I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love baseball. My brother and I grew up playing catch until it was too dark to see the ball. Every Saturday morning and afternoon was spent in a neighborhood pick-up game. It was no secret that most of my friends dreamt of becoming big-leaguers.
Though other sports have tried, none has stolen my heart away from baseball. For what is more wondrous than a three-base hit or a double steal? And how can I not love a sport that, on the one hand, punishes larceny, such as hitters doctoring bats and pitchers doctoring baseballs, and, on the other hand, rewards “stealing” a base or “stealing” the signs of the other team’s catcher?
But this year, just as the season is beginning, something happened to dampen my affection for the game. What happened was a collision of two stories, two truths that I can’t reconcile. The first was an appeal I received from the organization Doctors Without Borders that focused on the continuing devastation of malaria in the world. Over a million people die each year of this treatable disease, two-thirds of them children. What grabbed me in the appeal was this: a donation of $35 would provide 32 “life-saving” treatments for malaria victims.
What a bargain, I thought. That’s only $1.10 per life. Not long after sending off a $35 check and feeling good about it, I stumbled upon a second story, this on the sports page of the newspaper. I read Mike Trout will be paid $430 million over a 12-year contract. I looked at the figure and tried to make sense of it. That’s nearly $36 million a year to play a wonderful game, but still a game.
That means Trout will be paid $221,000 for every game he plays or $24,500 per inning. What he will make per inning is more than people living in the least developed countries in the world will make in 20 years! The more I broke down the mountain of money coming to Trout, the more absurd the situation seemed.
I know I can be criticized for failing to note that corporate executives are given extravagant severance packages, even when they fail their companies. But here’s the difference. I don’t love corporate America. I love baseball.
As I said, what I’m unable to hold together in my mind is the $430 million to play a game and the $35 to save 32 lives. If my math is correct, Trout’s salary could save 391,000,000 lives.
But Mike Trout doesn’t deserve all the blame. The team owners deserve a lot, but even to focus on them evades the greater truth. It’s we, the fans, who will pay those salaries. We might balk (pardon the pun) at paying $70, the average ticket to a professional baseball game last year, but we’ll probably pay that and more this year because we love the game. And, if our team manages to get into the World Series, we’ll spring for the average ticket price of $1000 because, after all, we’ll be witnessing history.
Meanwhile, another history is playing out in countries plagued by malaria. This year, the disease will take another million human lives, not because we don’t know how to eradicate malaria, but because the cost of the most effective drugs, $1 to $2, is beyond the means of those suffering.
The Hebrew prophet Jeremiah used shocking language and behavior in an attempt to awaken his listeners to the danger of their self-centered way of life. Maybe that’s what we need. I wonder how many of us would still pay to see our favorite baseball team if what was printed on the ticket wasn’t $70 but this: “This ticket cost sixty-four human lives.”
But then again, Jeremiah’s message wasn’t well-received. Instead of being shocked, his audience refused to listen to him. What else can you do with someone who spoils all the fun?
