Shame on you, Major League Baseball, shame.
I’m as excited about the start of the playoffs as the next guy. I’m a baseball fan, not the biggest one. And I’m a Red Sox fan, again, far from the biggest one.
But there is something magical about the turn from summer to fall and the start of playoff baseball. Show me a 7-2 game in the stifling August heat and I’ll probably opt for catching up on “Mad Men.” But put on the long-sleeves, put something tangible on the line (and throw in the bunting to boot) and I’m all in.
The rub is, for me, I’m all in alone and the kids are out thanks to the smarties at MLB.
I won’t blame the wife on MLB, she’s not a fan, never has been. But that’s ok, I didn’t marry her for that. But I now have two budding sports fans who recognize the towering Big Papi or a Brady jersey from across the room. And this year is different: this was the first year of Owen’s Little League career (t-ball, naturally).
Owen's first swing of the bat, Salem T-ball, 2009
It’d sure be nice to settle in with Owen and Jake for a game that means something. I’m sure my excitement would only get them more into the game of Fathers and Sons.
But the programming geniuses at MLB decide the West Coast games should start at 9:37 p.m. The games back East on Sunday and Monday (couldn’t find a way to have a Saturday game when no school in the morning, could you guys?) are likely to be 8:30 starts.
For my boys, 6 and almost 4, that means first pitch is two hours into their normal bedtime for West Coast games and probably a good hour for home starts. They won’t see a pitch of games one or two and, at best, they’ll see a couple innings of the home night games. That’s just wrong.
Now I know this is an old complaint and someone will surely come back with a well-reasoned viewer analysis (but whomever tries has to start with telling me why it makes sense that the Phillies played on the East Coast mid-day their first two games while the Sox couldn’t possibly start at 3 or 4 p.m. Pacific Time).
I know there is a reasonable, monetary argument. Save it. This isn’t reason, this is fatherhood and baseball.
In 2004 and 2007, I stood in my living room cheering the hometown champs, alone. That will probably happen again this year. And so I say shame on you, Major League Baseball.
Shame.
Not my kid, but I love em for this.
