The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It's mid-February. Pitchers and catchers have already begun their spring workouts in leagues both Grapefruit & Cactus. Truly, this is the most wonderful time of the year. Optimism is in the air. Every team has an equal shot at winning the World Series, even the Royals. Wags and fans alike wonder if all the injuries have healed, if the players added over the winter will add to their team's performance, if this will finally be the year.

While it is still a marvelous game to behold in person, my last visit to a major league ballpark was a huge letdown. I visited Turner Field with my daughter and son-in-law last September, where we watched the (hated) Mets drub the Braves. I was astounded at the amount of distractions - music blaring, entertainment between innings, obvious delays for TV time outs and something that surely was a sign of the impending apocalypse, the kiss cam. Whatever happened to my game? Where was the organ? Can't players win a free suit by hitting some sign in the outfield?

I have found much to be objectionable in the Grand Old Game for decades. Now that I have this forum, it's time for me to offer some remedies.

First, ban the Designated Hitter. After 40 years, it's safe to say that it has added nothing to the game, save the extension of the careers of one-dimensional players. Whenever a pitcher in the AL brushes back a hitter, it causes a brawl. In the NL, the logical result is a little chin music for the offending pitcher when he next comes to the plate. Sal the Barber and the Big D must be spinning in their graves (The latter, by the way, hit a record 154 batters during his 13 years in the Bigs).

Other than the aforementioned travesty, the greatest single change to the game over the past several decades is the alteration of the strike zone. It used to range from the armpits (or letters) to the kneecaps. Over time, it has gradually sunk to the area from ankles to belt. This led to domination of pitchers, which begat hitters looking for an edge to counteract that (can you say steroids?), which, in turn, skewed statistics of the game forevermore.

Play a shorter season, certainly no longer than 154 games. It should run from April through late September, with the World Series ending no later than the middle of the following month. Bring back the October classic, which one played in November cannot ever aspire to become.

There are too many teams in the postseason. No more than 3 per league is sufficient.

Bring back afternoon games for the Series. Living in the Eastern time zone, no game ever ends before midnight, which is far too late for most kids to see; me either, for that matter.

Ban interleague play, except for the All Star game and the Series. I know it has the potential to draw fans and surely makes buckets of money. Yet, one of the charms of the game used to be how differently each league played. The NL had dominance for many years, due to its reliance on speed and defense (Ozzie Smith, for example), while the AL depended upon what Earl Weaver fondly referred to as Dr. Longball. Apparently, interleague play will become more prevalent. That can only lead to more parity, so they'll be just like the NFL, or mind-numbingly boring.

Which reminds me: awarding home field advantage to the league that wins the All-Star game? Seriously, Bud, you are way off base on that one.

Things that should result in automatic ejection: spitting, arguing balls and strikes, players wearing armor at the plate, curtain calls after a home run (for which I still blame the late, great Gary Carter for starting; sorry, Kid, but I still feel that way) and batters approaching the mound. I would also ban any nickname ending in "rod", sky boxes, trumpeted charges and mascots.

I took my family to Fenway Park in 1994; the cost for tickets, programs, hot dogs and sodas was over $100. I decided then that this was no longer family entertainment, as it was out of my price range. After the cancellation of the World Series that same year,I boycotted the game for 11 years (a plague on both owners' and players' houses); returning to Fenway in 2005, where the cost for each seat was $65. And those seats had an obstructed view.

All of which I offer as proof that MLB has killed their golden goose. Only the well-heeled can afford to go to games. I don't know why kids don't play baseball anymore. I wonder if little leaguers fight over who will have the honor of wearing number 7. Do they still pretend to be a Bob Gibson staring down Willie Mays or Roberto Clemente while throwing a tennis ball against the garage door?

I should have known the sport was doomed about 10 years ago, while working in a hotel where the Braves were staying. All the managers gathered in the lobby when their team bus pulled up to take them to the stadium, to keep the autograph seekers at bay. There were many who clamored for Larry (aka Chipper) Jones, or who swarmed after Gary Sheffield. Finally, Hank Aaron strolled across the lobby. No one even knew who he was. That was one of the saddest sights I had ever seen.

The next time I see a youngster throwing a ball against a house, I'll ask him who he is imagining himself to be. That will provide a clue if the game has a chance, or, if it's just another TV reality show.