Football (not soccer) is America’s most popular sport -- that’s probably notnews to anyone, even our international readers. Mixed martial arts is amongAmerica’s fastest growing sports in terms of popularity, which probably isn’tmuch of a surprise either. I love watching both sports, I do. But despite the NFL’sapparent position at the top and the UFC’s meteoric rise, neither can touch baseball.There are few things I enjoy more than a brisk Sunday afternoon spent watching football.Almost without fail, on Sundays you can find me at Hard Times Cafe in Arlington, proudlyand defiantly dressed in my Jay Cutler jersey. I drink. I yell. I curse. Sometimes I leavefeeling more exhausted than I would if I’d actually played in a football game. The same goes for UFC matches. Because no one in their right mind would pay whatthe UFC charges for PPV events, I’m happy to spend the same at a bar and at leastget drinks out of it. I drink. I yell. I explain to my wife why, if you’re VitorBelfort, your strategy shouldn’t be to pull a 6’4” skilled wrestler withrazor blades for elbows into your guard. The beauty of baseball is thatit’s all of these things. And also none of them.To me, the definingfeature of baseball and what makes it great is its civility. It lacks both the impliedbrutality of football and the definitional brutality of MMA. It’s generally not acontact sport, yet it’s not lacking as a display of athleticism. The seeminglyendless hangtime of a home run hit off the sweet spot of the bat is something that defiesconventional logic or understanding. The elegance of a 5-4-3 double play is, in my mind,unmatched in the sporting world.Despite this civility, baseball is perhaps oneof the most difficultsports to excel at, mainly because of the scoring system. Hitting amajor-league-level baseball pitch is without question the most difficult single action toperform in sports. Hitting a golf ball is close, but the golf ball is sitting therewaiting, daring you to react without making a fool of yourself. A 93 mph fastball waitsfor no one. If you or I were given 100 throws from an NFL quarterback, there’s agood chance we’d be able to come down with a good number of them. I doubt we couldsay the same for 100 Aroldis Chapman fastballs.Even if you make it on base,the challenge doesn’t abate any. Every time a player tries to advance, he’sgambling that he’s going to be able to make it 90 feet to the next15”x15” square of sanctuary faster than the fielder can do the same by hurlingthe ball. That gambling, that decision-making is baseball’s hallmark as achallenging sport. Which pitch do you swing at? Do you try to go for two? Can I beat thecatcher’s throw down to second? For the pitcher, the mental hurdles are evengreater, combined with the physical toll enacted by accurately throwing a five-ounce ballfaster than many people ever travel in a car. Imagine the pressure of beingthe home team’s closer. It’s the top of the ninth and you’re up by onewith two on, two out and a full count. Record a K, and you’re a hero. Blow it, andyou’ve just made extra work for your squad. It’s a little chilly tonight. Thecrowd is deafening. How anyone can avoid wetting their pants, let alone hurl a game-endingslider is beyond me. Continue Reading

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