My Teams

It's been a good season.  Phils are competitive in post-season.  Iggles difficult to beat. Mizzou at its highest national ranking and most consistent performances in memory.  Not so sure about UPenn.  U of D ranked in its football class.

Red Smith, the iconic sports reporter of the NY Times, commented that while sports doesn't move the world, how people choose to allocate the time that is most theirs says a lot about the people.  And we fill stadiums, support sports networks, pay pro athletes handsomely, and buy the products we see advertised during our games.

And Red Smith flourished in a more congenial world than we have now.  Or sometimes not, as his long career spanned a depression, a world war, civil rights antagonisms including integration of sports, and Vietnam.  

In our fractious time, a decade when people provoke each other, seeking constant one-upmanship with the person next to them, our home teams may be the last bastion of common purpose.  We seek to best rivals, for sure, but we also recognize the excellent talents of stars from all teams.  Those no-hitters get a cheer, even at the expense of our own team.  While viewing the games, we don't particularly care about an athlete's ethnicity, only his performance.  And while we work hard but fear for our longevity with our companies, they accept the transient nature of their team affiliations, either displacement by a better talent, graduation from school, or the free agency of athletic mercenaries.  The players are really like us, though usually more so.

There are rivalries, for sure.  A few approach toxic:  Yankees-Red Sox, Cowboys-most any other reputable NFL squad, Harvard-Yale, Oklahoma-Oklahoma State.  But no credible threats to personal safety.  Despite this, stadiums ban weapons and items like umbrellas that can be converted to means of assault.  And we have a safe space where the many open carry advocates never seem to sue to keep their pistol with them in their skybox.  

For a few scheduled events, several a week in most major cities, people don't have to be prodded to be good municipal representatives.  They already are.

Prominent Guest

The guest of highest public prominence ever to come to my home as a guest might have been Chaim Bloom, the recently ousted Chief of Baseball Operations for the Boston Red Sox.  His mother and my wife have remained friends.  We have been dinner guests in their rather elegant home.  Chaim got an Ivy education, got interested in baseball, particularly the statistical basis of managerial decisions, and when offered a staff position with a Major League team, latched on.  After fifteen years in progressively responsible and visible positions with his original team, he was hired by Boston as their senior officer in 2019.

Baseball's goal is winning games, starting with each individual one.  Unlike football, there are a lot of games and a lot of contingencies, so weaker teams often have their afternoons of glory.  Success, though, is cumulative, qualifying for playoffs, becoming world champions.  Statistical data driving who to put in a line-up or when to go to a relief pitcher will change the fortunes some days but not others.  Who to have on the team and how much to spend to have their contributory talent determines seasonal outcome.  

Since Chaim's ouster, dozens of news reports have come my way, first press releases, then commentary.  These have engaged my mind considerably more than the daily American political blight, as they involve analysis rather than tribalism, though The Red Sox probably have done much to create Achdus in Boston that even their political figures cannot disrupt.  First, nobody seems to think that Chaim should have been given more time to produce a winner.  In the years prior to his arrival, the Red Sox were a more successful team at season's end than while he had control.  It's perhaps a bit like personal finance, where we know we need to allot a portion of our income when needed far into the future, but we also want to go away on vacation once this year and remodel the kitchen in two years.  Chaim inherited a pretty good now, but not a sustainable now.

To get the players that can perform to the satisfaction of the region's citizens and the current team owners, he could either generate that level of skill in a minor league structure or he could purchase people by trading his talent and money with other teams or bidding for them as free agents.  And to get the success that he had inherited, his predecessors had generated a very high payroll.  League rules, designed to keep teams in big markets from overwhelming teams from smaller markets, place a penalty on overspending.  This left Chaim at a disadvantage trying to purchase the players his team needed from other teams or perhaps even the open market.  His farm system had already been depleted, ranked near the bottom by many MLB analysts.  So his task on entry was really one of restoring future capacity by reducing payroll to enable acquisition of players by trading for them and by creating a better system to make their minor league staff sufficiently proficient to promote to their major league team.  And he did both very successfully, according to the analysts' reports of his tenure.  Payroll reductions will give his successor a place at the bidding table for top performing players and other slots on the team can be filled by lower paid players with skills enhanced by minor league experience.

No good deed goes unpunished.  To reduce payroll, he traded away top-salaried players or let them become free agents.  He did a lot better at future planning than he did at the trading market for current players.  Their highest potential star, a fellow destined for the Hall of Fame, now makes big bucks someplace else but performs appropriate to the high salary.  And what the Sox received in return pales next to what they gave away.  Chaim just had a measure of timidity, a hesitation to take a high stakes bet in a game where future performance does not always match past performance.  And over four years the access to the playoffs at season's end had been lost several times in a row.  The fans and the owners wanted a competitive team now.  They could soon have one because of what Chaim did, but people questioned whether he had the boldness and risk tolerance to follow through on the high stakes trades needed to bring that about.  They judged not.

Chaim as a teenager had been a Torah reader at my congregation, as had his younger brother, also a man of immense talent, though not a public figure.  For a while we needed readers to fill in for our Cantor when away or when we were between Cantors, something beyond the ability of our congregation's men to do with that frequency, then and now.  We had teenagers ourselves and their parents trusted our level of observance, so we picked them up at the train station Friday afternoon and returned them to the train station after Havdalah.  That was some twenty years ago.

On reflection, and maybe why the reports of Chaim's tenure capture so much of my interest, is that my congregation has a similar situation, one lingering much longer than what he both inherited and addressed while head of Baseball Operations for the Red Sox.  We effectively have the men with the skills we need right now, at least in the sanctuary, though the ability of the Governance is much more open for debate.  But we lack a farm system, both in our Sanctuary and on our Board.  We have a Dominant Influencer, much like the Sox have an owner and a hired CEO.  Somebody can execute each part of the service at the time it needs to be done.  But we don't have, maybe not even seek the promotability of a farm system.  A VP has a list of who read what Aliyah last year and recycles as needed.  The Gabbai responsible for shacharit has his pitching rotation.  The Haftarah inviter probably finds it easier to default to himself much of the time.  Two new people arrived by random circumstance, not by planned development.  And all, from the Rabbi recruitment to who might have a say in future initiatives must have the approval of the gatekeeping Dominant Influencer, which has the dual effect of  bypassing some of the best minds and generating resentment in the form of expressing their free agency by non-renewal of membership or more frequently the insidious adverse consequences never getting invited to throw their energies and abilities into the mix.  So next shabbos the parts will get chanted capably, there will be herring after the services but there will also be people who resent being kept outside the gate while programming decisions and participatory invitations that never reach them for things they can do remain out of reach.  Much like Chaim, my guest and my synagogues hired but transient extreme talent from decades ago, inherited and tried to correct.  

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

It had been years since I watched baseball from the stadium.  My town has minor league baseball, the A-division for starting players, some of whom have progressed to MLB. Not been there in a while, but always entertained when I went there.  Free parking, manageable crowds, and with just a few thousand seats, everyone gets to sit close to the field.  And they involve the community, picking out a few spectators, usually kids, to go onto the field for a small contest.  And batted balls can really come pretty close with a few homers reaching the parking lot.

Major league baseball was a springtime enjoyment when I was in my 20s.  I could walk to the stadium but after dark take the bus home for safety.  I would sit in the Grandstand for $1.50 with the other university students who rooted for their own hometown visiting teams while local people glared at us from their more costly places.

And then my outings lapsed.  I had taken my son to a major league game one time at a stadium that no longer exists, being replaced by a more state-of-the-art facility, as was the one from my student days.

As a platelet donor inducement, they asked if I wanted tickets to a game where the team would promote the blood bank.  I would be out of town for the game closest to me but I accepted two tickets to Camden Yards about 75 miles south on I-95.  Players make a lot more money now, subsidized by big TV contracts.  Tickets no longer cost $1.50, though to my surprise Camden Yards still has bleachers beyond right field.  And now a few days after the game, the experience of being there has changed considerably.

Camden Yards sits just off downtown Baltimore, a rather grimy city that has seen better days.  Apparently a Convention Center attracts enough mid-sized conferences to justify a few luxury hotels adjacent to the stadium.  Its other neighbor is the U of Maryland Medical Center, anchored by a staid old building. And the Inner Harbor, Fort McHenry, Babe Ruth House attract tourists coming for a day or two, or perhaps conventioneers wanting some sightseeing.   While getting there guided by GPS went easily, the stadium attracted a massive number of cars, something difficult for a cramped downtown to handle.  While I could see open parking spaces on lots as I passed by, and fans an hour early teeming by to see the game clad in their Orioles regalia, getting to those lots was not obvious.  I followed everyone else, never finding the driveway or side street.  But the hotels and medical center had garages.  Experienced fans, perhaps season ticket holders, parked closer, but I eventually paid the $30 for an evening in the medical center garage, employees parked on the lower level, fans on the higher tiers.  The walk to the stadium. still the daylight of a summer afternoon, was neither elegant nor squalid.  There was no appreciable litter, no aggressive motorists despite the heavy density of cars, and a mostly downslope stroll to the stadium.  Orange shirts with Orioles patterns and O's hats prevailed.  Mine was neither.  

We made it easily to the entrance, past a scalper, to the security gate.  The Orioles have a lengthy list of what must be left outside. Whether or not Maryland is an open carry state, it probably isn't, no weapons can come inside.  I had left my pocket knife in the car.  Nothing that makes serious noise, no foghorns.  I suppose they'll look the other way for a Purim grogger.  My pockets set off the metal detector, emptied to reveal my coins, keys and phone to the satisfaction of the attendant.  Our tickets were paper, most were screenshots on phones.  

We had no idea how to find our seats.  Orioles in season is a big industry.  We walked along on the bleacher side of the sidewalk.  Stores selling Oriole logo stuff on our left, massive restrooms and concessions to buy stuff to eat on the right.  The signs indicated sections with numbers under 100.  Ours was 364.  My wife and I followed people past the gate into the enclosed area.  Food concessions everywhere with somewhat excessively price beer, mass market and craft, burgers, pizza, hot dogs, chicken.  And more places to get another O's T-shirt. We figured our seat must be on the opposite side of the stadium so we headed in that direction.  Finally, somebody there to serve people rather than sell them stuff, a first aid station.  We asked the attendant how to get to our section.  It would require an elevator ride to the uppermost level.  She gave us general directions to the elevators, of which there were only two.  An attendant across from them gave us more specific directions to finding our assigned seats.  The elevator cars themselves were massive.  They also had an elevator operator managing the switches, something I'd not seen anywhere since staying at a rather snooty hotel for a convention in DC in the 1990s.  We arrived, followed signs to our section, where we found an usher to point to our seats.  He did not have the stamina to escort everyone, as our seats were in the penultimate row, a steep ascent for seniors.  But they afforded a perfect view of the skyline and of the field.  We could see the many electronic displays that rim the stadium, though a little far to read everything easily with my bifocals.  We were far enough from the field to see the whole thing from about the midpoint of the third base foul line.  No distortion at all when trying to discern team strategy.

Even though we occupied the top deck, there were still vendor stalls right outside the seating area.  What we did not have were vendors hawking soda, peanuts, more beer, and hot dogs.  My own college yearbook was dedicated to that lovely man who would sell hot dogs as he wandered the bleachers at our college football games.  In some ways the face of my Alma Mater.  Camden Yards opted for decorum.  People brought cheeseburgers and soft-serve ice cream to their seats.  They threw nothing on the floor to be swept by college kids needing a few bucks after the game.

The Blood Bank representation got the high seats.  A few messages of donor and organizational appreciation appeared.  The National Anthem was sung by a mezzo, African-American lady with a stellar voice who returned at the seventh inning stretch for a patriotic encore.  Everyone stood, caps off, no protests.  Did not see any MAGA hats or other visible political statements the entire evening.  

I found the many screens that circled the field, from scoreboards to replays to dazzling orange pleas for those in attendance to Make Noise a bit distracting.  I could see the entire field.  If balls came toward my direction on the third base side, I could see the ball.  Pitching speeds are now about 95 mph very consistently with all pitchers.  I could not see the ball moving from the mound to the plate, not sure the batters could see it to their satisfaction either, and I wonder about the accuracy of umpire judgment as a sphere moves across the plate that fast.  But for the whole game, only one disputed call, resolved in the O's favor by instant replay.

The O's got their come from behind, one run win in the end.  A lot of people exited at the same time but it remained orderly.  Sidewalks, elevators, stadium exits, and parking garage exits were all packed with people.  Despite this, the drivers all seemed courteous, pedestrians waited their turn at the lights and at elevators.  A couple of homeless people, or maybe just professional panhandlers with a place to sleep when the crowds dissipated, tried to get their needed income, though none aggressive.  Very little police presence.

In our current America, one in which the majorities people elect to represent them generate hostility as their motivator, for about four hours the people who took the evening to root for the O's got a break from that. We all cheered with the orange lights on the scoreboard said to cheer.  We left the contraband in our cars.  We didn't shove each other to get a hot dog more quickly or get the last spot on the elevator.  We had a good time.  We were nice to each other.  We had a common purpose.  If only for a short time in a confined location, but at least still possible.