Let me ask you this: how do you describe color to the blind? Or music to the deaf? Sobriety to Bobby Brown?
Nearly impossible, right? And what's the use? They haven't experienced it and never will. It's hard to say that they could ever truly understand any of the phenomena I just mentioned. Of course, we (if you happen to be blessed with sight, hearing, or the gift of moderation) know how great colors, music, and clarity are, but do they? And even if you do give a sufficient description, isn't it cruel to explain to someone the magnificence of something they can't experience?
So what parallel am I going to draw to the world of sports? No, I'm not going to try to describe the concept of a \pass"" to Kobe or the concept of a ""win"" to Dave Wannstedt. Instead, I hope to give the younger generations of baseball fans in Pittsburgh, Detroit, Milwaukee and Kansas City some idea of what it's like to have their team in the postseason.
It's magical. There's really no other word to describe it (except for glorious, or fantastic... fabulous also works). If you value your time commitments, GPA or relationships then maybe a baseball postseason with your team in it just isn't for you. But if you can set aside silly things that make your life worth living, then you're in for a delicious dose of Peter Gammons and crisp October nights.
The stadium tension engulfs every pitch, because any swing a split-second later can change the complexion of the game, the series and the playoff picture. The temperature drops and these finely-tuned athletes who don't know the meaning of the word ""inclement"" are finally battling the elements. Oh, and did I mention it's a bit of a time-consumer? It's pretty bad. NCAA Tournament Light, or Diet NCAA Tournament if you will. March can grab fans for four days at a time, then loosen its grip for the next three days so that those enslaved by its ""madness"" can remember what ""not watching CBS"" is. Not the MLB playoffs. Sure, there's no equivalent to the first weekend of the tourney, but the thing is there's just no break in the action.
You get back from classes, nap, watch PTI, get food and do some homework-wait, Game 3 is on? Don't these guys have a travel day? Doubtful. Of course you'll act disappointed for like a second-now that you have a conflict of interest between the game and your work-but that's just in case anyone who may be paying your tuition is in the room. Eventually, you know you ""can't not watch"" and the work can wait until tomorrow nighGame 4? Wow, I really shouldn't...
But you will. I say screw philosophy. I know what Hobbes said-I taught him everything he knows, swear to Ortiz. Same with history, psych, biochemistry even. It can wait. One of the highlights of my year in 2004 was the night of Game 4 in the ALCS. At 12:22 AM CT, David Ortiz hit a walk-off home run in the 12th inning to extend the series to five games. When he crossed the plate, Joe Buck said, in reference to the game carrying into the morning, ""We'll see you later today!""
I'm pretty sure I had a response or something due the next-or I should say, that day. And I'll admit, the game didn't even end that late, but I was drained. My fingernails were gone and so was my knowledge of a world outside of Fenway Park. Just 15 hours later-enough time for a decent night's sleep, two lectures and a discussion-the Sox and Yanks were at it again for Game 5. That game went to 14 innings and lasted 5 hours and 49 minutes before Ortiz delivered yet another game-winning hit (Game 4 was clocked at 5 hours, 2 minutes).
Nearly 11 hours in just over a day spent watching baseball. As if that weren't enough, Games 6 and 7 immediately followed the two previous marathons. Four days, four games. Hardly time for thoughts that didn't involve clutch hits and pitching match-ups.
For you Chicago fans, this is nothing new. Same with St. Louis, Houston, Boston, New York, L.A. and Atlanta. Perhaps the city of San Diego won't even know what him them (though their experience won't last). I just want to make sure all the Brewer and Pirate faithful know what to expect. Because every team has its year. And that team will of course have its college-age fans whose dedicated lack of self-discipline will leave them with a GPA that looks like a Cy Young winner's ERA. Though once you've lived it, you wouldn't trade it for any ""A"" in the world.
And believe me, I'm not saying the playoffs should be slapped with the Surgeon General's warning. I'm just saying that they can be dangerous. Or dangerously captivating, as the case may be. So to every city that has no experience with what I've just described, consider yourself warned.
Ray Charles knew the blues, but he never knew blue. And that's where theparallel is no more-fans that haven't seen their teams in October will, in years to come, see just that. Which is why I even bother describing the feeling. It's not to tell you what you can't experience, but what you should look forward to. From the great games to the onset of poor time management. Yes, the time will come when you won't just be watching the spectacle; you'll feel like you're a part of it.
Ben is a junior majoring in physics. He can be reached for comment at bphubner@wisc.edu.
