Before we put baseball to bed for the winter, let's consider this only slightly facetious question: Do we cheer too much at baseball games?
As a long-time Astros fan, I took some pleasure in this year's World Series, an excellent seven-game contest between worthy opponents, culminating with a 5-1 victory by the Houston Astros over the Los Angeles Dodgers. I watched every game, as well as the 11 playoff games that brought the Astros to the Series.
The Series had many dramatic moments, but I was struck by how much time the fans spent on their feet, yelling loudly and waving handkerchiefs. In fact, it seemed that every time the hometown pitcher managed to get two strikes on a batter, the fans were standing, cheering for the strikeout.
I'm not saying this is a bad thing. But suspecting that it's a modern phenomenon, I decided to watch Game 7 of the 1952 World Series, which is readily available on the internet. It pitted the New York Yankees against the Brooklyn Dodgers at Ebbets Field on Oct. 7; the Yankees won, 4-3.
I recommend watching this game for a number of reasons. Much of it will look familiar to the modern fan, but the subtle differences are interesting. For example, even though the game featured some of baseball's great Hall of Fame sluggers such as Mickey Mantle and Duke Snider, there was much more bunting for base hits. There was no designated hitter, and infielders and outfielders caught every fly and popup with two hands.
The players looked a little different in 1952. Many were lean and rangy rather than muscular, and their uniforms were baggier. Batting gloves were unknown.
And both teams were extremely white. Jackie Robinson broke through baseball's color barrier in 1947, and he was starting at second base for the Dodgers in 1952. But many of the best American ballplayers were still in the "Negro leagues," and the only apparent Hispanic on either team was Cuban-born left fielder, Sandy Amoros. How things have changed, and for the better.
The fans look different, as well. For one thing, nearly every man is wearing a coat and tie and many are wearing hats. A few women are wearing furs. People dressed up to go to the ballgame.
And in nearly all crowd shots, the fans are sitting down, watching the game. The telecast's background noise ranges from a low, steady murmur to loud cheers that are in sync with the action on the field.
Much of the difference between 1952 and 2017 is that baseball has followed the lead of football toward the use of electronics to regularly rev up the fans' energy and noise throughout the game. When the ballpark's electronic display entreats fans to "Make Some Noise," they respond.
In fact, Houston's Minute Maid Park is getting a reputation as one of the loudest ballparks in both leagues, especially when the roof is closed. In 2005-the last season the Astros reached the World Series-I smuggled a decibel meter into Minute Maid for a game against the Milwaukee Brewers and discovered that the decibel level regularly reaches the upper 90s; permanent and cumulative hearing loss begins at around 85 decibels.
But apparently the noise works: the Astros were 9-1 in the postseason at home this year. Astros pitcher Lance McCullers says, "When Minute Maid gets rocking there's no place louder. So credit to our fans, and we really feed off that energy."
So maybe a little hearing loss is a small price to pay for a Series championship. Besides, the game has to evolve. In 1952 batters were stepping up to the plate without the protection of batting helmets.
Still, you don't have to be a complete curmudgeon to envy the fans of 1952, who controlled their own responses as they saw fit. They cheered according to the rhythms of the game and talked about the game during lulls in between. And they didn't have to worry about someone standing up in front of them waving a handkerchief just because the batter has two strikes.