Letters to the NinjaBase: love in a time of science
Every now and then we receive mail here at the ninjabase... Its not often though, because Canada Post doesn't have divers skilled enough to get as deep as we are here, in our secret underwater lair. For that purpose, the mail is delivered by Ben Gibbard of the Postal Service (and you thought the name was a coincidence).
Ok, we don't get mail at all, and if we did, Gibbard is too busy finishing up the new Deathcab for Cutie album to deliver it. But if we did get mail, and if he did deliver it, I'd make sure that he'd write a catchy theme song for the blog posts when we open the mail. So for now, you're going to have to make up a tune and sing along.
Checking the mail at the ninjabase, checking the mail at the ninjabase, checking the mail at the ninjabase - lets see whats in the mail
Good. I liked the tune. I'll have to remember that one.. maybe record it as a MIDI and have it drone on and on when you load the page. I always loved sites like that... especially the ones that played off key christmas carols and showed family photos from the mid 80's in the middle of July.
Today, a local fishwrap ran a column from this very blog - A Final Card Trick. Inevitably, there is always criticism that comes with increased readership. Critiques are great though, because they allow you to reconsider, sharpen the blades, and tune an argument. The one critique that was heard concerned the fairy tale nature of the post... that it was too politically correct, with a typical crying over spilt milk of dashed dreams.
The issue of the fairy tale brings us to the very essence of baseball... a game governed by rules and scoreboards like all the rest, but also a legend crafted by collective imaginations like none other. It is the intertwining of art and science that leave this sport separate from the rest. Sure the game is as closely measured as anything out there, with pundits calculating averages and percentages for everything that can be counted. Yet, these numbers are revered by the followers of the game. Lets compare a batting average with a quarterback rating... on paper, they're both just numbers and math. But, in the mind, they couldn't be more different. The numbers themselves could tell a story without players even being mentioned. 755, 715, and .406 carry with them personalities like characters in a novel. Interestingly, so does 61. Yet 73 is meaningless. At some point, the fairy tale died... and took the art with it.
Now, if the piece had been politically correct, it would have taken place in a court of law. Thats where most of the big news seems to take place now, in sports anyhow. Agents, unions, arbitrators.. collectively bargaining carries more weight than collecting baseball cards ever did. A truly politically correct scene would have the players in expensive 3 piece suits, taking swings with subpeonas and legal jargon. The scene of baseball players in front of US Congress ironically looked just like that. Politically correct is not fun. Nobody dreams of politically correct. Just ask any NHL fan how much they liked a season stripped of any magic that might have been left. If we give up the hope of such magic returning, we might as well let lawyers play the games.
Fact is, the science has overtaken the art. What was once relegated to crunching numbers to quantify greatness has turned into urine tests to destroy it. Unfortunately, the actions of some have ruined the reputation of all. Is the magic gone for good? Maybe. Will I still watch baseball... of course. Its a sport to me now, like anything else. I just wish the magic could somehow come back.... that a generation of young people could learn about the cast of characters...get to know 755, 715, .406 and 61 over that gritty AM radio station in a faraway land, the one they can only get when they position the antenna in just that special spot. I'm not insane, maybe a bit of a purist, but not overly so. In other words, I'm not waiting for players to reach out to me from a cornfield, but if they ever did, I certainly wouldn't blink or walk away.
Ok, we don't get mail at all, and if we did, Gibbard is too busy finishing up the new Deathcab for Cutie album to deliver it. But if we did get mail, and if he did deliver it, I'd make sure that he'd write a catchy theme song for the blog posts when we open the mail. So for now, you're going to have to make up a tune and sing along.
Checking the mail at the ninjabase, checking the mail at the ninjabase, checking the mail at the ninjabase - lets see whats in the mail
Good. I liked the tune. I'll have to remember that one.. maybe record it as a MIDI and have it drone on and on when you load the page. I always loved sites like that... especially the ones that played off key christmas carols and showed family photos from the mid 80's in the middle of July.
Today, a local fishwrap ran a column from this very blog - A Final Card Trick. Inevitably, there is always criticism that comes with increased readership. Critiques are great though, because they allow you to reconsider, sharpen the blades, and tune an argument. The one critique that was heard concerned the fairy tale nature of the post... that it was too politically correct, with a typical crying over spilt milk of dashed dreams.
The issue of the fairy tale brings us to the very essence of baseball... a game governed by rules and scoreboards like all the rest, but also a legend crafted by collective imaginations like none other. It is the intertwining of art and science that leave this sport separate from the rest. Sure the game is as closely measured as anything out there, with pundits calculating averages and percentages for everything that can be counted. Yet, these numbers are revered by the followers of the game. Lets compare a batting average with a quarterback rating... on paper, they're both just numbers and math. But, in the mind, they couldn't be more different. The numbers themselves could tell a story without players even being mentioned. 755, 715, and .406 carry with them personalities like characters in a novel. Interestingly, so does 61. Yet 73 is meaningless. At some point, the fairy tale died... and took the art with it.
Now, if the piece had been politically correct, it would have taken place in a court of law. Thats where most of the big news seems to take place now, in sports anyhow. Agents, unions, arbitrators.. collectively bargaining carries more weight than collecting baseball cards ever did. A truly politically correct scene would have the players in expensive 3 piece suits, taking swings with subpeonas and legal jargon. The scene of baseball players in front of US Congress ironically looked just like that. Politically correct is not fun. Nobody dreams of politically correct. Just ask any NHL fan how much they liked a season stripped of any magic that might have been left. If we give up the hope of such magic returning, we might as well let lawyers play the games.
Fact is, the science has overtaken the art. What was once relegated to crunching numbers to quantify greatness has turned into urine tests to destroy it. Unfortunately, the actions of some have ruined the reputation of all. Is the magic gone for good? Maybe. Will I still watch baseball... of course. Its a sport to me now, like anything else. I just wish the magic could somehow come back.... that a generation of young people could learn about the cast of characters...get to know 755, 715, .406 and 61 over that gritty AM radio station in a faraway land, the one they can only get when they position the antenna in just that special spot. I'm not insane, maybe a bit of a purist, but not overly so. In other words, I'm not waiting for players to reach out to me from a cornfield, but if they ever did, I certainly wouldn't blink or walk away.
posted by sobe at
11:02 PM
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