Why Baseball Is Not For Me

The MLB All-Star game took place on Tuesday. And I'm not sure I could have cared any less.

I want to like baseball. I really do. I want to actually enjoy conversations I have with my friends who are baseball fans. It'd be great to not have to wince every time a baseball topic comes up at the water cooler and I'm forced to draw from my memory banks what teams were competing in the last five World Series. I hate having to act like I care about Stephen Strasburg's hype. And, I want to do more than just politely be in awe when someone hits a .333 or better.

A recent Harris Poll announced the number of baseball fans has dipped. Again. Last year 41 percent of sports fans called themselves baseball fans. This year, only 36 percent aligned themselves to baseball. I wonder why.

The last full-length baseball game I remember watching on T.V. was nine years ago, during the World Series, when the Yankees took another title. And that was the last night I had an inkling to do so.

I consider myself a sports fan. I grew up watching and playing every game you can imagine. I was always the fifth man on my brothers' basketball pick-up team, always the defender when my older brother wanted to air it out and my other brother wanted to catch his passes. But whenever we played baseball, there was always something about it than never struck my fancy.

Perhaps it was the insane amount of time hitters get to between swings that bothers me. And between swings. And between more swings.

I've never understood why players were allowed so much time. Yeah, I get there's a cadence, a tempo, a feel each hitter wants to achieve before making the at bat. But, basketball players only get 10 seconds to shoot a free throw. In tennis, a player gets 20 seconds to serve to his or her opponent. If they surpass the allotted time -- get this, MLB -- there's a penalty. I think it's so funny to see a professional athlete fidget with his batting gloves for a good 30 seconds before even walking up to the plate. And then fidget with them again between swings. Dude, the gloves are on perfectly! Stop messing with them!

And just like the NBA, I certainly think the season is too long. Individual games become more and more and more insignificant. Players understandably get worn out. Injuries can happen. Players sit out games to avoid injuring themselves before the post-season. And the quality of play invariably dips. But, anything for the sponsors, right? Anything for potential sales and money opportunities, sure. If they could, I bet they'd extend the season another 20 games.

Perhaps if I lived in a city like Chicago, where Cub and Sox fans outnumber the leaves on their city's trees, I'd soak in all 162 games. But I don't. I live in South Florida, where fans are lacking, the appreciation of the sport waning. I've attended a handful of Marlin games, and truly have enjoyed the experience. I think the majority of the players are pretty cool guys, and I feel bad when there are more empty seats in the stands than at a St. Thomas Aquinas high school football game. It's the same thing with me -- what if no one read any of the magazines I help produce? I'd feel awful.

Don't get me wrong. I love supporting my local pro teams and businesses. But would I give up a Saturday night to watch the hometown heroes? I elect no.

But beyond anything else that irks me about baseball, it's the exact nature it that kills me. I've always played team sports, and I've really appreciated the direct affect one teammate has on another who has on another. In theory, baseball players can be on the field for an entire half inning and never get to touch the ball. How can this be called a "team" sport when not the entire team participates? Yeah, the pitcher's integral. So's the catcher. And, depending on the situation, certain members of the infield are, too. But if a ball's not hit beyond the clay, the outfielders are completely out of the play and really hold no importance. And, even if a ball's hit toward the outfield, not all three of those players are always involved.

This so-called team sport is really lacking for me. Sure, could I hit a 3-inch white ball that was being hurled at me at 90 mph? No. Do I give credit to folks who can do it? I guess. But, looking at baseball as whole, I can't be more perplexed at what makes it such an engaging sport. If anybody can clue me in, I promise to try and be as open-minded as possible. I'll give anything a chance, even baseball.

However, don't even get me started in pitch hitting and DH-ing...

The Heat Is On

Guess what. I have something in common with LeBron James. Besides having common denominators like shear athletic dominance on the basketball court and the ability to tomahawk jam on a 10-foot net, we hold another similar characteristic. Sure, he's 6'8'', black and possesses a body only Michelangelo could sculpt. Me, I'm 5'2.5'' (yes, that 0.5 inches makes all the difference!), Asian-American and just gained a hefty five pounds from my recent vacation. But if you get pass those minor physical traits, LeBreezy and I do share something -- a love of wanting to bring our best efforts to South Florida. We both moved from afar to try to revolutionize our respective industries here in South Florida. We took a chance, and I can respect LeBron for taking his.

Other than that, I'm a little indifferent about LeBron James these days. It could stem from my absolute jealousy of him being one year younger than me, devoid of a college degree, and still making tens of millions of dollars more than me over a span of six years. 

But in truth, I think it's more of my disappointment with his behavior over the past few weeks, over the circus that has become the NBA.

I don't hate that he's one of the best athletes to lace up Nike gear. I don't hate him for tagging along ESPN's Thursday night one-hour glass menagerie train that intro'ed the star's decision to play for the Heat. I don't even hate that his Twitter name is "KingJames" and at times he's been known to refer to himself in the third person as the "King." I don't hate him for leaving his former team to try out seemingly greener pastures.

I've always like LeBron. From witnessing his unselfish play on the courts, to viewing "More Than a Game" (the engaging documentary about his high school team), to celebrating that brilliant three-point shot against the Magic in the playoffs two years ago, I've always admired the guy. In the twilight of his high-profile career, LeBron seemingly stayed out of the media spotlight, something I imagine must be difficult.

But Friday night's public opening of the three Heat headliners was a bit much for me. From the head bobbing to the smug look, I felt all this was a little out of character for someone who has set such a high level for himself. Yeah, I get that's he's 25 years old and he's allowed to act 25. But for someone who has such a strong past of class and character, I was disappointed to see LeBron act, well, like a 25-year-old.

But back to the point of commonality between LeBron and me. I'm still working hard to make a dent in this media world, and I think I'm far from my goal. However, let's hope for all of South Florida -- and LeBron himself -- that he achieves his goal at a faster pace than my own. After all, he is the King.

Mea Culpa

To this day I still think the only reason the Chicago Bulls won the 1992 NBA Championship was because of one person - me. Forget about the talents of Michael Jordan. Or the strategy of Phil Jackson. Argue with me if you will, but the one reason the Bulls won their second championship was clearly and unequivocally because of

me.

Isn't it funny how sports fans think there's a direct correlation between the outcome of their sports team's games and the fans themselves. Some fans wear the exact same shirt every game day. Others have the same pre-game ritual or "lucky" seat. I know a guy who swears the Jets went on their winning run last season because he switched his beers from Heineken to Heineken Light. Call it superstition – or just some silly fan's desire to inject themselves into a game they have no role in – but some sports fans have this sixth sense that their own actions tend to directly impact a game.

Take, for example, me. The only plausible cause of the Bulls pulling out a victory against the Portland Trail Blazers in Game 6 was because I chose to lie down on my stomach atop my parents' bed instead of my traditional pose of lying on my back to watch the game on their tube TV. Yes, after 18 years I still feel deep down that I somehow contributed to Jordan sinking those six three pointers. Had I chosen to lie down another way, well, let's just say the beginning of an era may never have come to be.

But the point of this blog is not to talk about sporting events that occurred nearly two decades ago (man, I'm getting old...), but to talk about events of last week. Just as I feel I had a hand in a great NBA victory, I feel I am the direct reason why the USA soccer team loss its round-of-16 match in this year's World Cup. Yes, sadly, I take full blame.

On such a fantastic wave of victory after winning its final game of the group stage, Sam's Army entered last week's game against Ghana with solid chances of pulling out a W. But, I had to go and screw things up.

You see, every other game the USA team has played during this World Cup I had watched in the privacy of my home, office desk (during work hours) or hotel room (I was traveling at the latter end of the group stage and during the round of 16). While in different settings, the common denominator was watching the game in privacy or with an intimate crowd of two other people. Then, I stupidly decided to watch the USA-Ghana game at the bar with some friends. Who invited more friends. And that multiplied into dozens of friends. Just that small change of venue and crowd made all the difference. My bad!

In reality - not Nila's alternative universe - I don't think my actions or any other sports fans' are Steve Bartman-like with massive repercussions. Still, I think every fan wants to be a part of the game. I've never played an NBA game in my life, but that doesn't stop me from thinking I can somehow sway a game or two. That's what makes sports so exciting to me: You don't have to pick up a ball, step onto the field, or lace up your boots to feel like you're somehow a part of your team's roster. Somehow there's a jersey with your name on it anyways.

Vamos USA!

Like all "real" sports fans here in America, I'm captivated by the World Cup. And for the first time in three World Cups, I'm rooting for Sam's Army right here in my home turf.

There's something to be said about being surrounded by like-minded fans who share your same nationalistic pride. Something that I'll never take for granted.

Last World Cup, I was traveling in Quebec, surrounded by French Canadiens and other nationalities. Three World Cups ago, I was traveling in Brazil – Rio de Janeiro specifically. Lucky for me, Brazil won the World Cup that took place in South Korea/Japan, becoming five-time champions. A byproduct of that victory? I discovered what the verb "party" really meant (not even attending a state school could prepare me for the type of festivities I saw down there).

But now, I can't say I'd rather be anywhere except the good ol' U.S. of A. to enjoy a little futbol with those in red, white and blue. Try being the only Americans in a bar in Montreal when all others are cheering for the Azzurri or with those who have shifted to become bandwagon Brazilian fans. Awkward, yes. While at the bar, we didn't want to look like we had "quintessential obnoxious Americans" etched on our foreheads, so we were careful in containing our cheers and jeers. Even worse, we were traveling during the unpopular Bush years when American popularity waned as much as our soccer hopes did that year. Then, we quickly reminded ourselves Canada's first and only World Cup qualification was in 1986 and its best chance of qualifying escaped when Steve Nash decided to play basketball instead of soccer. So then we cheered to our hearts' content.

On Friday I watched the USA's match against Slovenia on my home turf. More specifically, I watched the 10 a.m. game sitting right at my office desk in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Connected to the Internet, and thankful our workplace is a "soccer-friendly office" (as deemed by our COO), I cursed at the first Slovenian goal. And, I nearly smashed my office phone with my right fist at their second goal. But when Landon Donovan scored one of the best goals in the tournament to cut the Slovenia lead in half, I let out a yelp that only an American soccer fan can appreciate. Funny thing is, I could hear about half the office floor cheering almost simultaneously with me. And, when Michael Bradley scored the equalizer, I couldn't be happier to cheer amongst my pro-American mates. Yes, the obnoxious American was here, right where she belonged.

However our American boys do this year, however they finish, it's overwhelmingly refreshing to cheer amongst peers and to be embraced by those who love Donovan, Dempsey, Howard, Altidore, Edu, Bocanegra, Bradley and the other troops in Sam's Army as much as I do.

My Sherpa

Saying goodbye is always a difficult thing to do, but lucky for us and our publishing company, we have the chance to say good luck to one of the best employees whose name has graced our masthead. On Friday, Gold Coast magazine will bid adieu to Jennifer Math, our associate editor, my right-hand woman, my sidekick, my sherpa, my cohort, my friend.

Jennifer has been with us for nearly 2.5 years, and it can't be mentioned enough how her impact and talents will be missed. She's revolutionized our front-of-the-book sections and brought in amazing copy editing skills that will undoubtedly be unsurpassed.

But there's a lot of tasks Jennifer performs for our magazine that you might be unaware of. Keeping in line with our Gold Coast editorial department, Hearsay, I present:

6 Things You Didn't Know About Jennifer Math:

1. She's the only magazine member who can wear a child-sized glove.

If you're looking for a good laugh or two, ask Jen to palm a basketball. Or even a tennis ball.

2. She's been called a "workout workhorse."

For one assignment, Jen tested a Metabolic Assessment Profile Test at a local gym. There, the professional trainer asked her to run an ungodly amount of time on a treadmill while wearing an unattractive mask that measured the volume of oxygen her body absorbed. After about a gazillion minutes of running and showing no signs of fatigue (as verified by this oxygen machine), the trainer exclaims, "Man, you're a workout workhorse! Triathletes don't even have the endurance you do!"

3. She's our resident taste tester.

If there's a South Florida key lime pie or mojito of note, Jen's conquered them all. Her expert palate and taste buds have been utilized in every taste test we've done these past 2.5 years.

4. She pronounces "drawer" the good ol' fashion New York way: "drahw-yer."

For the most part, Jen has no trace of her native geographic background in her speech. Except when pronouncing this fun lil' word. Sometimes I'd purposely trick her in saying the word (like, "Where did you put that file, Jen?" "Oh, it's in my drahw-yer.").

5. Jen claims to have a "good" side.

Well, to the rest of us, every side of Jen is her good side, but when taking pictures, please note Jen prefers to be on your left side.

6. She can do a mean Cupid Shuffle.

For last year's annual Florida Magazine Association conference in Orlando, Jen single-handedly showed us why our editorial staff won three fancy-smancy Charlie Awards -- it was because of her post-award ceremony Cupid Shuffle at the Universal CityWalk. Down, down, do your dance, do your dance, Jen.

Saving Our Libraries

With a controlled, even voice, Jim Findlay announced to 18 Broward Public Library Foundation board members that upon his upcoming retirement, the county will not seek a replacement for his vacant curator spot at Bienes Museum of the Modern Book, the museum located on the sixth floor of the Main Library. As I heard Mr. Findlay breath each word with a hint of marked sadness at last week's board meeting, I couldn't help but think, wow, this is the personification of a double-whammy: Cutting back a museum's staff and, just as bad, cutting back on a library's staff.

During the short life span of this blog, I've tried keeping topics lighthearted and trivial. For me, that type of narrative comes easiest. But this time, sorry Charlie, I've got to speak about something that hits close to home.

The way I see it, not only has the county decided to cut funding toward arts and culture, with targets set at the Bienes Museum at the Main Library, it's made our public library system innately inferior to its potential, poorly servicing our citizens. Blame it on economic woes, budget cuts, whatever, but the fundamental right to read and learn is taking a multi-year back seat with little end in sight.

During the past three years, our public library system has cut its staff by one-third (324 jobs lost) and chopped nearly a quarter of its funding. The irony? Circulation and workload has increased by 11 percent. Thankfully, books are still arriving, but the good folks who check them in are far and few in between.

My neighborhood library, Imperial Point, has inconvenient service hours. Closed on Fridays, not open after work hours some days, unlocking its doors too late on other days. I can't blame them -- they can't afford to stay open during "normal" hours. Instead, they compromise with abbreviated times and services. And it's not just the Imperial Point branch or any other branch in Broward; it's sadly a commonality all over the nation. Last year all city libraries in Seattle were forced to shut down for an entire week due to budget cuts.

Call me crazy, but as an editor, journalist and writer, I've got this weird attachment to books and libraries. I grew up around books, and I was practically raised in a library (though my parents will never fess up to it). After school, my brothers and I would go to the library to read, study, research and entertain ourselves. My parents couldn't afford a baby sitter; instead, the library became our surrogate nanny. By the time I was 10, I think I read every single book in the children's section (thank you, Ann M. Martin, for The Baby-Sitters Club series). I say with confidence the impact the library had on me is directly correlated with my current choice of profession. And, I'd like to think there's millions of other folks that libraries have directly impacted, too.

On June 22, county commissioners will hold a Budget Workshop, discussing the budgets for a variety of civic services, including the public libraries. Let's hope for the sake of ourselves and our libraries, no shortcomings are finalized.

Gold Coast's hot fashion issue

My publisher's tossed this idea out a few times during editorial meetings. Actually, he suggests it at any moment he can – regardless of time, audience, location or scenario. He thinks our magazine should do a fashion shoot here in Fort Lauderdale. Of what, you ask? Of fashions Fort Lauderdalelites wore during the late 1800s and early 1900s. It'll be a major page turner, he thinks.

I consider myself a pretty creative person, but I'm clueless how I can make ruffled, ankle-length skirts, corsets and bonnet hats hip and cool again. Call me crazy, but I'm thinking the only folks who might pick up this issue are from a small community in Lancaster, Pa.