Technological advances may have aided baseball writing more than any other genre. While the endless march of “progress” has managed to divide and conquer some of the more established avenues of written expression, the combination of access to information and large spans of unbroken earth has catapulted writing about baseball well past the territory of daily recaps and novels about America and talismanic lumber.

            While newspapers are replaced by 24-hour news networks, blogs and an endless news cycle, and novels come ever increasingly (and depressingly) in graphic form, baseball writing in all its media has gotten deeper, more diverse, and dare I say, better. Not all is rosy (I do fear losing beat writers from newspapers who can no longer afford them, for instance), but when it comes down to it, the writing done on many blogs today far surpasses the writing and research done for books and papers even 10 years ago. And the work done for books and papers now, well, it’s not Malamud, but baseball books are finally telling us about baseball, rather than using it as a metaphor for something else.

            Still, the yeoman’s work is being done in trenches that did not even exist a few years ago. Everyone from lawyers, teachers, part-time math aficionados and fulltime students is slowly carving away at the giant piece of marble called baseball, more and more fashioning a work of art. Sportswriters that apparently haven’t written enough are donating free material to the job, and baseball itself is encouraging discourse through team websites, blogs and chat rooms.

            Sea changes like this tend to sweep those involved up in them, making it nearly impossible to look back and see what’s good and what’s, well, not so good. Sea changes like this also tend to peter out or have a massive undertow if the “not so good” is never addressed, or the “good” is overlooked or taken for granted. Given this, a moment of meta-baseball writing every now and again might not be so bad.

            First, there is a lot to like, starting with the “free talent.” On the endless blogroll that occupies my idle hours, baseball writers generally take the fore. My morning commute to Baltimore almost invariably starts with me reading the postings of Craig Calcaterra, better known to most as the author of ShysterBall.com. He works lawyer’s hours, and seems to relish writing before them, whereas I work a slightly different kind of lawyer’s hours and relish sleeping before them (and, if possible, during them). He seems at least bemused by Cincinnati and Columbus, if not downright respectful of them, while I wouldn’t return to Cincinnati if I was given the chance to manage the Big Red Machine in Game 7 of a World Series.*

            Yet, we view baseball similarly and his infusion of humor into meaty baseball (and sometimes legal) topics helps the early morning train ride seem less like its taking me straight to work. Writing like Craig’s did not exist 20 years ago; it simply wasn’t possible. People had jobs to do, and no creative outlets accessible by hundreds or thousands of people around the world. Now Craig sits alongside writers like Rany Jazayerli, Josh Wilker and J.C. Bradbury in the esteemed “This isn’t even our primary job” club, which would have more t-shirts but for the awkward name.

             Each of these writers devotes precious free time to how they see baseball, and somewhat more importantly, how they want baseball to be seen. Shysterball is a jack-of-all-trades sort of site, while Rany’s Royals fetish and concomitant self-debasement is such a specific level of hell that at times it’s hard to read. The writing is brilliant, but the pain in those words makes you shiver, and it reminds me how much strength it takes to be an unabashed fan. Wilker weaves baseball cards and life into a rich tapestry, while Bradbury’s sometimes stilted words can’t cover up how devoted he is to making fans aware that his field intersects with baseball far more frequently than they may expect, or prefer for that matter.

            These guys are supplemented by professionals taking tiny hiatuses (hiatii? hiatia? Fr. George would not be proud of my declensions at this moment) to give us what they can’t publish. Keith Law’s personal blog is mostly devoted to pretentious ramblings about novels and cooking. I love it to death. Joe Posnanski has covered everything from his delirious love of Bruce Springsteen to the Rise and Fall of the Angel Berroa empire. Oh, that’s in between being the best sportswriter in America for the Kansas City Star, and writing books about Buck O’Neil and the Big Red Machine.** Anytime you get good writers and give them endless freedom, you will benefit. It’s the American Dream of sports writing or something. I’m pretty sure George Will wrote that somewhere.

            And then we have the stats. We don’t need to get too far into this (I have an endless number of critiques to get to, after all), but suffice it to say that the work done by organizations like Baseball Prospectus and individuals like Bill James, Pete Palmer, Clay Davenport, Tom Tango, etc. etc. etc., has changed the way many people view the game. And it continues endlessly, much to the credit of everyone involved.

            So, in short (after long), baseball writing, research and knowledge are at previously unknown peaks.

            BUT ….

            Baseball writing, and just as openly, baseball reading, is quickly becoming two-tiered. There are those “in the know,” who understand the value of an out, can quote equivalent averages for some dude in the Pacific Coast League they have their eye on, and subscribe to this site or ones just like it. And then there are David Eckstein fans. The former laugh at the latter, and the latter blame the former for ruining baseball. It’s an endless cycle, as absurd and harmful to the process of understanding baseball as partisan backbiting is to the political one.

            No one tries to bridge the gap. There is no outreach program, no voter education drives, no “I see where they are coming from, but this is how we view things.” The two sides are locked in a meaningless struggle to the bottom. Sabermetricians have always been at war with Eastasia, and so forth.

            There exist a spectacular number of Ecksteiners in the world with something important to say about baseball, and some beautiful way of saying it. There are an equal number of “right-thinkers” whose words bounce off my eardrums like Dwight Howard free throws. Yet many times we (and I do include myself, as well as many of the readers here) sit in judgment of a writer because they had the audacity to see the game differently. It’s shameful, wasteful, and quite frequently, arises out of petty jealousy that Ecksteiner Q. Jeterlover has a larger audience than we will ever hope to have.

            Look, I know that voter education drives don’t work, and that outreach programs are more likely to cause resentment of the outreachers, now seen as “know-it-alls.” I know that it’s easier to make fun of someone for saying something idiotic than it is to admit that there are different strokes for different folks, or than it is to find a way to say something stat-ty in an interesting enough way to really make someone think. Finally, I know that educating sportswriters about sports (or math) is not (and should not be) our job. But I also know that intellectual curiosity isn’t exactly the world’s specialty at this point in human history, and the burden falls on all of us to educate the educators and entertain the entertainers.

            This “community,” if it is such a thing, has grown strong over the years, but it would be foolhardy to suggest that it’s even close to a majority view. Sure, we could simply wait 30-40 years until the older generation is dead, and “win” by default, but that makes a lot of asses out of “u” and “me” about the shape of the world and those years. Two radically opposed streams of thought sap strength from both paths, weakening each until one trickles down to nothing. A healthy crossing of waters from time to time reenergizes both, and ensures that time and skills can be solely devoted to strengthening the flow of information as a whole.

            Which beings me to my second (and final, given how long I’ve already gone) major problem with baseball writing: the lack of grey matter. Or gray matter, if you prefer. Nothing is left unresolved, whether there’s an actual resolution available or not. Fights are started over nothing arguments and time and energies are sapped on death spirals that ultimately result in only bad blood, with no one closer to an answer that likely never existed in the first place. I personally blame young people, fully aware that I (a) turned 26 a week ago, and (b) have extremely recently castigated an entire city of what I am sure are well-meaning Mid-Westerners, leaving me with little wiggle room or higher ground.     

            Youth has a fire associated with it, all-consuming when left unchecked, but incredibly powerful when focused correctly. It’s apparent in every facet of life, from idiotic love affairs that wreck entire cities (see Montague, Romeo) to sudden jumps forward in science based on the determined work of young geniuses who see things in new and interesting ways (see every important innovation in the past 30 years). What young people seem to have, in spades, is the ability to convince themselves that whatever they are doing matters, and that they are on the right side of it. When they are right, miracles happen. When they are wrong, Verona burns.

            Partially because there are very few late-life converts to our half of the baseball universe, and partially because young people naturally understand the technology better, the great majority of “us” are young. Ardent. Impetuous. All those words with dual meanings, where context clues are necessary to determine if they’re an insult or a plaudit. I will spare you the Sherlock Holmes duty; here they are meant negatively. Young people pick fights, and then they bunker down. Nuclear holocaust ensues, and when it’s over, everyone’s a little more crispy yet unmoved from their bunkers. Nothing is gained, everything is wasted.

            For example, I am currently in a catfight with another writer on this site. At least, I was informed that I was via an email and scrolling through comments on an article he wrote. I encourage you to go read the article, as I would with almost everything on this site. Still, I wonder about its purpose or tone. It’s one thing to write a truly frivolous article (say, something about a personal vacation to Europe), it’s another to call someone else out to “prove” a “point.” Even if everything Matt says is true and proves exactly what he is saying, what has been gained? Am I going to personally apologize to Jeff Bagwell for very slightly underrating his abilities? Has the world been enlightened in some fashion? Matt does a lot of valuable work, and I’m sure has limited time in which to do it. I’m not saying he shouldn’t write about what he feels, but I will say that this article was certainly less useful than most of them.

            Even if there were millions of diehard Bagwell or Thomas fans out there, and this question was the burning issue of the day, the tone of the article is exactly what the older generation of baseball enthusiasts have come to hate about the new style. An intellectual discussion about player’s merits isn’t enough. Blame must be assigned, someone must be wrong, and ad hominem attacks may not replace the argumentation, but they sure offer spice to the beef. I think Matt does a very good job of arguing his point, and he may be right. I still tend to think not, for reasons I discussed in the comments section of my Hall of Fame article almost a month before his article appeared.

            However, my beliefs must be “patently absurd” because they are opposed to his. Leaving aside the bigger point for a second, this isn’t even what “patently absurd” means. If you say that something is patently absurd, it is absurd on its face, clear to everyone by its sheer existence. We all know these statements: the “This is not a pipe” picture of a pipe seems as good an example as any. If you have to write 500 words and use statistical analysis to deconstruct the statement, then it is not patently absurd.

            And now back to the bigger point. Matt’s article was not served by using the phrase “patently absurd.” It’s filler, for one, and a somewhat different person than I am might consider it disrespectful. Unfortunately for us all, there’s an entire universe of people somewhat different than me, who get immediately turned off by flippancy, overreaching, and harsh language.

            You don’t have to change your writing style to suit their tastes, and in most cases it wouldn’t make much difference if you did. It is, however, something to keep in mind the next time you call someone an “ass hat” for loving what Nick Punto brings to the clubhouse.

            I am on the record as saying I think there should be more carefree writing, fun tidbits that don’t mean a thing. However, I also believe that there are important fights to have, and beasts to be slain. It’s important to struggle against ignorance and even amazingly arcane battles about under- or over-valuing walks have their place and time, but fighting these monsters is exactly like fighting any other kind of beast. To be successful, one must not only have the talent and will to overcome the monster, one must also be extremely careful to avoid becoming one in the process. 

------------------------------------------------------

            *Seriously, I live in Wilmington, DE, which as far as “cities” go, is equal in my mind to Detroit, except a giant city-devouring alien never attacked Wilmington. Neither Wilmington nor Detroit exists as a place to be after about 6 or 7 o’clock, which is a shame. Everything shuts down. Still, I have been to each many times during work days and people are out, about and enjoying the brief few hours before they flee to their suburbs for what I’m sure are questionable, and cycle-reinforcing, reasons. I dare you to go to Cincinnati during the day, and find more than 5 people on any city block. I don’t know if they’ve put a damn Skyline chili/chocolate spaghetti sauce in every single office building, but there are zero people on the city streets. I’m pretty sure every apocalyptic movie of the past 30 years was filmed there or used it as a model. In no uncertain terms, Cincinnati sucks.         

** I will, however, read this book.