Wednesday, August 31, 2005

What is there to like about baseball?

What is there to like about baseball?

My wife is the sports fan in our house. In fact, when ever sports becomes the topic of conversation, I tell my friends and new acquaintances that I am barely a man when it comes to sports. I played little league for a year and a half, got cut from the 8th grade basketball team, and swam in high school because there weren’t enough guys on the team. So, watching or following any sport is something that I only do in the case of a really exciting basketball championship, or in an attempt to “do something that my wife wants to do for a change,” or if I happen to be the only other barely-a-man in a room full of full-fledged men.
I suppose that I could see the general benefits in being a baseball fan. Baseball caps are fashionable—I own and like to wear at least two of them. There are plenty of statistics and history to memorize and regurgitate. Baseball cards can sometimes be fairly valuable, especially if your mom doesn’t sell your collection at a garage sale.

What is there to like about baseball?

Pretty much nothing. More fun has been had staring at a wall. But, seriously—what is the draw? The first major problem is the time commitment required by the average fan. The game itself lasts 3 1/2 hours, two more than absolutely necessary. Why have nine innings when five would suffice? At three hours a game, even if you only have 3 or 4 teams you follow at two or three games a week per team we are talking like 40 hours a week! I am sorry, but I have to work.
And also, where is the action? Every two hours or so somebody hits a ball that actually gets them on base, and even that is only marginally exciting, because nine times out of ten the inning will end before that player gets to advance, let alone score. Sure, there is the occasional homerun, but I tend to feel more contempt for these players than admiration. The Barry Bonds and Mark McGuires of the world seem to have some kind of unfair advantage over the rest of baseballdom. Who do they think they are hitting the ball so far when most everybody else mostly just swings.
Plus, baseball has to be the only sport when the defense pretty much just has to stand there and do nothing else and they are still effective. I know what its like. I have stood in right field for inning after inning with no ball coming in a direction even remotely close to where I am. I still got the same high fives and “way to look alive” comments on the way back to the dugout. So, if looking alive is the requisite for baseball defense, sign me up and pay me a million dollars: I am alive.
And grief!, the poor pitcher and catcher. I’ve seen the footage of that pitcher who gave himself a compound fracture by the simple act of throwing a ball over and over and over again at a target 15 yards ahead. Who’s idea was it to have one or two guys be the pitchers for a whole team? Why not rotate the players through and give each of them a shot at a strike out. At least that would give the guy in right field a chance to look a little more alive. And the catcher! Can you imagine squatting like that for any longer than two minutes, let alone the eternity that makes up a half an inning? I have only two words for you: knee surgery! Ok, one more—hemorrhoids! Poor, tortured souls (and bums).

What is there to like about baseball?

After a couple of attempts at writing an answer to this question, I have determined that there is only one real reason to like baseball, and the circumstance surrounding that reason can not be accomplished at home with a baseball game on TV. Finding a reason to like baseball can only be accomplished when you have been able to secure for yourself tickets to a real major league baseball game. The tickets have to be for seats in the lower deck of the stadium, unless you like nosebleeds because that’s what you’re to get one sitting in the upper deck of some of the country’s arenas.
Once you have got to the stadium and have found your seat, and stood and sang the National Anthem the reason for liking the sport will have already started to form in your mind. The first pitch will be thrown out by a war veteran or civic servant or movie star and then the game will begin. You will eat peanuts and licorice and drink soda or maybe beer. If you are lucky the stadium you are at will have a great snack section with two foot hotdogs or garlic fries or something else tasty and indulgent.
The first hit will be a foul near your section and you will see the struggle and shuffle of the fans to retrieve the ball. You will start hoping that the next foul ball comes to you. You will cheer (root, root, root) for the home team when they score or keep the other team from scoring. You will boo good naturedly when the other team scores. You will get worked up over a bad call and you might swear loudly at the umpire who made the call.
Yes, at a baseball game you become part of a tradition. You feel a little more American. You are a direct participating part of something that thousands, maybe millions of others are experiencing with you simultaneously. And that is really the only thing to like about baseball.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Mr. Corgan and Mr. Smith

When I was about 14 years old, in the summer before my Freshman year in high school, my buddy Andy and I did what most young teenagers do who are searching for coolness and identity—we would sneak periodically into Andy’s older brother Joe’s room in hopes that some of his esteemed coolness would seep into us. Joe had just graduated from high school and the first thing that you noticed when you went into his room was that he was a fan of what was then called “new wave” music. There were posters from floor to ceiling. These posters featured all of the late 80’s prominent gloom rockers. Depeche Mode and The Smith’s Morrissey were featured prominently as were other, more minor characters. One group, however, outshined them all—both by total number of posters and by the distinct look of the individuals presented within. I speak, of course, of Robert Smith and his band the Cure. Here was a guy who managed, by appearance alone, to be both terrifying and beautiful. His music was also exactly that.

So we braved the tapes. The first songs I remember listening to by the Cure were those off their very first album (“why not start at the beginning?” we thought). “Boys Don’t Cry” was (though we hadn’t the experience then to describe it this way) was the epitome of post punk. In it you could hear elements of the Ramones and the Clash but it had something else too. I remember loving the title single off the album, and being perplexed by the song “Killing an Arab.” After listening for most of the summer, and becoming familiar with their library (especially their most current release at the time “Wish”) what ended up sealing the deal for me in becoming the mega-fan that I have become was the guitar. That same summer I took a special interest in learning how to play. The Cure’s songs were just simple enough that with some effort I could learn how to play almost any song by them that I wanted. This coupled with the formation of my first band “Only Anything” which consisted at the time of 3 other hard core Cure fans became the bedrock for what has now become a 10+ year following. They are my very favorite band, the one rock group that I would choose if forced to listen to only one band for the rest of my life on that proverbial deserted island. This might also have to do with the fact that their arsenal of tunes has to be in the 200s.

Anyway, a few years later I had become a poster child for early 90s rock and roll. By first hand experience I was a certified expert in what for others like me was the natural flow of music progression. Listening to the Cure made listening to other dynamically gloomy music something that wasn’t only natural but inevitable. Among other bands that I began gobbling was a Chicago based group called the Smashing Pumpkins. Almost immediately, Billy Corgan’s foursome became #2 on my list. Just like the Cure, the Pumpkins appealed to me on a variety of levels and languages. Like Smith, Corgan wrote songs that seemed to speak to that adolescent spirit that was in bloom within me. Both the Cure and the Pumpkins seemed to get the formula right, but did so without seeming to be trying to do so like other bands of the time that I loved to hate like Candlebox and Dishwalla. My first concert was a Lollapalooza stop in Phoenix. The Pumpkins and the Beastie Boys headlined—I seemed to be the only one there who gone to see the Pumpkins exclusively. Billy’s guitar playing blew me away and I had a new idol.

So, Siamese Dream literally became a soundtrack to my life. It introduced me to heavy music, and taught me how that dynamic could be moving without seeming overwrought like other metal bands seemed to me. When Mellon Collie came out it was like a gift of 26 more songs written just for me about my life. That same year The Cure released Wild Mood Swings, an album who’s songs my wife and I think back on as the songs of our courtship and early love.
So that was a long introduction to my intent on writing this little piece about my two favorite bands of all time. The real reason I wanted to write is that now, ten years later, the Cure is still going strong and the Pumpkins have broken up. Recently, Billy Corgan announced his intentions to reform his band. He said that he wants his songs back as if they have somehow, mysteriously left him behind. This announcement has been met with speculation and disbelief as in the last 5 years or so, he has severely alienated his former band mates, citing James Iha as the reason that the Pumpkins broke up in the first place and pegging D’Arcy as a raving addict. So what is Robert’s secret to success? Why has his band been around for almost 30 years and the Pumpkins broke up to the dismay of their leader after only 12?

Fans might say that it is because Billy is such a head case, but I would submit that Robert does and says things that are just as cold. Just a few months ago, without warning he fired two 12+ year members of his band (Roger O’Donnell and Perry Bamonte). According to their web sites, Roger and Perry still have no idea why Robert pushed them out.

I think that Robert realizes something that Billy might not. Robert Smith realizes that he is the Cure. It doesn’t matter who else is in the band with him as long as they can play or be taught to play the band’s catalog. Its Robert’s unique voice and guitar playing that make the Cure what they are. It could be argued that Simon Gallup, the bands bassist is also necessary to the sound—and I will give you that, but also say that he has been the only constant member of the band besides Robert for most of the band’s long history. In much the same way the Pumpkin’s drummer, Jimmy Chamberlin, is a necessary requisite for that classic Pumpkin sound. He too has been the only constant member of the band and he and Billy continue to be chummy and amicable.

I think Billy claims nobility saying that the Smashing Pumpkins can only be Billy, James, D’Arcy and Jimmy, but he has broken his own rule on numerous occasions replacing the drummer or bassist when breakdowns and addictions forced him to. So why not just reform the band with different members? The fans will miss the old members—I for one love James Iha—but we will embrace the replacements just as we have with the Cure. All we really want to hear is Geek U.S.A and Soma played live again.
So I can’t help but wonder what will happen here. With the less-than-successful release of his first solo album, Billy doesn’t seem to be creating any buzz or longing for his future plans with the general public. It is just me and the good, loyal Pumpkin fan base that will continue waiting and wondering about the return of Captain Zero.