retired numbers and ancestors, little leaguers and the unborn

I made my first contact with my site of ethnographic research this week, attending two baseball games at The Epicenter in Rancho Cucamonga, watching the Quakes take on the Inland Empire 66ers of San Bernardino (seriously, what is it with these Southern California baseball teams and their names containing prepositional phrases?). It was quite a different experience to spend a baseball game mostly watching the crowd rather than watching the action on the field.

I was pretty surprised by the atmosphere of the game; on Thursday it seemed more like a scene for people to hang out rather than a place to watch baseball. This fits pretty well with the culture of The Kook, as confirmed by one of my roommates who grew up in the area and has been to numerous Quakes games. Sunday was better, as the stadium was full of Little League teams and young families. Ironically, the Quakes dominated the 66ers on the lackadaisical day but lost pretty sloppily when the real fans and kids were in attendance. Oh well.

I haven't made any contacts with Quakes fans to talk about personal connections to the team yet, so I did "participant observation" for my first two games. The most intriguing hypothesis I have after my initial contact follows:


The Ancestors and The Unborn in Baseball

One of the books I am reading for my "Understanding Human Spirituality and Culture" class is Understanding Folk Religion by Paul Hiebert, Daniel Shaw, and Tite Tiénou. In a chapter on finding meaning in life and death, the authors describe of linkage societies, which are societies where people "see themselves not as seperate, autonomous individuals, but as initimately interconnected nodes in large webs of kinship" (p. 104). In other words, in these communities there is no "individual" as Westerners tend to understand it; people derive their identity from being part of the endless flow of the community.

Two very important figures in these communities are the ancestors and the unborn. When people pass away, they do not cease to be or go off to some remote afterlife, but they remain actively involved in the life of the community. This is where practices such as the veneration of ancestors come into play in many contexts. They must be consulted before making serious decisions, and their legacy must be keep alive and respected by the family and the community. Similarly, those who are to come later on must be seriously considered and respected, because they are the ones who will keep your memory alive when you are (hopefully) an ancestor one day.

Hiebert, Shaw, and Tiénou summarize it as follows:

"The concept of linkage provides people with a sense of meaning by giving them a clear identity and security. They are not individuals who happen to live in families - they exist only because they exist in families, clans, and communities. These groups give birth to people, raise them, marry them, give them land, help them raise their children, feed them when they have no food, transform them into ancestors, and immortalize them by remembering them when they are gone" (p. 106).


And this has what, exactly, to do with baseball? I'm glad you inquired.


The Quakes have been dealing with tragedy this season, as one of their former players, Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart, died with two others when they were hit by a drunk driver a few weeks ago. He was 22 years old and died only a few hours after he had pitched an excellent game at Angel Stadium with his family in attendance. Adenhart played for Rancho Cucamonga in 2006, so it has been just a few years since he was with the team.

The Quakes are remembering Adenhart several ways this season. On the left field line, the number 28 is written (his number with the Quakes), and on the right field line is the number 34 (his number with the Angels). Most of the ushers and stadium staff wear pins with the number 34, and the team has a black #34 patch on their jerseys.

Jersey numbers carry a special significance in baseball. Just last week all of Major League Baseball honored Jackie Robinson by having every player in the league wear his #42, which was retired from usage by the entire league in 1997. My Astros have retired nine jersey numbers, two in honor of players who passed away while with the team. Just this season the café in Minute Maid Park's center field was rechristened "The FiveSeven Grille," in recognition of Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio, #5 and #7, two players who became synonymous with Houston baseball in the last two decades.

Honors such as number retirement strike me as baseball's answer to the veneration of the ancestors. It is pretty typical to speak of players reaching "immortality" - the likes of Jackie Robinson, Babe Ruth, Roberto Clemente and Nolan Ryan might be the patron saints of the sport, or perhaps more accurately the Parthenon of gods. With the controversies of the Steroids Era many of the heroes of this baseball generation, the likes of Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, and Roger Clemens, have taken severe hits to their reputations, and unless something significant changes none of them will likely make it into the Hall of Fame. The real sting of that rebuke is that they are being denied their ancestorhood, reduced to lonely spirits like Pete Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson before them, forced to aimlessly walk the earth. (That may sound overly dramatic, but it probably doesn't if you've read some of the baseball message boards I have and seen how many people really feel about steroid users.)

Commemoration is immortality. If you've seen The Sandlot, you may remember the words of the ghost of Babe Ruth to young Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez: "Remember kid, there's heroes and there's legends. Heroes get remembered but legends never die."

So, if the veneration of ancestors is a crucial element of baseball culture, where does respect for the unborn emerge?

At both Quakes games I have attended, a local Little League baseball team was brought onto the field with the home team at the start of the game. As the starting lineups were announced and the players ran onto the field, each starter was accompanied by one or two of the Little Leaguers, running alongside the professional players and standing next to them during the national anthem. The boys carefully watched the professionals during the anthem, emulating their positions and postures. This was even more apparent on Sunday, when numerous Little League teams were present. After the game all children were invited to run the bases, getting the chance to experience the feel of running around an actual baseball diamond at a real stadium.

Baseball teams, whether Major or Minor League, seem very aware that if they don't win over the youngest generation, the sport will die out. Why else would colorful mascots, endless freebies, and player autographs be such integral parts of the ballpark experience? In the minors, I noticed a distinct decorum regarding foul balls - if there's a youngster nearby and you catch a foul ball, you must give it to him or her. If you don't, the crowd will boo you relentlessly until you give in, focusing their attention on the culprit instead of the game. Yes, children are important.

It seems that the little leaguers and other young fans are much like the unborn members of a linkage community. They may not fully understand the game yet, but they are watching and learning. The older members of the community know that they represent the future fans, and some of them even represent the future ballplayers. Some of those little leaguers may well be starting their own journeys toward eventual ancestorhood in the religion of baseball.

Next time you're at a baseball game, look around at your surroundings. The saints of old are looking down and the youngest generation is looking up. Everything that happens on the field is juxtaposed between teams of old and teams to come, fond memories and exciting possibilities. Without the history and the future, the baseball game itself is meaningless. It is this context that makes it real, and possibly even transcendent.

Look around at your next sporting event, and let me know if you agree or if I'm just being completely ridiculous.