The Mendoza Line

It's hard to believe the baseball season is already 1/4 over, but the standings don't lie.  The Cubs just survived a miserable 8-game losing streak, but they're still a game over .500, so things could be worse.

My baseball loyalties have generally followed wherever I was living; while going to school in Detroit I got to be a big Tigers fan.  My timing was good, as I was there for the wonderful 1984 championship season, including going to a World Series game at Tiger Stadium.  

I've now been here in Chicago for 20+ years, so the Cubs are my team.  (Cue the violins.)

I appreciate the baseball season's deliberate pace.  In March you get some hints about this year's team out of spring training, and the anticipation starts.  After the Opening Day fanfare I don't get too excited about April/May; you don't want to burn out early, after all, and 162 games take a while.  (Although it was thrilling when the '84 Tigers started the year with 35 wins in 40 games.)  By June it feels like summer, winter sports are done, and you can reasonably count on Wrigley Field weather being OK.  Then it's the heart of the season through August, and if the Cubs are in the playoff hunt September is exciting, and every game important.

(Let's not talk about what happens after that each year.)

Baseball really lends itself to radio.  You know where the players are in your mind's eye, and good announcers can fill the considerable non-action time with baseball instruction, stories, and humor.  If you need painting done in the summer I'm happy to help for a few hours -- just promise me a Cubs game on the radio, and a cold drink at the end.

The game has plenty of nuances in both strategy and custom, and picking these up makes me feel part of a big club.  Example: Runner on first, no outs, right-handed batter up.  If the batter hits a ground ball to the right side of the infield the runner may be able to advance to second, into scoring position; if it gets through into right field he'll wind up on third.  The pitcher knows this, so he's throwing inside, trying to get a grounder to the shortstop (and a putout at second) or a fly out.  A good hitter in this case can get his hands out in front of the swing and still hit an inside pitch on the ground to the right; it's called hitting the ball "inside out".  He'll go back to the bench having done his job, getting a couple of high fives, and many (but not all) fans will understand why he's being congratulated for making an out.

Another: There was a light-hitting shortstop named Mario Mendoza a few years ago who finished the season hitting just below .200.  Ever since then a .200 average has been called the "Mendoza Line", and is an indicator of a really bad hitter.  If you're a young player hitting below the Mendoza Line you'd better be nice to your uncle Bill who owns the warehouse, as you may need a job there soon.

There are a million other stories or examples like these, and I don't think I'll ever stop learning about the game.  As long as the Cubs are competitive I'm interested.  And who knows -- maybe This Is The Year?

Pat