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The World Series provided a heck of a photo-op for George W. Bush
when he threw out the first pitch one night, aiming at a large TV audience.
For the most part, the game that followed was a pleasure to watch -- midway
through a week that combined what's best and worst about major league
baseball in an era of compulsive media spin.
Baseball may not quite be America's favorite sport anymore, but it
still has plenty of emotional resonance. For that reason, politicians and
corporations alike are eager to graft themselves onto the climactic games
of the post-season.
The 2001 World Series attracted an abundance of the commercial
hype that we've come to expect from pro sports, plus a gauntlet of
patriotic imagery bordering on jingoism. The play-by-play included a steady
flood of brand-name plugs -- "Budweiser, the official beer of Major League
Baseball," the John Hancock "In Game Box Score," the "Nextel Call to the
Bullpen" -- along with frequent overlays of Old Glory.
This time around, the final games of the baseball season took
place in a wartime flag-waving context. The historic media moment was
captured by a frequently seen Wranglers commercial, which aired halfway
through the seventh inning on the night that President Bush got his
photo-op at Yankee Stadium.
That jeans ad starts with the American flag on the screen and the
well-known opening chords of Creedence Clearwater Revival's song "Fortunate
Son." Moments later, the lyrics begin: "Some folks are born, made to wave
the flag / Ooh, they're red, white and blue..."
But then -- suddenly -- the soundtrack of the song drops out of
the commercial. No more words can be heard after "red, white and blue." The
next lines are missing: "And when the band plays 'Hail to the Chief' / They
point the cannon right at you."
There you have it, in miniature -- a convergence of corporate
shilling and ultra-nationalism that can splice up a song precisely enough
to turn the selection into the opposite of the song's meaning.
"Fortunate Son" is a raging denunciation of the kind of USA Number
One militaristic fervor that has swept America, with privileged elites
leading the cheers for war: "It ain't me, I ain't no senator's son ... It
ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one..."
Despite the incessant commercialism and recent hyper-patriotism
surrounding it, pro baseball retains a lot of genuine resiliency. It's the
most pensive of team sports, and the close-up camera work of modern-day
television is able to provide coverage that explores human dimensions well
beyond just physical skill. The ball is actually in play for a grand total
of only a few minutes per game -- according to one estimate, just five
minutes from the first pitch to the last. That leaves plenty of time to
ponder what just happened and mull over the next possibilities.
For many Americans, baseball is inextricably entangled with some
of the fonder memories of childhood. And for people who grew up in the days
of black-and-white television, the improvements are great. Back when ace
pitchers Warren Spahn and Lew Burdette were dazzling World Series viewers
in the late 1950s, watching baseball on TV involved peering at fuzzy
figures that moved on a gray background. There was no instant replay then,
and scant variety of camera angles.
Today, rendered on the TV screen, the game is somehow more
personal as it unfolds. We routinely see artful camera shots of the faces
of players on the diamond. As a sport that manages to be highly athletic
and contemplative at the same time, baseball offers a measured pace and
philosophical spaces that remain in sharp contrast to the frenetic energies
of mass media. On the other hand, the televised games are damaged by the
profusion of commercial plugs, logos and the like.
Hopefully, the essence of baseball will survive all the
manipulation from corporate sponsors and symbol-hungry politicians.
Especially in times of national crisis, we need to be alert. It's too easy
this fall to passively consume television's melding of fervor for sports
and war. The alternative is to think critically and fill in the blanks.
"Some folks are born, made to wave the flag / Ooh, they're red,
white and blue / And when the band plays 'Hail to the Chief' / They point
the cannon right at you."
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Norman Solomon's latest book is "The Habits of Highly Deceptive Media." His
syndicated column focuses on media and politics.
