On the Otherness of Joy
The ways in which baseball seasons are remembered is a funny thing. To crib from George Orwell, every season is memorable but some are more memorable than others. Maybe the Chinese are on to something, because for whatever reason years ending in 8 always seem to carry some added significance. To give but three examples: 1958, the year MLB arrives in California and fundamentally alters America’s (literal) sporting landscape; 1988, the year Kirk Gibson pumps his fist as he trots around the bases after hitting perhaps the most-replayed home run in baseball’s history; 1998, quite simply the year that saved baseball (at least for the time being), finally banishing from the public consciousness the stink of the ‘94 strike. With that in mind, I am hopeful that 2018 will carry on the pattern; in fact, I’m hopeful that this year might be the most significant of all because it will be remembered as the year baseball, as a whole, finally began to fundamentally question why baseball’s unwritten rules are the way they are.
I first began to think this was a possibility following the two-game series between Cleveland and Minnesota that was played in Puerto Rico. In that series Francisco Lindor hit a home run and had one of the most honest, endearing reactions to that occurrence that you will ever see, which prompted Ken Rosenthal to tweet this out:
This tweet got me thinking about the narrative that surrounds baseball's "unwritten rules" and what how they intersect with questions about race and culture. I recently wrote about Major League Baseball’s (and, by extension, the United States of America’s) relationship with Mexico (and, by extension, Latin America). In that piece I discussed the concept of “Otherness” and how I believe that, despite the influx of Latino players in the league, baseball still views Mexico (and, it bears repeating, Latin America as a whole) through the lens of the other. In the context of baseball “othering,” or the process through which one is made to feel different (and, almost invariably, inferior), manifests itself in lots of ways. It’s visible in the reticence of teams to hire full-time Spanish-English translators, a practice that was only made mandatory in 2016. This article makes clear that this hesitance was not down to economics, as clubs with Japanese players on their rosters invariably hired Japanese-English translators, in some cases even hiring one for each individual player on the team. Similarly, it’s visible in the lack of emphasis placed on hiring coaches who speak Spanish or have some sort of knowledge or understanding of how Latino ballplayers might differ from their American teammates on both an individual and cultural level. A particularly egregious example of this was the 2018 Padres - more than 1/4 of their opening day roster (7 players) were Latino and yet it was not until the September arrival of Rob Barajas, upon the completion of the Triple-A season, that a Latino coach was in the clubhouse every day. Another example? During the period where the Texas Rangers had yet to hire a new manager commentators frequently suggested, given their roster make-up, the team should hire someone who spoke Spanish fluently. Levi Weaver said it on Effectively Wild episode 1274, Elvis Andrus said it (in a magnanimous sort of way) in the newspaper. So who did the Rangers hire? Chris Woodward, whose Spanish is marginal at best, a fact highlighted by the awkward interaction he had with Eduardo Nuñez prior to Game 4 of the World Series. (Go back and watch the 2nd inning of the Game 4 broadcast to see what I’m talking about.) They may dominate the game, but Latino ballplayers are still very much The Other in Major League Baseball.
In 2018 baseball (and 2018 America…) the unwritten rules have become a part of this othering process. I don’t think this was always the case, but certainly in contemporary baseball I would argue that there is an aspect of cultural xenophobia that is inseparable from how, and by whom, the unwritten rules are enforced. Brian McCann and Madison Bumgarner both cultivate the red-ass persona when on the field and I’m sure they (and their defenders) would argue that red-assery is indiscriminate, but it’s hard to ignore the cultural undertones of a white guy from the South yelling at a Latino player of colour in this incident. Or this one. Or this one. Or this one.
Thankfully, it’s possible things are starting to change. I first started writing this post shortly after Rosenthal’s tweet and it’s fairly serendipitous that I wasn’t able to finish it until now, because in the space between MLB released a playoffs promo video that was startling not so much for its content but for the mere fact that it was made at all. It is, of course, legitimate to question the extent to which that ad was simply a marketing ploy. It’s also legitimate to question the extent to which the players themselves actually subscribe to the philosophy the ad promotes. But it’s out there in the ether now - people have had enough of the bullshit.
This season Major League Baseball, as a marketing organisation, demonstrated an openness to change. Once upon a time, if presented with this same circumstance, I would have suggested that the disappearance of the more egregious unwritten rules was inevitable - as more and more Latinos come into the league and as American culture becomes less dominated by homogeneity it would only be a matter of time before what is considered acceptable behaviour on a baseball field would change accordingly. Societal events external to baseball make me hesitant to assume that now. When it comes to society and culture, there is no such thing as an inevitability - things change because we want them to, in the same way that things stay the same because we want them to. Pandering to the social media crowd with ads featuring ‘90s idols is great, but the question remains as to whether one of the most small-c conservative sports in America is ready to embrace the cultural shift that is already underway. I hope so, because this shit is rad: