Over the past few years there have been more than a few articles decrying the steady decline of the number of blacks in major league baseball. Not surprizingly, the same trend can be seen in the college game. There's an interesting article in the Sunday Los Angeles Times about the issue. Featured in the article are interviews with San Diego State head coach (and former Padre) Tony Gwynn and Miami Hurricane Brian Barton, one of only thirteen black players on the eight teams in this year's College World Series. (You'll have to register with LATimes.com to view the article, but it's worth the sixty seconds it'll take.)
Numerous possible reasons for the decline are given, most of which you've probably heard. Today's urban playgrounds are dominated by basketball and football, and the lack of black stars in the major leagues pushes black youths farther from America's pastime.
There are economic factors as well. An asphalt blacktop takes only a fraction of the real estate necessary for a ball field, and it will last for years without maintenance. Long after the painted lines have faded, the asphalt has cracked, and the goals have bent, a basketball court lives on. The baseball field, however, must be mowed and watered and can be expected to deteriorate within just a few years.
There are other problems with baseball. To play it right, you need at least 12 or 14 players, preferably 18, and you need a bat and enough gloves for those who are in the field. With basketball, the game is essentially the same whether you're playing one-on-one or five-on-five, and all you need is one ball.
The article addresses each of these concerns, in addition to the strong economic pull of basketball's quicker payday, but there's an even more disturbing issue I read recently. Baseball has always been a game passed down from fathers to sons, but in the black community today, a vast majority of the young boys are growing up without fathers, perhaps as many as seventy percent. Simply put, there's no one to have a catch with on Sunday afternoon, no one who will wrap his arms around your shoulders to guide your early swings, no one who will show you the Willie Mays basket catch, no one to take you to the Stadium to see the greenest grass in the world. No one.
Think about that for a minute, then take your son or daughter out into the backyard and have a catch.
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