Baseball is more than just a game

Maybe it's difficult for one to imagine beer and hot dogs as part of an enlightening experience, unless of course one is attending a major league baseball game.
I've never been one to hide my complete lack of athletic prowess (I lose my breath playing chess). As such, I've largely lost interest in all sports and have adopted a certain curmudgeonly attitude towards hockey, football, competitive running and basically any other games (see Aug. 23, 2008, column).
Nevertheless, when I agreed to travel eastward to the great state of Minnesota with my parents last week, I did so on the condition we attend a professional baseball game. Aside from looking for additions to my experience collection, baseball's child-friendly cousin (softball) was one of the few sports in which I participated (1989-1993). Even though adult me rarely bothers watching this game on TV, I am familiar with the rules of America's pastime.
Nirvana-like moments were never part of my ball game experiences growing up however. But then again, I was always too worried about someone hitting the ball to right field (my position) to consider the sheer beauty of the sport. Or, possibly I was just too bored and interested in smelling my own glove to contemplate baseball as a tool for understanding existence.
Everything seemed so clear as I walked into the stadium last week, looking down at the blinding-green ball field, surrounded with rows of blue seats, in many of which sat fans clad in Twins paraphernalia and sipping back beer or pop, while gorging on giant hot dogs. I was awestruck by the sheer magnitude of the field, accompanied by an incredible calm permeating through the stadium. At bat in the Metrodome were the New York Yankees. Despite my 16-year absence from the sport and almost complete lack of watching baseball on TV, the sounds were still familiar - from the crack of the bat to the chipper sports-related organ music to the announcer calling out player names and statistics.
Somewhere between the third and fourth innings, I seemed to lose myself to the absolute rhythm of the game. It seemed like I could tell exactly what was happening just by the crowd's reactions.
Only during inning switches would spectators leave to grab a snack or take a toilet break. Only during inning switches would spectators try to get back to their seats (so as not to disrupt the game for others). People left for the bathroom more when the Yankees went to bat than when the Twins did.
Time and time again it seems, I always leave these professional sporting events more amazed with the crowd behaviour than the actual game. During my first Roughriders experience last year, I noted how the mob mentality most intrigued me. During my first Warriors game this winter, I marvelled at the respect young fans showed players. During my recent baseball experience, what amazed me most was just how in sync spectators seemed to be with the game.
After the ninth inning, it seemed we all had to snap out of it. The crowd, it seemed, was almost in a trance. I guess there is a certain meditative quality to watching baseball. Perhaps it's the fact nobody ever needs wonder what's going on in a game - the action is fairly slow and most people are familiar with the rules.
The result of the slow and understandable baseball action, in my opinion, is the ability for players' movements to directly impact spectators' reactions. I know fans cheer and boo in other sports, but there's usually so much action going on simultaneously at a hockey or football match that fans are spending half the time just trying to keep up (at least I am). In baseball, every movement of every player has time to register with those in the gallery.
With such accessibility, I felt an incredible interconnectedness permeate throughout the baseball stadium. A pitcher threw a fastball, which a batter hit, the result of which was the right field player running back to hopefully catch the ball.
In what almost seems like slow motion, the crowd watched both the player and ball head in the same general direction. The crowd became more excited as the ball's angle of descent was gradual enough to avoid contact with the wall outlining the outfield. Before the ball even hit the floor, the crowd is cheering for the home run.
Nobody gets left out in a ball game. It's such an inclusive sport. As athletes looked up at the crowd following various plays last week, I couldn't help but imagine those professionals must have been impacted by the collective enthusiasm of several thousand people cheering and criticizing. I left the stadium last week feeling that a baseball game is almost a living entity of which I played a small part.
Spiritual is this game, as it makes obvious the absolute dependence every action has on all the other actions happening around it. Everyone impacts events and is impacted in the baseball stadium, as in life. What a game!

Carter Haydu can be reached at 691-1265.