No, this isn't a post about an interesting ballgame I took in one evening ...
On November 21, I saw the film Twilight on its opening day. I have not read the book, though I do have it (as well as the entire 4-book series) on my list of books I’d like to read. So, while I knew elements of the story, I didn’t know a lot going into the film. My wife, on the other hand, has read all of the books in the series and is much more of an expert on them.
While I found the beginning a little too teeny-bopper in its presentation (an aspect that my wife confirms is not representative of the book), I generally enjoyed the film, especially once the relationship between the two main characters got going. It was interesting to see the filming quality that they used—one that I think is meant to relate to contemporary teenagers and young adults. The entire film kind of felt like a two-hour Evanescence video.
What perhaps interested me the most, though, was the prominence of baseball, which plays at least two roles in the stories: (1) the main character’s father appears to be a pretty diehard (or is that Twihard?) Seattle Mariners fan (2) and the vampires in the story like to play baseball. Given my interest in the ways that baseball (as well as sports in general) is used and referenced in texts that otherwise are not about baseball (or sports in general), this particularly grabbed my attention. According to my wife, baseball plays the same kinds of roles in the books. Add that to my reasons for wanting to read the books because I’m now wondering what this suggests about the social meaning of baseball.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
My Contradictory Fandom
On Friday, the football team from the high school that I attended won its fifth state championship. (The first four came in 1997, 1998, 1999, and 2005.) The game was televised in my area and I watched the second half of it on television. While I was not really vocal about it, I was inwardly rooting for them to win and, then, I was subsequently happy to see them win. Yet, I recognize that that happiness is a very contradictory kind of happiness in two ways:
First, that I should root for a team to win its fifth championship in twelve seasons isn’t particularly consistent with my view of parity in sports (a view that I have discussed, to some extent, here and here), particularly when there are scores of teams playing in the same division and playing for the same championship as the high school that I attended. I tend to think that New York Yankees fans, Ohio State football fans, Detroit Red Wings fans, New York Yankees fans, Duke basketball fans, Los Angeles Lakers fans, New York Yankees fans, New York Yankees fans, and others who expect championships every year are being egregious in their desires. Yet, here I was rooting for a team to maintain a very similar kind of dominance, as if it deserved to win so many more championships than everyone else.
Second, I hated my high school when I attended it. At one point while I was there, the parish (it’s a Catholic school) held a rally to support the school because there were concerns that it might have to close. Not only did I not attend the rally; I openly wished for the place to close. So, it’s kind of strange for me today to root for the football team from that place.
I think these contradictions point out a couple of things about sports identifications. First, we find ways to justify the identifications and rooting interests that we have, even when they contradict our own ideological perspectives. Because of that, I can find myself rooting against parity in one instance, even as I espouse the desirability of parity in so many other instances. Second, we become branded with these identities strongly when we are young and that branding is hard to break. I think this is similar to how individuals find themselves rooting for their home country in the Olympics, even if they have good reasons why they might not want to do so. Similarly, connections to local communities die hard, even when people have denounced or, at least, moved on from those communities.
In the end, I think this potentially illustrates how significant sports identities are—at least in the United States and, I suspect, in many other parts of the world as well. There are times when individuals who otherwise divide themselves based on race, social class, gender, sexuality, religion, etc. find themselves bonded (at least temporary) by sports team identification. To be sure, these are commercialized, branded identifications, like identifications with musical artists, television programs, and soft drinks, among other things. And like these other brand identifications, part of understanding the significance of sports, I believe, is recognizing the deep-seated ways in which these identifications work and affect people’s lives as identities, like race, social class, gender, etc., do. Just as we become branded to think about racial identities, gender identities, national identities, sexual identities, religious identities, and other identities from young ages to the point that, as we grow older, it becomes harder and harder to examine our own assumptions along each of these lines, I think that we become branded in connection with sports and sports allegiances from young ages to the point at which it becomes much harder to look at the politics of sporting practices. If we’re going to get at the politics of sport, fuller recognition of the deep workings of sports identities seems to be a very important step to take.
First, that I should root for a team to win its fifth championship in twelve seasons isn’t particularly consistent with my view of parity in sports (a view that I have discussed, to some extent, here and here), particularly when there are scores of teams playing in the same division and playing for the same championship as the high school that I attended. I tend to think that New York Yankees fans, Ohio State football fans, Detroit Red Wings fans, New York Yankees fans, Duke basketball fans, Los Angeles Lakers fans, New York Yankees fans, New York Yankees fans, and others who expect championships every year are being egregious in their desires. Yet, here I was rooting for a team to maintain a very similar kind of dominance, as if it deserved to win so many more championships than everyone else.
Second, I hated my high school when I attended it. At one point while I was there, the parish (it’s a Catholic school) held a rally to support the school because there were concerns that it might have to close. Not only did I not attend the rally; I openly wished for the place to close. So, it’s kind of strange for me today to root for the football team from that place.
I think these contradictions point out a couple of things about sports identifications. First, we find ways to justify the identifications and rooting interests that we have, even when they contradict our own ideological perspectives. Because of that, I can find myself rooting against parity in one instance, even as I espouse the desirability of parity in so many other instances. Second, we become branded with these identities strongly when we are young and that branding is hard to break. I think this is similar to how individuals find themselves rooting for their home country in the Olympics, even if they have good reasons why they might not want to do so. Similarly, connections to local communities die hard, even when people have denounced or, at least, moved on from those communities.
In the end, I think this potentially illustrates how significant sports identities are—at least in the United States and, I suspect, in many other parts of the world as well. There are times when individuals who otherwise divide themselves based on race, social class, gender, sexuality, religion, etc. find themselves bonded (at least temporary) by sports team identification. To be sure, these are commercialized, branded identifications, like identifications with musical artists, television programs, and soft drinks, among other things. And like these other brand identifications, part of understanding the significance of sports, I believe, is recognizing the deep-seated ways in which these identifications work and affect people’s lives as identities, like race, social class, gender, etc., do. Just as we become branded to think about racial identities, gender identities, national identities, sexual identities, religious identities, and other identities from young ages to the point that, as we grow older, it becomes harder and harder to examine our own assumptions along each of these lines, I think that we become branded in connection with sports and sports allegiances from young ages to the point at which it becomes much harder to look at the politics of sporting practices. If we’re going to get at the politics of sport, fuller recognition of the deep workings of sports identities seems to be a very important step to take.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
An Hour of Hell, Boy?
I thought this story on CNN about a judge who is sentencing noise violation offenders to an hour of music is kind of interesting for its popular culture value. Since the point is to deter these folks (mainly young men and women) from violating the noise ordinance again, I assume these songs are meant to be annoying or boring ... or both. What's telling is that this might serve as an indication of how United States society views the musical interests of teenagers and young adults as well as how U.S. society views the social meaning of the likes of the Barney theme song, Patti Page, and the Platters.
I'd think, though, that Southpark's Eric Cartman singing Styx's "Come Sail Away" would be appealing to this crowd. I'd also think that the Barry Manilow selection might have some appeal as well, after this memorable scene from one of this past summer's big film releases.
I'd think, though, that Southpark's Eric Cartman singing Styx's "Come Sail Away" would be appealing to this crowd. I'd also think that the Barry Manilow selection might have some appeal as well, after this memorable scene from one of this past summer's big film releases.
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Social Significance of Star Wars
By now, I suppose many folks have heard about CNN debuting its election coverage holographic technology on election night. CNN correspondent Jessica Yellin was holographically projected from a tent in Chicago to the CNN studios in Atlanta. Video of it can be seen here.
There are multitudes of aspects involving this development to look at and think about, but as a bonafide Star Wars geek, I was especially taken by how it serves as the latest in the long line of ways in which Star Wars has influenced language and culture (with perhaps one of its most notable influences being Ronald Reagan's proposed missile defense program in the 1980s that was called "Star Wars"). In this instance, the reference to Star Wars came when Yellin said, "it's like I follow in the tradition of Princess Leia." CNN needed a special tent with 35 filming cameras to send Yellin as a hologram, so this was a far cry from R2-D2 recording Princess Leia on one little camera, but it's certainly a step in that direction and the aura around Yellin as she appeared in holographic form is incredibly similar to the one that appeared around Princess Leia in the 1977 film. Meanwhile, this once again reinforces the cultural significance of Star Wars, while also illustrating the ways in which the entertainment business--or, as the Frankfurt School called it, the culture industry--significantly influences how we see and think about the world.
Additionally notable is how Wolf Blitzer over and over again refers to Yellin being "beamed" in, which, of course, draws right out of the Lexicon of Star Trek--something that is pointed out in one segment of the film Trekkies.
There are multitudes of aspects involving this development to look at and think about, but as a bonafide Star Wars geek, I was especially taken by how it serves as the latest in the long line of ways in which Star Wars has influenced language and culture (with perhaps one of its most notable influences being Ronald Reagan's proposed missile defense program in the 1980s that was called "Star Wars"). In this instance, the reference to Star Wars came when Yellin said, "it's like I follow in the tradition of Princess Leia." CNN needed a special tent with 35 filming cameras to send Yellin as a hologram, so this was a far cry from R2-D2 recording Princess Leia on one little camera, but it's certainly a step in that direction and the aura around Yellin as she appeared in holographic form is incredibly similar to the one that appeared around Princess Leia in the 1977 film. Meanwhile, this once again reinforces the cultural significance of Star Wars, while also illustrating the ways in which the entertainment business--or, as the Frankfurt School called it, the culture industry--significantly influences how we see and think about the world.
Additionally notable is how Wolf Blitzer over and over again refers to Yellin being "beamed" in, which, of course, draws right out of the Lexicon of Star Trek--something that is pointed out in one segment of the film Trekkies.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
More on English with Lou Dobbs
A couple of months ago, I wrote about Lou Dobbs’ coverage of a case in which a school in Kansas has made it against the rules to speak English. Soon after, I wrote to Mr. Dobbs to share with him what I wrote. I have never heard back from him regarding the issue, which is fine. I’m sure he is inundated with numerous comments and messages from people around the country and outside of the United States and he does not have time to respond to all. However, for someone who promotes himself as an independent thinker and whose website seems to want to encourage open debate and discussion by asking viewers to get involved, he seems to have a very narrow position on this and he certainly has not responded to the kinds of concerns that I (and I’m sure others) have raised regarding English-only policies.
I have been checking transcripts of his show since I emailed Dobbs and, finally, on October 22, Dobbs took up the subject of requiring English within institutions and forums again. This time, he addressed the issue with Missouri Governor Matt Blunt, in connection with discussion of a ballot measure in Missouri that would require all public business to be done in English. Video of the exchange can be found here.
It’s obvious that Dobbs supports this measure. Indeed, Dobbs seems downright indignant toward any who would oppose making English the official language of public business. This indignant tone is perhaps most notable when Dobbs says, “the idea that we're having these discussions in 2008 is mind boggling that there should be any division at all over this issue.” On the one hand, I feel compelled to agree with Dobbs on that particular statement … though for quite an opposite reason. How can we, in 2008, after all that has been recognized about how excluding languages reinforces racism and takes away from democracy, be so narrow-minded as Dobbs as to think that English should unquestionably be the official national language? On the other hand, I’m happy to keep having the discussion, especially since it’s obvious that plenty of folks like Dobbs and Governor Blunt still have some questions to address in relation to their positions vis-à-vis racism and the real practice of democracy. So, once again, I am posting my concerns about the positions that Dobbs is advancing and I will be emailing him to invite him to discuss the matter with me.
Furthermore, I want to recognize one other aspect of this issue that seems particularly significant in relation to the positions that Dobbs advances. Time and time again, Dobbs appears to be a proponent of free enterprise and private ownership and rights. This is evident in his argument about the school board in Kansas adopting an English-only policy, with his claim that individuals bringing a suit against the school “completely forget 200 years of history and ideals and values that have made this liberal society available to them.” It seems the history of a liberal society to which Dobbs refers could be taken to mean the rights of private institutions and organizations to enact whatever policies within their groups that they wish. This draws upon the public-private split that has been central to much of United States society since its inception, that has been a hallmark of the theories of liberalism to which Dobbs refers, and, that seems to be the only ground upon which he might have a case in railing against those who challenged the school’s English-only policy (i.e., the school, since it is private, has a right to enact its own rules within its organization). I’m not sure I entirely agree with that case, but I think that’s the only viable case he has here. Yet, he clearly then has a double standard when he is discussing the institution of English as an official language, as in the case of the proposition in Missouri. Here, we are certainly not talking about a private institution or organization; this is very much the opposite—the public forums of public administration. When Dobbs then says that we should require the language of one group to take precedence over others within that forum, he has now advocated the private takeover of the public good and, thus, he has muddied the water of the very public-private split that he as held up as so sacrosanct. At the same time, for one who spends much time vigorously arguing against elitists who are imposing their wills on the United States’ people, he is now doing the very same thing that he has been so vociferously against. He is advocating for the imposition of the will of whites of European heritage who have held power in this country since its inception to maintain and reinforce their own power and privilege against others.
Lou, you can’t have it both ways like this. Well, I suppose you can, but it is not "intellectually honest," which is a quality that you hold up in this very segment of your program as important, and it exposes a number of unexamined assumptions of significance that inform your positions. And so, in the same way that you have issued challenges to others, I challenge you to take a much harder and deeper look at the ways in which your own cultural biases are influencing your positions and blinding you to aspects of racism that are embedded within those positions.
I have been checking transcripts of his show since I emailed Dobbs and, finally, on October 22, Dobbs took up the subject of requiring English within institutions and forums again. This time, he addressed the issue with Missouri Governor Matt Blunt, in connection with discussion of a ballot measure in Missouri that would require all public business to be done in English. Video of the exchange can be found here.
It’s obvious that Dobbs supports this measure. Indeed, Dobbs seems downright indignant toward any who would oppose making English the official language of public business. This indignant tone is perhaps most notable when Dobbs says, “the idea that we're having these discussions in 2008 is mind boggling that there should be any division at all over this issue.” On the one hand, I feel compelled to agree with Dobbs on that particular statement … though for quite an opposite reason. How can we, in 2008, after all that has been recognized about how excluding languages reinforces racism and takes away from democracy, be so narrow-minded as Dobbs as to think that English should unquestionably be the official national language? On the other hand, I’m happy to keep having the discussion, especially since it’s obvious that plenty of folks like Dobbs and Governor Blunt still have some questions to address in relation to their positions vis-à-vis racism and the real practice of democracy. So, once again, I am posting my concerns about the positions that Dobbs is advancing and I will be emailing him to invite him to discuss the matter with me.
Furthermore, I want to recognize one other aspect of this issue that seems particularly significant in relation to the positions that Dobbs advances. Time and time again, Dobbs appears to be a proponent of free enterprise and private ownership and rights. This is evident in his argument about the school board in Kansas adopting an English-only policy, with his claim that individuals bringing a suit against the school “completely forget 200 years of history and ideals and values that have made this liberal society available to them.” It seems the history of a liberal society to which Dobbs refers could be taken to mean the rights of private institutions and organizations to enact whatever policies within their groups that they wish. This draws upon the public-private split that has been central to much of United States society since its inception, that has been a hallmark of the theories of liberalism to which Dobbs refers, and, that seems to be the only ground upon which he might have a case in railing against those who challenged the school’s English-only policy (i.e., the school, since it is private, has a right to enact its own rules within its organization). I’m not sure I entirely agree with that case, but I think that’s the only viable case he has here. Yet, he clearly then has a double standard when he is discussing the institution of English as an official language, as in the case of the proposition in Missouri. Here, we are certainly not talking about a private institution or organization; this is very much the opposite—the public forums of public administration. When Dobbs then says that we should require the language of one group to take precedence over others within that forum, he has now advocated the private takeover of the public good and, thus, he has muddied the water of the very public-private split that he as held up as so sacrosanct. At the same time, for one who spends much time vigorously arguing against elitists who are imposing their wills on the United States’ people, he is now doing the very same thing that he has been so vociferously against. He is advocating for the imposition of the will of whites of European heritage who have held power in this country since its inception to maintain and reinforce their own power and privilege against others.
Lou, you can’t have it both ways like this. Well, I suppose you can, but it is not "intellectually honest," which is a quality that you hold up in this very segment of your program as important, and it exposes a number of unexamined assumptions of significance that inform your positions. And so, in the same way that you have issued challenges to others, I challenge you to take a much harder and deeper look at the ways in which your own cultural biases are influencing your positions and blinding you to aspects of racism that are embedded within those positions.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Doubts on Droughts
Tonight, the Philadelphia Phillies will appear in the World Series for the first time since 1993 and will begin their attempt to win their second World Series, with the first one coming in 1980. The 15-season time period between World Series appearances and the 28-season mark since the Phillies’ last World Series championship have been characterized as droughts … as has the 25 seasons since any Philadelphia team in the four major sports leagues (MLB, NFL, NHL, and NBA) has won a title, dating back to the 76ers’ win of the 1983 NBA Finals. Yet, these kinds of characterizations remind me of a concern I have about the overuse of the word “drought” in professional sports and the deeper significance of this overuse.
I think the first step in addressing this concern is to establish some sense of what a “drought” is. Our easy-access Wikipedia definition tells us that a drought is “an extended period of months or years when a region notes a deficiency in its water supply.” A more authoritative source—the National Drought Mitigation Center (NDMC)—explains that “drought” is a difficult term to define; however, in its explanation of what constitutes a drought, the NDMC uses verbiage that is very similar to the Wikipedia definition, including a sort of summary statement that a drought “originates from a deficiency of precipitation over an extended period of time, usually a season or more.” The NDMC goes into more explanation of a drought, but, for the time being, I’m willing to take that statement as a working definition. At the very least, I think that’s enough to illuminate my concern.
Obviously, within that statement, we need to recognize the varied elements that contribute to a “season,” since the significance of a season without a championship in baseball is not the same as the significance of a season without rain (except for New York Yankee fans, I suppose). The closer comparison to a season without rain would probably be a season without a complete game by a pitcher or a season without a 20-home run hitter or, if you have weather like Seattle, a season without a home run or something like that. So, we do need to qualify the terms of “season” to begin with.
To qualify “season,” I think the world “deficiency” is key here. A deficiency is a significant lack. As the NDMC website states in continuing to explain a drought, “drought should be considered relative to some long-term average condition of balance between precipitation and evapotranspiration (i.e., evaporation + transpiration) in a particular area, a condition often perceived as ‘normal’.” So, the amount of deficiency to constitute a drought is below “normal” (i.e., deficient in the typical amount) and it is deficient against a “long-term average.” In other words, to constitute a drought, the thing being measured (whether rain or championships or something else) needs to be sufficiently deficient for a time period that is longer than normal.
Of course, this then begs the question “What is normal?” and I think this is also key for defining “drought.” It would seem to me that if a particular goal of a sports league is parity, then that might be a kind of measure of “normal” conditions. By that token, since there are presently 30 teams in Major League Baseball, if absolute parity (in terms of playoff appearances and titles, at least) was achieved, every team would win the World Series once every 30 seasons. Meanwhile, since there are currently 16 teams in the National League and 14 teams in the American League, in absolute parity, every National League team would make it to the World Series once every 16 seasons and every American League team would make it to the World Series once every 14 season. Cut those in half (to 8 and 7 seasons, respectively) for making it to the League Championship Series. Cut it in half again (so, rounding up for the A.L., every 4 seasons) for making the playoffs. The thing to remember, though, is that this is a bare minimum for thinking about conditions equaling a drought. Since a drought is characterized not only as below normal, but as below normal for an extended period of time, there’s a case to be made that while not winning a World Series in 30 years is below normal (again, defining normal as absolute parity), it’s not below normal for an extensive enough period of time to constitute a “drought.” The intricacies of that, though, is a subject for a more extended treatise than I currently have the time to consider (though, perhaps in future posts or on the message board …). For now, I’m willing to go with one season over the marks for parity that I have just described as constituting a “drought,” since I think this is enough, for now, to convey my point.
Defining “drought” in this way, the Milwaukee Brewers making it to the playoffs for the first time in 26 seasons certainly fits. So, too, of course, does the Cubs’ 100 seasons since a World Series win. The Brewers, I think, had a legitimate claim to have ended a drought by making the playoffs. The Cubs—especially because until 1961 there were only 16 teams, which meant that drought conditions could be met by an even smaller number of seasons between championships—certainly have plenty of room to claim a drought. Likewise, the Red Sox until 2004 had a similar claim. Meanwhile, Yankee fans can complain all they want about droughts, but 1 season without making the playoffs, 4 seasons since making the A.L.C.S., 5 seasons since making the World Series, and 8 seasons since winning the World Series are not droughts at all. Only the A.L.C.S. one makes it as close as half-way. The question, then, is what to make of the other teams in Major League Baseball.
By the above definition, of the 30 major league baseball teams, the following teams would be in a World Series appearance drought (the last year the team appeared in the World Series in parentheses): Baltimore (1983), the Chicago Cubs (1945), Cincinnati (1990), Kansas City (1985), the Los Angeles Dodgers (1988), Milwaukee (1982), Minnesota (1991), Oakland (1990), Pittsburgh (1979), Seattle (never in 32 seasons), Texas (never in 48 seasons, including their years as the Washington Senators), Toronto (1993), and Washington (never in 40 seasons, including their years as the Montreal Expos).
Meanwhile, the following teams would be in a World Series championship drought (the last year the team won the World Series in parentheses): the Chicago Cubs (1908), Cleveland (1948), Houston (never in 47 seasons), Milwaukee (never in 40 seasons, including their years as the Seattle Pilots), San Diego (never in 40 seasons), San Francisco (1954—as the New York Giants), Seattle (never in 32 seasons), Texas (never in 48 seasons, including their years as the Washington Senators), and Washington (never in 40 seasons, including their years as the Montreal Expos). I don’t count Colorado or Tampa Bay in this list because, while neither has ever won the World Series, neither has played the full 30 seasons needed for a drought.
So, where does this leave the Phillies? Well … until making it to the 2008 World Series, the Phillies had gone 14 seasons since their last appearance. That’s two below the 16 needed for this definition of drought. However, there are other mitigating circumstances here. When the Phillies began that period, after the 1993 World Series, there were only 14 National League teams. This would mean that the Phillies made it right on schedule, if we adjust to allow for the number of teams at that time (which is something we may or may not want to do … again, the subject of further discussion). On the other hand, how do we treat the 1994 season? With the stoppage of play, no one made the World Series. So, does that season not count toward anyone’s total or does it count for everyone? Again, I think that’s a further topic for discussion, but our answer does potentially drop the Phillies’ season number to 13, which would mean by either the 1993 definition or the 2008 definition of drought, they weren’t experiencing one.
In terms of the World Series, there is a similar case (and one that the Phillies share with the Pittsburgh Pirates). Through 2008, the Phillies have now played 28 seasons since they last won the World Series. By 2008 standards, that leaves them 2 seasons short of a drought. However, since there were only 26 teams in 1980, by that year’s standards, the Phillies are 2 seasons into a drought (or 1 season, if we discount 1994). In a similar case, since the Pirates are not going to win the World Series in 2008, they could be said to have just reached the drought plateau of 30 seasons. Conversely, they could be said to be 1 season short (if 1994 doesn’t count) or they could be said to be 4 seasons into a drought (or 3 seasons into it, if 1994 doesn’t count) by 1979 standards.
So, have the Phillies ended a World Series appearance drought by making it to the World Series and will they end a World Series title drought by winning a World Series? I think the answer is barely … and only if we cut them every break we can in defining a drought (at least when drought is based on parity). As for the city of Philadelphia, I think there is a case to be made for that being a drought, but the math of showing it would probably double the size of this blog entry and I’m not ready to go into that right now …
In the end, then, why does this matter besides the silly semantic musings of some guy who really has plenty of other things he should be doing? I think that this is a good example of how overusage of dramatic terms permeates everyday life. A drought is a serious deficiency when compared against typical (or “normal”) conditions. It is not a slight deficiency or even just a lack. If my climate calls for me not to have rain very often, then a few weeks without rain can be nowhere near a drought. The NDMC explains as much and I should know … I lived in the Phoenix-area for seven years and can remember times that we went months without rain, but it was not a drought because of the climate. Given the MLB climate, I would argue that 30 seasons constitutes a bare minimum by which one could define a drought. For other sports leagues, it’s based on the number of teams. To suggest otherwise potentially contributes to the trend of sensationalizing and overdramatizing what are not sensational and dramatic things … in the same way that people (especially women) who are not skinny are told that they are “overweight,” that children who do not restrain themselves as much as parents and teachers like are told that they are “hyperactive” and may need medication, and so on. “Overweight” and “hyperactive,” like “drought,” are conditions that do bear watching, but use of all of these terms when they do not apply can be dangerous. When talking about sports teams not winning championships, the danger is probably not anywhere near as great as the misapplication of terms like “overweight” and “hyperactive”—or, for that matter, the misapplication of the word “drought” in regard to atmospheric climate. However, the misapplication of “drought” in sports can help foster the kinds of attitudes the buttress use of terms in arenas that have more severe consequences, thus contributing to the maintenance of a deep communicative trend that bears significance in many of its manifestations.
I think the first step in addressing this concern is to establish some sense of what a “drought” is. Our easy-access Wikipedia definition tells us that a drought is “an extended period of months or years when a region notes a deficiency in its water supply.” A more authoritative source—the National Drought Mitigation Center (NDMC)—explains that “drought” is a difficult term to define; however, in its explanation of what constitutes a drought, the NDMC uses verbiage that is very similar to the Wikipedia definition, including a sort of summary statement that a drought “originates from a deficiency of precipitation over an extended period of time, usually a season or more.” The NDMC goes into more explanation of a drought, but, for the time being, I’m willing to take that statement as a working definition. At the very least, I think that’s enough to illuminate my concern.
Obviously, within that statement, we need to recognize the varied elements that contribute to a “season,” since the significance of a season without a championship in baseball is not the same as the significance of a season without rain (except for New York Yankee fans, I suppose). The closer comparison to a season without rain would probably be a season without a complete game by a pitcher or a season without a 20-home run hitter or, if you have weather like Seattle, a season without a home run or something like that. So, we do need to qualify the terms of “season” to begin with.
To qualify “season,” I think the world “deficiency” is key here. A deficiency is a significant lack. As the NDMC website states in continuing to explain a drought, “drought should be considered relative to some long-term average condition of balance between precipitation and evapotranspiration (i.e., evaporation + transpiration) in a particular area, a condition often perceived as ‘normal’.” So, the amount of deficiency to constitute a drought is below “normal” (i.e., deficient in the typical amount) and it is deficient against a “long-term average.” In other words, to constitute a drought, the thing being measured (whether rain or championships or something else) needs to be sufficiently deficient for a time period that is longer than normal.
Of course, this then begs the question “What is normal?” and I think this is also key for defining “drought.” It would seem to me that if a particular goal of a sports league is parity, then that might be a kind of measure of “normal” conditions. By that token, since there are presently 30 teams in Major League Baseball, if absolute parity (in terms of playoff appearances and titles, at least) was achieved, every team would win the World Series once every 30 seasons. Meanwhile, since there are currently 16 teams in the National League and 14 teams in the American League, in absolute parity, every National League team would make it to the World Series once every 16 seasons and every American League team would make it to the World Series once every 14 season. Cut those in half (to 8 and 7 seasons, respectively) for making it to the League Championship Series. Cut it in half again (so, rounding up for the A.L., every 4 seasons) for making the playoffs. The thing to remember, though, is that this is a bare minimum for thinking about conditions equaling a drought. Since a drought is characterized not only as below normal, but as below normal for an extended period of time, there’s a case to be made that while not winning a World Series in 30 years is below normal (again, defining normal as absolute parity), it’s not below normal for an extensive enough period of time to constitute a “drought.” The intricacies of that, though, is a subject for a more extended treatise than I currently have the time to consider (though, perhaps in future posts or on the message board …). For now, I’m willing to go with one season over the marks for parity that I have just described as constituting a “drought,” since I think this is enough, for now, to convey my point.
Defining “drought” in this way, the Milwaukee Brewers making it to the playoffs for the first time in 26 seasons certainly fits. So, too, of course, does the Cubs’ 100 seasons since a World Series win. The Brewers, I think, had a legitimate claim to have ended a drought by making the playoffs. The Cubs—especially because until 1961 there were only 16 teams, which meant that drought conditions could be met by an even smaller number of seasons between championships—certainly have plenty of room to claim a drought. Likewise, the Red Sox until 2004 had a similar claim. Meanwhile, Yankee fans can complain all they want about droughts, but 1 season without making the playoffs, 4 seasons since making the A.L.C.S., 5 seasons since making the World Series, and 8 seasons since winning the World Series are not droughts at all. Only the A.L.C.S. one makes it as close as half-way. The question, then, is what to make of the other teams in Major League Baseball.
By the above definition, of the 30 major league baseball teams, the following teams would be in a World Series appearance drought (the last year the team appeared in the World Series in parentheses): Baltimore (1983), the Chicago Cubs (1945), Cincinnati (1990), Kansas City (1985), the Los Angeles Dodgers (1988), Milwaukee (1982), Minnesota (1991), Oakland (1990), Pittsburgh (1979), Seattle (never in 32 seasons), Texas (never in 48 seasons, including their years as the Washington Senators), Toronto (1993), and Washington (never in 40 seasons, including their years as the Montreal Expos).
Meanwhile, the following teams would be in a World Series championship drought (the last year the team won the World Series in parentheses): the Chicago Cubs (1908), Cleveland (1948), Houston (never in 47 seasons), Milwaukee (never in 40 seasons, including their years as the Seattle Pilots), San Diego (never in 40 seasons), San Francisco (1954—as the New York Giants), Seattle (never in 32 seasons), Texas (never in 48 seasons, including their years as the Washington Senators), and Washington (never in 40 seasons, including their years as the Montreal Expos). I don’t count Colorado or Tampa Bay in this list because, while neither has ever won the World Series, neither has played the full 30 seasons needed for a drought.
So, where does this leave the Phillies? Well … until making it to the 2008 World Series, the Phillies had gone 14 seasons since their last appearance. That’s two below the 16 needed for this definition of drought. However, there are other mitigating circumstances here. When the Phillies began that period, after the 1993 World Series, there were only 14 National League teams. This would mean that the Phillies made it right on schedule, if we adjust to allow for the number of teams at that time (which is something we may or may not want to do … again, the subject of further discussion). On the other hand, how do we treat the 1994 season? With the stoppage of play, no one made the World Series. So, does that season not count toward anyone’s total or does it count for everyone? Again, I think that’s a further topic for discussion, but our answer does potentially drop the Phillies’ season number to 13, which would mean by either the 1993 definition or the 2008 definition of drought, they weren’t experiencing one.
In terms of the World Series, there is a similar case (and one that the Phillies share with the Pittsburgh Pirates). Through 2008, the Phillies have now played 28 seasons since they last won the World Series. By 2008 standards, that leaves them 2 seasons short of a drought. However, since there were only 26 teams in 1980, by that year’s standards, the Phillies are 2 seasons into a drought (or 1 season, if we discount 1994). In a similar case, since the Pirates are not going to win the World Series in 2008, they could be said to have just reached the drought plateau of 30 seasons. Conversely, they could be said to be 1 season short (if 1994 doesn’t count) or they could be said to be 4 seasons into a drought (or 3 seasons into it, if 1994 doesn’t count) by 1979 standards.
So, have the Phillies ended a World Series appearance drought by making it to the World Series and will they end a World Series title drought by winning a World Series? I think the answer is barely … and only if we cut them every break we can in defining a drought (at least when drought is based on parity). As for the city of Philadelphia, I think there is a case to be made for that being a drought, but the math of showing it would probably double the size of this blog entry and I’m not ready to go into that right now …
In the end, then, why does this matter besides the silly semantic musings of some guy who really has plenty of other things he should be doing? I think that this is a good example of how overusage of dramatic terms permeates everyday life. A drought is a serious deficiency when compared against typical (or “normal”) conditions. It is not a slight deficiency or even just a lack. If my climate calls for me not to have rain very often, then a few weeks without rain can be nowhere near a drought. The NDMC explains as much and I should know … I lived in the Phoenix-area for seven years and can remember times that we went months without rain, but it was not a drought because of the climate. Given the MLB climate, I would argue that 30 seasons constitutes a bare minimum by which one could define a drought. For other sports leagues, it’s based on the number of teams. To suggest otherwise potentially contributes to the trend of sensationalizing and overdramatizing what are not sensational and dramatic things … in the same way that people (especially women) who are not skinny are told that they are “overweight,” that children who do not restrain themselves as much as parents and teachers like are told that they are “hyperactive” and may need medication, and so on. “Overweight” and “hyperactive,” like “drought,” are conditions that do bear watching, but use of all of these terms when they do not apply can be dangerous. When talking about sports teams not winning championships, the danger is probably not anywhere near as great as the misapplication of terms like “overweight” and “hyperactive”—or, for that matter, the misapplication of the word “drought” in regard to atmospheric climate. However, the misapplication of “drought” in sports can help foster the kinds of attitudes the buttress use of terms in arenas that have more severe consequences, thus contributing to the maintenance of a deep communicative trend that bears significance in many of its manifestations.
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