter’s box — free agency. In 1976, attorney Marvin Miller successfully argued that southpaw Dave McNally and righthander Andy Messersmith be allowed to shop their wares after playing a full season without a contract. The feeding frenzy that followed gave rise to some of the largest contracts ever signed. For many fans, this tidal wave of cash soured their taste for the game. Owners were painted as penny-pinching millionaires, players as self-centered and overindulged. While there is some…
