Baseball Inflation

I've been an avid baseball fan, specifically of the Atlanta Braves, since shortly after the team moved from Milwaukee to Atlanta in 1966. I had just learned how to read a box score and soon could tell you from week to week the batting average of each Atlanta player. I had manager Luman Harris's regular lineup memorized by heart.

1. Felix Millan, 2B

2. Felipe Alou, CF

3. Hank Aaron, RF

4. Rico Carty, LF

5. Orlando Cepeda, 1B

6. Clete Boyer, 3B

7. Sonny Jackson or Gil Garrido, SS

8. Bob Didier, C

9. Starting pitcher, Phil Niekro, Ron Reid, Pat Jarvis, George Stone

Rico Carty

That roster included at least three future Hall of Fame inductees. But what I loved most about the game was that they played "small ball," relying on singles, sacrifice bunts, smart base running, etc., to score runs. It involved a lot of strategy. They had their share of home runs, of course. How could they not have a plethora of them with the bats of Aaron, Carty, and Cepeda in the lineup?! And the other players added their share of homers occasionally. And they did so humbly. They didn't "hot dog" about it.

And that's how most teams played in that day. No hoopla. No bat flips. No standing at the plate admiring the ball soar over the fence. No special hats or jackets donned after a homer. No chest bumps. They just trotted around the bases as if that was normal for them. And if the crowd cheered loudly enough, they might doff their cap or even step from the dugout and do it again if the crowd persisted in cheering.

Consider, for example, Hank Aaron's demeanor after he hit No. 715, breaking Babe Ruth's hallowed record on April 8, 1974. The most exuberance one might see in games of that era was the way Bill Mazeroski leaped around the bases after hitting his game- and World Series-winning homer in 1960. And

he was an exception to the rule, but his antics were mild in contrast to the "shows" we see today when anyone hits a homer even in a losing cause.

Rather than being characterized by reserve, today's players' feats are just the opposite. Every achievement on the field, regardless of how small, is celebrated by wild antics, gestures, and hoopla. (Maybe that comes from the environment in which they grew up, taught that even mere participation without accomplishment deserves a trophy, and achievement, no matter how small or inconsequential, deserves hoopla.)

But baseball in general today is characterized by inflation. Inflated salaries. Inflated egos. Consequently, inflated prices for seats. Inflated numbers of homers, including grand slams. And inflated celebration for every little thing.

In watching the highlights of every game on YouTube every day, one tires of seeing 19-20 homeruns a day, many by batters who hit two or even three in one game. Or back to back to back homers in the same inning. Players are now hitting before the All Star break as many homers as they used to hit in an entire season. Pretty soon, a homer means nothing. They're so numerous that they have become ho-hum to fans, no matter how excited the announcers pretend to sound.

"See. You. Later!"

"It's outta here!"

It's like the monetary inflation we've so recently experienced. With the government spending trillions of dollars we don't have and running the printing presses nonstop, pretty soon a dollar means nothing.

I don't know whether they've done something to the ball to make it more lively, but something is inflating the number of homers being hit. I know that at least some players are using the "torpedo" bat to get more homers. And players are now taught to have not a level swing, as they once were taught, but to swing upward to give more lift to the ball to get it up and over the fence.

The drug-induced surge in homerun hitting was finally stopped (we hope!), but something else is at play now, making it impossible to truthfully and accurately compare players' accomplishments over the years.

I long for a return to the way baseball once was played. Small ball. When a homer was worth something, when it was something really worthy of celebration, albeit low key, because it was rarer. When players celebrated by doing their best and didn't put personal pride on public display.

I recently heard an interview with Johnny Bench, arguably the greatest all-around catcher in history. He was commenting on differences in baseball between his day with Cincinnati's "Big Red Machine" and today. He declared that he could never "hot dog" after he hit a homer. He said he believed the other team, especially the opposing pitcher, already felt bad enough, and he didn't want to rub it in.

A video of one of his homers shows Bench's typical demeanor after hitting a homer. He rounded the bases eyes down where he was running. As he passed third base, he gently slapped the hand of the third-base coach and then, after crossing the plate, shook hands quickly with the next batter and then he was back in the dugout. He let his homer do his "talking" for him.

It was the same with Aaron.

In my book, those were the truly great heroes of the game. Not so today. And that change in attitude and the "inflation" that has flooded the game could well spell the decline and demise (notice the number of empty seats in the outfield stands already, even at weekend games) of what used to be known as "America's pastime."