August 8, 2007--Number 756

Why all the fuss about Barry Bonds breaking Henry Aaron’s homerun record? (See NY Times story linked below.) Would we feel the same way if someone broke Wilt Chamberlain’s lifetime basketball scoring record or Gary Anderson’s lifetime NFL scoring record? I even wonder how many non-sports-enthusiasts know that Wilt and Anderson own these records. Until I looked it up just now I never even heard of Anderson who scored all his 2,434 point by kicking field goals and extra points.

Some assert that the fuss stems from the credible allegation that Bonds cheated by bulking up on steroids and human growth hormones that are banned by Major League Baseball. Just take a look at the size of his head if you have any doubts about that. There was a version of similar complains when Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s record because Hammerin’ Hank played during the era of the lively ball which made it easier than in the Babe’s day to hit them out of the park. The fact that Aaron is black and Ruth was white undoubtedly also played a role in some baseball aficionados resenting his achievement.

But Aaron wasn’t personally responsible for the kind of baseball used while Bonds took it upon himself to cheat. That of course is a critical difference.

This, though, doesn’t deal with the question as to why records and statistics are so central to fans’ involvement with baseball. Yes, there are basketball heroes such as Michael Jordan and football stars who everyone knows such as Joe Namath; but hardly anyone knows Joe’s lifetime pass completion record or the most points Jordan ever scored in a single game. Or for that matter, how many major championships Jack Nicklaus won. Much less how many soccer goals David Beckham has thus far scored. Or the record in the 100 meter dash. And how many remember how many gold medals Mark Spitz won in the 1972 Olympics?

With the exception of Nicklaus’ record (18) I had to look up the answers to all the others. But I can tell you from deep memory how many homeruns Ruth hit (714); how many consecutive games Cal Ripken played (2,632, breaking Lou Gehrig’s streak of 2,130 ); how many games in a row Joe DiMaggio hit safely in (56); how many wins did Cy Young have during his lifetime (511 ). Pretty much any semiserious baseball fan knows these records by heart (I almost wrote “by DNA”) and dozens more.

Baseball is of course mainly about the day-to-day games themselves, but it is almost equally about season-long and lifetime records. This is in large part because baseball is about time. Which is ironic since baseball is the only major sport that is not ruled by the clock—to quote Yogi, “It isn’t over until it’s over.” And as such, with its long season of ebbs and flows and slow unfolding drama, is an ideal metaphor for life itself. Just as we keep track of our own lives’ statistics and records (births, anniversaries, deaths) so does baseball. It is thus also a game that in its essence thrives on the associations forged by memory and shaped by the passage of time.

Note, as well, how many idioms that enrich the vernacular side of American English come from baseball: I can’t get to first base with you; I struck out on that deal; I felt relegated to left field; I went to bat for you; I’ll take a rain check; It’s time to step up to the plate; He threw me a curve; I had two strikes against me; etc.

So when a Barry Bonds comes along and for the sake of personal aggrandizement interferes with these powerful archetypical forces that surge through our cultural bloodstream, he is doing much more than just stealing a record. He is tampering with one important way in which we keep track of and understand the meaning of the trajectory of our lives.