The Bottom Of The Tenth
Ken Burns shows us America’s story through the lens of baseball. Burns has given us the sprawling documentary, Baseball; and its follow-up, The Bottom of The Tenth . In Baseball, Burns traced the evolution of the game from its origins in the 1840s. The viewer was offered nine two-hour episodes ( or innings) to trace the history of the game. In the final episode, Burns brought us into the early nineties. In The Bottom of The Tenth,he picks up the story again, and we are brought up to last season in America’s favourite pastime, which means not only the re-emergence of Red Sox nation and the resurgence of the Bronx Bombers, but the steroid era. I caught part of his PBS documentary, and have this mini-series set to record on my DVR. I look forward to a baseball marathon. It is beautifully filmed; it is great story telling; it is a labour of love.
This sprawling series is more than a sporting record. It tells the American story. This is what makes the marathon series so compelling. Burns commented on the original documentary:
“Baseball”, the poet Donald Hall told us in a filmed interview, "because of its continuity over the space of America and the time of America, is a place where memory gathers." It was our intention to pursue the game — and its memories and myths — across the expanse of American history. We quickly developed an abiding conviction that the game of baseball offered a unique prism through which one could see refracted much more than the history of games won and lost, teams rising and falling, rookies arriving and veterans saying farewell. The story of baseball is also the story of race in America, of immigration and assimilation; of the struggle between labour and management, of popular culture and advertising, of myth and the nature of heroes, villains, and buffoons; of the role of women and class and wealth in our society. The game is a repository of age-old American verities, of standards against which we continually measure ourselves, and yet at the same time a mirror of the present moment in our modern culture — including all of our most contemporary failings.”
And, inevitably the Baseball epilogue- The Bottom of the Tenth- deals with the spectre of baseball’s steroid era. The first instalment revisits the heady home run duel between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa as they became the main event of the summer of 1998. Burns offers that the quest for Roger Maris’s record gave America a much needed distraction from the Clinton-Lewinski scandal. The legendary pursuit of Roger Maris’s 61 home runs in a single season is overshadowed by steroids. Those gorgeous, arcing long balls that McGwire and Sosa crushed were “juiced” home runs. Sosa’s sidestepping home run ritual and light-up-a-press-conference smile won the affection of a nation. American hearts were warmed by McGwire embracing the Maris family and exuberantly lifting up his own son at home plate as he eclipsed the record that Maris had set. Who can forget the warmth, respect and affection between Sosa and McGwire? Now it’s tainted. McGwire was using a performance enhancing substance, which, while readily available across a drug store counter, was banned by both the NFL and IOC. Jose Canseco is featured in this dirty chapter in baseball’s story, but in Burns’ treatment of the steroid saga, one man emerges as the villain. No oddly enough it’s not Roger Clemens – the anabolic rocket, who faces charges for lying to Congress. The villain of the piece is a man who refused to be filmed for interviewed. He morphed from a wiry Pittsburgh Pirate to a giant San Francisco Giant - Barry Bonds. Bonds, according to Burns was incensed by all the attention afforded to Big Mark and Super Sammy. Bonds had set his eyes on being the first 400-400 player ( hit 400 home runs and steal 400 bases). His status as the greatest all round player was eclipsed by the slugfest served up by Sosa and McGwire in the summer of 1998. Bonds plotted his revenge. He would lay claim to baseball greatness and topple the Cubs and Cardinal pretenders from his baseball throne. ( Cue evil laugh.. .mahahahahah)
What do we learn from this?
First, we all desperately want heroes – people who inspire us, people we can look up to, people we want to emulate in some way. Bob Costas appears in a telling vignette where he recounts that the pace at which Sosa and McGwire both passed the 61 mark was “fishy,” but the summer spectacle was the focus. It was as if America was having too much fun at the party to pay attention to the wafting odour of rotten fish. Steve Wilstein was the journalist who brought McGwire’s use of “andro” ( androstenedione) to the nations’ attention. He was vilified for writing about the substance that he spotted in McGwire’s locker. How dare he impugn the home run king? Tony La Russa the Cardinals manager was outraged and wanted Wilstein banned from the locker room.
Rather than question the integrity of the slugger ( McGwire later tearfully confessing he used steroids) and his record, Wilstein was blasted by fellow journalists and the public alike for ruining the party. Baseball’s heroes – Sosa, Canseco, McGwire, Palmeiro, and Clemens – were flawed. The boys of summer, in their quest for mythic sporting status, had been popping pills and injecting themselves with banned substances. Their accomplishments may not yet be erased from – or ever removed - from the record books, but their records are forever tainted.
Second, not only do we want heroes, every story needs a villain. We need a miscreant to boo; we need a Snidely Whiplash or a Cruella DeVille . Like an Alex Rodriguez returning to Seattle as an overpaid Texas Rangers player ( “Pay-Rod), jeered at every at-bat during his first series in the Emerald City in a Texas uniform. Burns’ epic Bottom of The Tenth identifies a villain for us. The man at whom we can hurl our rocks of judgment is Bonds. The documentary suggests that fuelled, not simply by steroids but by envy and resentment, Barry Bonds set out to beat McGwire’s new 70 home-run landmark. He surpassed McGwire’s record on October 5th, 2001 en route to a single season record of 73 homers. Bonds, however, will not be remembered for his prowess at the plate or his speed on the base paths. He will be long remembered for the BALCO scandal. Steroids will linger as a back story whenever Bonds is mentioned. Whether or not MLB rescinds his records, he has left an indelible stain on the game. Burns paints Bonds as the face of the steroids scandal. Barry Bonds is the bad guy in The Bottom of The Tenth.
In our quest for heroes we will always face disappointment because our earthbound heroes have feet of clay. I think it is fair to say that baseball great Ty Cobb was not a great man. Pete Rose, who thrilled crowds with his on field heroics, is living proof that we need to distinguish between the aura and athletic persona of a player and their character. Stephen Covey has written that we must eschew ‘the personality ethic” and embrace “the character ethic.”Our misplaced devotion to sporting greats who are not great illustrates Covey’s conviction.
I am a disaffected and disappointed baseball fan. My daughter and I revelled in McGwire’s 62nd home run blast in 1998. We shared and treasured a moment of baseball history only to discover McGwire cheated. I saw Bonds blast his 40th homer in the top of the first inning against the Ms in 2001. To my mind, Bonds’ gargantuan single season record has little meaning. If a sour baseball commissioner could affix an asterisk to Roger Maris’s 61st homer, why not put a Sharpie pen through Bond’s 73?
In our search for heroes, villains, and scapegoats- and in our apportioning of blame - we should remember the real heroes are not overpaid baseball players who can crush a baseball. The real heroes are the men and women who pour their lives into others. Real heroism involves servanthood, sacrifice, and courage. The real heroes are the single mums who raise their children and go without to ensure that their children are taken care of, women who instil hope, faith, and values in their kids. Where and who would ground-breaking neurosurgeon Ben Carson be without the love, support, and inspiration of his mother, Sonya Carson, a third grade drop-out? The real heroes are the underpaid youth workers who forego a secure career path to love, mentor, and encourage young people. The real heroes are women like the Ecuadorian missionary widows, who loved, served, forgave, and took the gospel to their husbands’ murderers.
I think that Ken Burns’ Baseball and its epilogue now airing on PBS are beautifully crafted and are compelling, even riveting, viewing. We are served up the history of baseball as a labour of love. We are also served a slice of American history. There’s much more to be said about this series. But for now, let me say, Burns’ retelling of the evolution of baseball reminds us that we look in the wrong places for our heroes. Don’t look at the baseball diamond for a hero; look across the street, or across the room- you might just spot a real hero.
