William (not the stats guy) James and Baseball

I guess being a fan, that is, a fanatic, is in some ways much like having a religious faith. It's a common notion, even a cliché because often when invoked the analogy serves nothing more than to emphasize zealous devotion. But the comparison can be more interesting: fans implicate themselves emotionally (like small children? older children showing arrested development?) with a group in whose activities they have no part. (Well, in fact, I guess by showing enthusiastic support at a sports venue, sometimes fans can, in fact, impact the outcome, but if we're talking about baseball that is rarely the case.)  Fans care deeply about people they don't know personally. (Yes, there are exceptions). If the team screws up the fan may feel screwed. These are not all-powerful gods, so it's a very curious faith indeed. The willful submission to irrational behavior is fascinating, strange, sometimes depressing. (Fans, do you think the players care about you?) But also quite endearing. After all, we are familiar with the studies that suggest faith is good for your health. I chose the easier path: faith in baseball itself. And this seems to get me closer to that all-powerful god idea. The game never fails to provide transcendence.  I'm always waiting for that never-ending game, but meanwhile, the games we do have occasionally provide such unlikely and dramatic narratives they make me ask to which of James' varieties of religious experience they pertain.

Replays and Contingency

Last week the baseball crowd was all agitated again about another blown call, this one putting an end to a very long, 19 inning game between Atlanta and Pittsburgh. Too bad, that could have been an endless game in the making. This was, according to the critics, yet another glaring example of why baseball needs more use of instant replay. In this case, it would have been evident that the umpire missed the call and it could have been reversed.  But wait, reverse to what? That's not easy in a game as complex as baseball. In this case the bad call is at the end of a play. Going back is not a simple thing. As Phil Mushnick pointed out, "There were men on second and third, one out. The batter, pitcher Scott Proctor, after grounding to third, fell on his face a few feet out of the box. Had Meals made the right call, the likelihood of a home-to-first double play was strong."  So is the inning over? But you can't give an out that was only likely to be made. Many different things could have happened.  Trying to determine on what kind of plays you should allow instant replay quickly becomes a messy proposition. We've got some contingency going on here and "instant replay" is not an idea that values contingency. Sometimes we just get it wrong. Our universe seems to be like that. Long ago, God made a bad call. It seems she had already decided there would be no instant replay. So she messed up, give her a break. I still think it's better than a rain out. My Aunt Jo taught me never to leave a game early, no matter how lopsided the score. You just never know... (I went with her a couple of times to Shea Stadium. A young Tom Seaver! Jerry Koosman! Ed Kranepool!)  Anyway, that's my thought for today: the game is not over and that's a very good thing. And another thing: contingency itself is contingent.

Baseball and Alcoholism

A couple of days ago I finished reading Bottom of the 33rd, a wonderful book by Dan Barry about the longest baseball game ever played. (Thank you, Peter!)  I remember reading about the game back in 1981, and I've always been quite fascinated by the idea of an endless ball game, but in fact I hadn't really paid much attention to this unique bit of baseball history.  It's a fantastic story. The book's subtitle is "Hope, Redemption, and Baseball's Longest Game." Barry does give us many details about the game itself, of course, but the book is to a large degree a series of mini biographies about several of the event's protagonists. The lives of two of the game's participants progress downwards due to excessive alcohol consumption, eventually taking very different paths, one tragic, the other hopeful and redemptive. (The odd detail that this game was begun the evening of Holy Saturday and continued into Easter morning adds a curious frame for the idea of redemption.)  It's a book I highly recommend.

In any case, yesterday I was at the Dickinson library and on my way out I stopped to take a glance at the new arrivals bookcase.  And there I found Language of the Heart: A Cultural History of the Recovery Movement, from Alcoholics Anonymous to Oprah Winfrey by Trysh Travis. (That name is too good; do you think it's real?)  Interesting. I've just spent a little time reading here and there, but for an academic press work it's quite readable. Good job, Trysh!  So thinking about baseball and alcoholism has got me thinking about "hitting bottom."  My associations can by silly ("hitting," baseball; "bottom," alcoholism, but also baseball), but the idea, the phenomenon of hitting bottom is both sad, sad, sad and also potentially a starting point for hope and redemption. And that got me thinking about Gil Scott Heron, a great precursor of spoken word art and author of that 70s hit, "The Bottle." It's wonderful song. And so sad. "Livin' in the bottle..."  (I saw Gil Scott Heron at a nightclub in Boston in 1977 and what I most remember from that performance is "Winter in America." Chilling!) Mickey Mantle, Billy Martin and a host of others. Livin' in the bottle, indeed.  Baseball stories. Winning and Losing. I still want that never ending game.  And I can assure you, in the unlikely case I ever get to be President of a baseball league, there will be no curfews. (And the foul poles will have arrows at the top, signaling that they are vectors, continuing upwards infinitely, pointing us all up into the endless cosmos.) Play on!

Basque Terrorism and Poor Journalism

 Yesterday El País, the Madrid daily that during the 80s and 90s was one of the world's truly great newspapers, published an interview with Martín Garitano, the newly elected leader ("diputado general") of the legislative body of the province of Gipuzkoa in the Basque Country.  Garitano represents a newly formed nationalist coalition ("Bildu") that favors complete independence for the Basque Country. (Bildu did not win a majority of votes, but the opposition parties were unable to reach an agreement, and so Garitano ended up as the "diputado general"). Javier Rivas, the interviewer, says to Garitano that his coalition has spoken more clearly about the needs of ETA prisoners than they have about the needs of victims of ETA terrorism. Garitano denies this and then goes on to affirm that in the Basque Country there are currently over 700 political prisoners. This is false and the journalist didn't call him on it. Maybe it's because everyone knows it's a lie, but I don't think you can let these things go. Sometimes people keep repeating lies and eventually people believe them. Good journalists should help prevent that.

Let's be clear: jailed ETA terrorists are not political prisoners; they are not prisoners of conscience. Many of them are in jail for murder or attempted murder. Others are imprisoned for belonging to an organized armed group that in a 40+ year campaign has killed over 800 people, extorted thousands and forced many to leave their homes with threats of violence.

There is a lot of hope in the Basque Country these days and the absence of violence is to be celebrated. But unless people get honest about the nature of ETA there is little hope for true reconciliation.

Self-Esteem and Dignity

Do American children suffer from an excess of self-
esteem? The answer, according to recent essays, is a definite yes. (See, for starters, the cover article in the current Atlantic Monthly, "How to Land Your Children in Therapy" and the November, 2010 National Review article "Self-Esteem and Character.")  My take on this is pretty simple: parents, coaches, etc. should forget about cultivating self-esteem and focus instead on helping children understand and develop a sense of dignity. (Many people like to talk about "character development," but character has always seemed to me a vague and dubious notion.)  I'm probably somewhat self-delusional, but I like to think that as a parent I had an instinctive sense from the beginning that self-esteem was a bogus concept. I'm sure that my ideas about dignity are heavily influenced by Spanish culture, which, I believe, has created complicated links between concrete, exterior signs and behaviors, on the one hand, and abstract ideas about self and worth on the other. In this view, a "proper" sense of self, of "being-in-the-world" renders low self-esteem irrelevant.  (Spaniards do coddle their children in some ways, and I have had numerous experiences where visitors have wondered if Spanish parents weren't spoiling their kids. On the other hand, many Spanish parents (and teachers!) feel quite a bit more free to tell kids what dumb asses they are! What Spanish kid hasn't been told a hundred times he's idiota, estúpido, tonto!  Kids do do stupid things and they should be called out on it. Euphemisms and lies just confuse. The "Mafalda" comic strip above shows Mafalda somewhat confused: the sign says "Keep Off the Grass," but for the joke to make sense we need to translate it more literally: "stepping on the lawn prohibited."  The girl's response: "And not dignity?" That is, so stepping on the grass is off-limits, but what about stepping on dignity?  ("Mafalda" is a famous creation of the great Argentine cartoonist Quino.) The vignette is very funny and it makes a serious point: you can mess with people's "self-esteem" and not worry about it, for surely life itself will put it in its proper place eventually. But don't mess with dignity.  In adulthood, a very well developed sense of dignity makes one almost impervious to the vicissitudes of life. But there's always self-immolation.  This month's example: Anthony Weiner.

One of the things I value most highly about Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet is how it functions as a powerful antidote to the "touchy feely" qualities of contemporary culture: no trophies, no undeserved commendations, no lies about how wonderfully talented everyone is from the get go.  These kids know what it takes.

Finally, yesterday I came across a kid with dignity. This video may seem very strange to anyone unfamiliar with Spanish culture generally, and Andalusian culture specifically. This boy, Fernando Caballo, sings a saeta to an image of the Virgin Mary in a Holy Week procession in the town of Marchena, near Seville. (This was nine years ago; he's still at it today as a young man.)  It's interesting how he's surrounded mainly by men. Watch it here. Let me know what you think.

Enough Already with the First Name Treatment!

I'm tired of it: at the doctor's office, dentist's office, bank, super-market, on the phone... it seems everywhere, everyone's my new friend and we're all on a first name basis from the get go! I'm thinking of getting a button or a name tag: "Mr. Aldrich," or "HELLO, my name is Dr. Aldrich". Something. Actually, this has been going on for many years, but it seems recently all is lost. Oddly, about the only people who don't address me as "Mark" are my children and my students. It's been an interesting challenge trying to pinpoint precisely why this social practice irks me, but I thinking I'm getting closer to the mark. (Pun intended.) Basically, it's the fake familiarity. And to a slightly lesser degree, the lack of respect. This morning at the bank when the very young teller said, "Ok, Mark, is there anything else we can do today?" I was quite tempted to say, "Yes, stop calling me Mark." But I didn't want to spoil my good mood on this lovely morning so I let it go. I hope it's not a lost cause entirely. In fact, there is much lost if we give up using surnames completely. There are some instances in which this treatment may be motivated by a wish to preserve some privacy by not using your last name in a situation where others may overhear. (I've heard this argument used in defense of first name treatment, for example, at doctors' offices.)  Those situations, however, are not typical, and in most cases there is an easy solution. At the doctor's office, for example, the receptionist should get up, approach the patient, and address him or her as "Madam" or "Sir".  
A few years ago author Ralph Keyes addressed this issue in the Christian Science Monitor. I agree with what he wrote and I encourage anyone reading this to link to Keyes' short commentary. I'd add the following: the notion that more extensive use of first names is somehow a practice that promotes equality and lessens class distinctions is a chimera.  To the contrary, individuals who do not have wealth or social rank stand to lose out because they are deprived of one of the few mechanisms available to them for having their dignity publicly recognized. Dignity is (or should be) important to all of us; it's especially important for those individuals who may lack other kinds of capital. I'm sure Amanda (the ubiquitous name tag) meant no disrespect when she addressed me by first name, but even if she had, I have "protection": age, being a white male, and the real currency Amanda just handed over to me. But when a recent immigrant needs some assistance at the customer service desk and the kid behind the counter (condescendingly?) refers to her as "María" as he explains that she's out of luck, she really is, because María is not yet confident enough in her English to respond, "Please, it's Ms García." To all of you, all of us, it's Ms García.

Big Dunce of 2011 #3: Barnes & Noble

A few weeks ago I received a Barnes & Noble gift card as a thank you from a student. It was a totally unexpected and unnecessary gesture, and much appreciated. The other day I was organizing my desk and came across the card, so I decided to use it before it got lost. I picked out a couple of books from the Barnes & Noble website, but as I was going through the "check out" process the computer told me that the card's balance had been exhausted. That wasn't possible so I called customer service. The woman who took my call checked the card number and informed me that the card had never been activated. I pointed out that was an oversight of the store clerk, that she could see very well on her computer the card had not been used, and that why didn't she just credit me the $25 and let me pay for my books. Impossible. The person who bought the card would have to go to the store where the card was purchased with her receipt to get the problem fixed. I explained that was ridiculous, that I wasn't going to bother the person who gave me the card, that it was highly unlikely the receipt had been saved, and that, in any case, that was putting an unfair and unreasonable burden on the customer for a mistake made by the store. Tough luck! So I asked to speak with a supervisor.  The next person gave me pretty much the same story. I explained that the situation was akin to thievery, but they weren't interested. I've tried email, but so far I've only gotten two machine generated responses that are really insulting. This is BAD customer service and creates the impression of a horribly run corporation.

Out at the Ball Park

The other day I was able to make my first trip of the season to City Island to see a Senator's game. It was very hot, but nonetheless very enjoyable. And it was an interesting game featuring the first place teams of the Eastern League's two divisions. The Senators had won eight in a row and the New Hampshire Fisher Cats were on a seven game win streak. I was impressed by both starting pitchers, but particularly so by the Senator's Brad Peacock. Look for him soon on a major league roster.  The game was tied 1-1 in the bottom of the eighth when things went horribly wrong for the Fisher Cats, and for Callix Crabbe in particular. Crabbe is the Fisher Cats second baseman, but at the start of the bottom of the eighth he was moved over to third, as a pinch runner had come in during the top half of the inning and stayed in to play second, replacing regular third baseman Mark Sobolewski. Poor Crabbe bobbled a routine grounder with men on first and second and one out. Handled deftly it could have been an inning-ending double play. Now we've got the bases loaded and still only one out. The next batter hits a soft one hopper to Crabbe  and our man hesitates a moment then throws home. Wildly! Later in the inning a ball got by him that some third basemen definitely would have gotten. Three runs scored in the inning and the Senators went on to win, 4-2. It's kind of sad: Crabbe made it all the way to the big leagues with the San Diego Padres back in 2008, but his time with the big team was limited and unsuccessful. His chances of making it back (he's now in the Blue Jays organization) do not look good. And he didn't look good at the plate either, striking out badly twice. Crabbe's tough night is a good reminder of how unfamiliar environments can produce serious difficulties. I really hope it ends well for Crabbe and that better games are ahead for him.

And Without Irony (Note on Granma)

From time to time I like to take a look at Granma, the daily newspaper of the Cuban Communist Party. In today's web edition the top of the page invites us to take another look at a fragment of one of Fidel's speeches, this one from December, 1988. It's a harangue about the dangers of "social indiscipline," this counterrevolutionary fifth column that threatens to undermine the island. 1988 is twenty years after the beginning of the infamous "Caso Padilla," when poet Heberto Padilla was condemned for publishing his work Fuera de juego. One of the better poems in that collection is "En tiempos difíciles" and it does a nice job of deconstructing the kind of Big Brotherish terror-think that Fidel has been such an expert at inflicting on Cubans for the past half century. Padilla was tortured for daring to call out the double speak.  Castro's "reflection" is a battle cry, a call to fight on many fronts. The classic call from the dictator for his people to sacrifice all for the grand cause so beautifully represented by the Leader.
The image shown above is moving around cyberspace as a call for internet access for Cubans. See a brief explanation here.

Big Dunce of 2011 #2: Orly Taitz

Wow! This woman has totally flipped. She also appears to be a compulsive liar. After the White House released the long form of Obama's birth certificate, this nutcase made the claim that it must be false because Obama was identified on the form as "African" and in 1961 he would have been identified as "Negro." Guess what? It's another lie: the document does not identify Obama, but rather his father, as African. Incredible: Obama's father was, indeed, African. It's hard to know where to begin with this woman. She may have been born in the Soviet Union, but she seems like a true American freak. This is the woman who says Obama is a "radical communist" and a "radical Muslim."

Cuban Media

 This morning newspapers around the world lead with large headlines of outrage and indignation over the grotesque and murderous ruthlessness of Bachar El Asad's massacre of his own people in Syria. Yesterday his gunmen killed close to a hundred unarmed protesters. Granma, the official daily of the Cuban Communist Party has... not a word! (Their International section does report, on the other hand, on a woman interrupting a talk by Obama in California; she was demanding freedom for Bradley Manning, the soldier who made possible the huge wikileaks cache of State Department documents.)  Dickinson hosted a Cuban journalist this week, a regime journalist. Hedelberto is a very nice guy with some curious ideas, among them that Amnesty International is a very right wing organization. I look forward to communicating with him regarding Granma's international coverage.

Tahrir Square

The situation in Cairo is simultaneously hopeful and frightening. Mubarak has unleashed his thugs in an apparent effort to crush the rebellion. How the military will ultimately come down remains to be seen. I suspect many generals are weighting their loyalty to the regime. Where lies security? Control? There's a lot riding on the next few days. Mubarak will fall. I'm hopeful that efforts going on right now to intimidate and get rid of foreign journalists and human rights groups will fail. It's easy to see the power of social media--anyone with an internet connection and a twitter account can be a journalist.
Last night (and many nights) I find myself reflecting on the incomprehensible vastness of our universe. Literally mind-boggling. These thoughts often lead me back to the tired idea that in the grand scheme of things we really don't matter. Our insignificance is laughable. Perhaps. But this morning I found myself considering a contrasting idea: smallness is all we have. There is no "grand scheme." This is it. So people standing up for their dignity in Tahrir Square really does matter. The efforts of Egyptian State security to "blow up" civility in central Cairo should be more than enough for the Obama administration to make a more forceful public break with Mubarak. There is no future with him.