How to Write a Baseball Play

I recently decided to write a one-man show about baseball. I've been running dry recently, creatively speaking, so I decided to combine two of my creative passions, baseball and theatre, to direct my energies toward a specific end.
I wanted to do something that would tell the history of baseball, but from several different perspectives. I didn't just want players; I wanted managers, owners, GMs, scouts, reporters, and even fans. I also wanted to pick stories that were about more than just baseball. Retelling the final innings of the 1924 World Series would be exciting to a baseball fan, but maybe not to an average play-goer. So I decided that if I was to include pure "baseball" moments, they would still have to be relevant to people who weren't baseball fans. The great thing about baseball is that so many famous players, moments, and myths are connected to a specific moment in history, or are at least part of a larger story that makes them compelling no matter who you are. It was these stories I wanted to tell, but through the lens of the national pastime (that was even my first idea for a title: simply, "Pastime").
My first idea was to write a one-man show chronicling the history of baseball. I would pick a select few characters from history to take us through the ups and downs of baseball. I was full of ideas of creative ways to present different eras of baseball and, by extension, American history and culture as reflected in the national pastime. I thought (and still think) that it was a fine idea. But it was just too big. It took Ken Burns 9 episodes of public television to tell the story, and I was trying to fit it all into about and one and a half hours of theatre. Anything longer, and I felt I would be unfairly taxing the audience. Part of the challenge of a one-person show is to keep the audience compelled all by yourself, but if you're talking about two or two and a half hours plus intermission, that's not daring -- that's insane.
The other problem was that there was no way I could narrow down all of my ideas to fit even two and a half hours. When I first started brainstorming, I divided baseball history into nine rough eras, and then I started listing possible characters to appear representing that era. These lists alone were daunting. At first, I wanted to narrow it down to three characters per era. But how can you do that without leaving out eight or ten equally appealing characters? Could I really look at the years 1920-1945 and pick three characters from baseball history? Let's say I do pick just three characters (which I did): "Rube" Foster, Babe Ruth, and Satchel Paige. What about Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Joe McCarthy, Carl Mays, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, Josh Gibson, Hank Greenberg, Pete Alexander, Bob Feller, Ted Williams, Moe Berg, Ed Barrow, Allen Roth, Rogers Hornsby, Mel Ott, Damon Runyon, Lefty Grove, Dizzy Dean, Pete Reiser, and Ernie Lombardi?
I eventually realized that I had enough material in just one "era" to do an entire play about it. So that's what I did. Maybe someday later, I'll turn it into a nine-part series on baseball history, but for now, I decided to focus on just one.
I wanted to keep the structure -- nine "innings," or segments -- to help organize the show and also add another baseball touch. It would also keep the show short and stop me from rambling if I had just nine segments featuring two or three characters (monologues) apiece.

So it was up to me to pick one era of baseball to write about. My first draft had divided baseball into nine rough "eras" in chronological order:

Prehistory: (1700s-1850s)
Base Ball: (1850s-1890s)
Dead Ball: (1900s-1920)
The "Golden" Age: (1920-1945)
Integration: (1945-1960s)
Willie, Mickey, & The Duke (1950s-1970s)
Free Agency: (1970s-1980s)
Big Business: (1980s-1990s)
International Pastime: (1990s-Present)

The time restrictions were rough; it was more important to group characters by theme than to impose too-strict chronological restraints. Forced to pick one of these stories to tell, my first instinct was to go with Integration. It's a period that interests me greatly, and I know more about it than possibly any other era. And I could approach it without a strict observance of timeline. I could start with "Fleetwood" Walker, the last black major leaguer, in the 1880s, and continue up to the present day, if I wanted. I could include characters such as Walker, Satchel Paige, Bill Veeck, Curt Flood, and many more.
The problem with this approach was one of sensitivity; I'm not black, and to write a one-man show about race performed entirely by a white person seemed wrong. Not that I wouldn't include black players, or treat the subject sensitively, but for the story of black-white relations to be told entirely by a white man seemed inherently dishonest, especially since the whole point of the play would be inclusion and diversity. I tried to rework it as a two-person show for one black actor and one white actor, but that stalled a bit. I still might pick that project up again soon, but I decided to go to another era and stick with the one-man show concept.
I decided upon the dead ball era. There are a lot of fascinating, interwoven stories from that era that say a lot not just about baseball, but about the human condition and the American issues of the time. And there is no shortage of colorful characters from that era. I've already started researching and hope to have a rough draft worked up in a few months. You'll forgive me if I'm a bit vague about my final project; playwrights are justifiably paranoid about getting their ideas stolen, and if it sounds like an unreasonable fear, trust me when I say that it's not. Hopefully, though, I will get an opportunity to perform the play and copyright it, thus enabling me to write about it and publicize it as best I can.

I'll try to keep you involved with this interesting process as it continues, if in vague and general terms.

***

I also would be remiss if I didn't mention the newest development in Cincinnati baseball. Reds GM Wayne Krivsky was fired recently and replaced by special advisor (and former Cardinals GM) Walt Jocketty. I think the move was the right one, but the timing of it was downright puzzling. Krivsky was fired less than one month into the season, with the Reds at 9-12. Is that disappointing? Yes. Is it worth dumping your GM? Absolutely not. What must have happened is that Jocketty, who just joined the team this offseason after being let go by St. Louis, was meant to take over as GM all along, but ownership wanted some sort of justification before canning Krivsky. They couldn't wait very long for it, I imagine, and tried to use the 9-12 excuse as the reason for getting rid of him. That's not only silly, but a pretty insulting lie to both Krivsky and the fans.
Not that I disagree with the move. I've been a vocal critic of Krivsky in the past, and while he has made some good moves (picking up Bronson Arroyo, Jeff Keppinger, Brandon Phillips), they've been outweighed by the poor ones (hiring Dusty Baker, the Kearns-Lopez trade, the glut of expensive middle relievers). But even a poor GM deserves better than this. If the Reds (and owner Bob Castellini) really wanted to get rid of Krivsky, the honorable thing would have been to do so before the season. Yes, it's embarassing to fire a GM not for what he did but just because a better candidate happened along, but that's at least more honest than what the Reds did. What they did was hedge their bets and try to have it both ways, only to make themselves look worse than they would have by firing him earlier or later.
Wayne Krivsky did not do a good job as GM of the Reds, and he deserved to be dismissed. But to get rid of him this way was the wrong thing to do, and it sends a message of dishonesty and double-dealing throughout the organization and fanbase. That's never a good thing, and it wasn't worth it just to get rid of Krivsky.

News bits and Required Reading

I'm watching the Cubs and Reds right now on WGN, and commentator Len Kasper mentioned a breaking baseball story that caught my attention immediately. So I went online to check it out, and there it was: Tejada admits to being two years older than he had said. Miguel Tejada, whose birthday has always been listed as May 25, 1976, admitted that he was actually born May 25, 1974. Tejada's admission came just as ESPN was about to air a special with evidence exposing Tejada's real birthday.
First of all, what does this mean? It's bad news, any way you slice it. Astros GM Ed Wade said, ""Fact of the matter is that he plays like he's 25, so I don't think it really matters a whole lot." Well, Ed Wade might actually be dumb enough to believe that, but in reality, there's a huge difference in baseball between age 32 and age 34. The Astros owe Tejada $13 million dollars over the next two seasons, plus $4 million in deferred payments on his signing bonus. Tejada doesn't turn 34 until May, but that still means that the Astros are committing big money to a mid-30s player who can no longer play a key defensive position. And for a team whose best case scenario is 4th place, that's absolutely unacceptable. I wasn't such a fan of the Tejada trade when it happened, and now I think it's a terrible idea.
But could the Astros have known about the lie? Yes. In fact, they could have found out so easily, that it's a joke that no one figured this out sooner. Tejada's real birth date was on his green card and his driver's license! I guess the real culprits here are the Orioles, who signed Tejada to the contract in the first place. Before investing so much money in a player, I would run some background to make sure he was really as young as he claimed. And it seems like the most cursory of background checks would have revealed Tejada's real age.
I'm sure there will be more people, like Ed Wade, who just say, "Hey, he's a good player, and that's all that matters." That's a load of crap. With a baseball player -- any baseball player -- you can't predict the future. The only thing you can do is come up with a rough forecast based on a player's basica ttributes, with age being #1 among them. Many people think of baseball players as absolutely unique; like snowflakes. But in reality, it's very easy to make broad estimates of a player's future performance based on a few select criteria. And age is at the top of the list. A player's skills get worse as he gets older, and the closer you get to 40, the faster the decline occurs. You may not want to take such a dim view of Tejada's future, but I'm afraid that everything we know about baseball leads us to a fairly simple conclusion: players get worse as they get older, and every year -- especially every two years -- makes a difference.

• The blog Florida Marlins Finances takes a close look at the financial records of the team and comes to a pretty strong conclusion: the team isn't nearly as bad off as they would like you to believe.
• Former major leaguer Doug Glanville wrote this piece for the New York Times. You don't find many ballplayers who are this articulate.
• These pictures of Hideki Okajima's delivery are fascinating -- unless human contortionists make you sick.
• I love this t-shirt for many, many reasons.

Back soon, with words for the eternally grump Murray Chass.

Rules is Rules

We're about two weeks into the season and have seen some interesting, if not earth-shattering, developments. The one that's struck me the most is the dispute over the third base coach's box. It seems that the umpires are going to be cracking down on more of the little things this year, or so it seemed when Yankees third base coach Larry Bowa was ejected from a game for standing outside the coach's box on the third base line. The umpire said that he warned him not to stand there, but Bowa (being Bowa) told him to shove off. The ump tossed Bowa and got a lot of people miffed.
The thing is that no one ever -- ever -- enforces the rule about the third base coach standing in the box. Very few coaches actually stand there; they move out to get away from errant line drives and to stand where the oncoming baserunner can better see them. They've been doing this for years, and Bowa's ejection over this rule has to be the first in I don't know how long. The umpire claimed that he was just doing what the chief umpires were saying: enforce the rules, especially this one. And yet no other umpire has made a stink over the issue.
Stuff like this happens a lot, and it usually isn't a very big deal, but over time, it gets on my nerves. Basically, there are numerous rules in the baseball rulebook that are never actually enforced. Except sometimes an umpire (or an opposing manager) will take it upon themselves to reverse decades of tradition and actually enforce the rule that day. Some rules that fit this description: coaches standing in the coach's box, batters standing in the batters' box, catchers staying inside the catcher's bos, a pivot man at second base actually touching the bag, someone sliding into second base staying within reach of the bag, making an effort to avoid being hit by a pitch, pitchers keeping their hands clean of foreign objects (such as pine tar) and several others that I'm sure I could think of if I tried.
In fact, two notable historical events are based on the selective enforcement of rules. The famous Pine Tar incident between Billy Martin and George Brett is notable. Hitters aren't supposed to spread pine tar too far down the handle of their bats, but Brett (and a few others, likely) were bending the rule. Martin waited until he could use this to his advantage and brought it up right after Brett hit a key homer against the Yankees. I doubt the umpires really cared, but when confronted by an opposing manager with rulebook in hand, they called Brett out.
Another incident, 100 years ago, was known as Merkle's boner. In late September 1908, the Giants and Cubs were locked in a pennant race. On September 23, at the Polo Grounds, the Giants had runners on first and third in the bottom of the 9th of a 1-1 game against Chicago. Merkle was on first. The batter at the plate hit a single, scoring the runner from third, and sending the New York fans into a frenzy. They mobbed the field, so much so that Merkle never made it to second base. Cubs second baseman Johnny Evers noticed this, grabbed the ball (although it may not have been "the" ball; reports differ) and tagged second base. The umpire therefore called Merkle out on a force play and ruled that the run didn't count. With the fans on the field (and enjoying what they thought was a victory), the game was ruled a tie, only to be played if it would affect the NL pennant. It did, and the game was picked up on October 8, with the Cubs winning the pennant and, later, their final World Series.
Observers pointed out that Merkle's "boner" was actually common practice, and no one had ever strictly enforced the rule before. The selective enforcement of the rule angered John McGraw (who was indeed prone to anger) and he protested the move vociferously. But the Cubs won out, and Merkle's boner was perhaps the most infamous baseball moment of its time.

Someone intelligent (I think it was Rob Neyer) recently suggested that we finally get rid of all the bullshit and half-heartedness; we should go through the record book and either enforce all of the rules or get rid of the rules that aren't being enforced. Think about any other rules system where there are rules on the books that are only sporadically enforced, with no telling where or when that will be. It's inherently unfair and it's just a big distraction. Something either is a rule or it isn't; it's silly that after more than 100 years of organized baseball, we're still afraid to draw the line on these minor issues.
As far as the third base box goes, I don't see why we should keep the coach in there, so long as they're reasonably close. If my memory is correct, the third base box was created because of one specific coach (I think it was Hughie Jennings) who would run up and down the third base line to distract the pitcher. That may be an apocryphal story, yes. But what other practical purpose does a third base coach's box serve? Is there some serious problem in baseball with coaches wandering about and distracting the pitcher on the mound? It would be a pain in the ass to start enforcing this outdated rule now, especially if only some umpires are going to do it. Let it go and rewrite the rule to allow coaches to range further out. I don't think it will compromise the sanctity of the game.

More short thoughts:

• It's absolutely maddening to listen to baseball announcers at this time of the year (or any time of the year, really, but bear with me). I have to listen to two or three morons pretending that there's something significant about the fact that David Ortiz is 1 for 11 with runners in scoring position. And I have to hear gainfully employed journalists talking about Nate McLouth as if he's suddenly metamorphosed into a major league hitter. And, of course, you can't last very long without hearing dire tales about the Detroit Tigers or stories about the "surging" St. Louis Cardinals or Kansas City Royals.
  It is part of our passion as fans to try and draw vast conclusions from even the smallest snippet of information. We turn 10 or 20 at bats into a statement about someone's character, or a 7-game losing streak into a sign of imminent destruction. In the middle of the season, we're much better about treating small sample sizes as the mostly meaningless or misleading slivers of information that they really are. But early in the season, we're powerless to stop ourselves from looking for the fate of our team in the smallest details.
  As fans, we can be blamed this weakness. But there's no excuse for commentators and announcers --who have presumably experienced more than one or two Aprils in their baseball careers -- to continue the ritual idiocy every spring. Someone out there should be learning from experience and discounting all of this hoopla as the bullshit it is -- making mountians out of 6- or 7-game molehills. But these people are few and far between. And it must be said that if everyone admitted that April games are no more important than July games, it would be hard to convince people to watch them, or to watch the 24-hour cable sports channels dedicated to analyzing them. Remember -- making something out of nothing is good "journalism."

That's all for now. I'll be back soon to talk about bloggers and their impact on the world of sports media, pro and con. I'll also let you in on the process of writing a play -- specifically, a play about baseball, which I'm working on right now.

Greatest sports quote of the decade: "And that happened."