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silveradept[This is part of a series exploring the Baseball Tarot.]
Besides being the only permanent rule of Calvinball, no two baseball games unfold exactly alike. Many are close enough to each other that some general rules and strategies can develop and some percentages can be played and statistics-driven baseball is likely to be, on paper and in simulations like video games or fantasy sports, a way of believing the numbers mean things.
Of course, many of the memorable games of baseball are the ones that defied numbers and statistics - a man with an injured leg hits a game winning home run in the bottom of the ninth and can thus take all the time he needs to circle the bases, for example. Or, having just hit what would be the game winning home run, a player suffers a ligament tear that absolutely prevents them from going any farther under their own power. And so, in a stunning display of sportsmanship, because the rules prevent any member of their own team from assisting them, fielders for the opposing team pick up the player and take them around the base path, stopping at each base so that the player that hit the home run can touch each base legally and ends the game that they have won. The other side could have refused, and the batter would have had to find a way to get around the bases themselves. But they understand the shared pain of playing, and ultimately that a fellow human is suffering. At a certain point, the game is set aside, because the entertainment is soured.
In these scenarios, as was said when wrestler Owen Hart died from a malfunction of safety equipment, "This is not part of the entertainment tonight.
This is as real as real can be here." (Jim Ross, play-by-play commentator.)
Enough of depressing things. The actual point is that each instance of baseball, each pitch, each hit, each play, can be influenced by numbers, but plays out in still not-modelable reality, where pitchers and batters both take advantage of the mental state of each other to achieve their ends. The best hitters in the world still have slumps, the worst hitters come through in the clutch. Hero, Goat, Winning Streak, Slump, All-Star or Rookie, everybody goes through cycles. And yet, despite those cycles, or pertussis because of them, some players build careers that stick a little bit better in our heads. Our they have the good skill and fortune to participate in games that have special significance, either for the game, for the team, or for themselves. There probably wasn't anything special about most of the games Cal Ripken, Jr. played. But then you realize that he played in every game, without fail, without a game off, without injury or sickness strong enough to necessitate missing a game, for almost fourteen years before breaking the previous record for most consecutive games played. That level of health and fitness seems impossible these days. As does the lack of being part of or requesting trades that might otherwise cause him to miss a game. It's unlikely that his intent was breaking the record when he set out on the journey.
There are a lot of names in the Hall of Fame that are only really known to dedicated baseball scholars and the fans of the team those players played for. They had great careers in baseball, but unsure not the first names that come to mind when one thinks of baseball players. As with everything involving fame and memory, it seems like it's random in determining whether or not one player or another lives on after their baseball days are done.
I think, though, after having done these series, I realize that a lot of baseball, sport, careers, and perhaps even life in general, once someone learns the rules and mechanics, is mostly about telling stories. And if that's the case, then really, none of us are in control about whether we become legendary. We can try to set ourselves up for being part of a good story with virtuous behavior, pursuit of passions, voicing our opinions, excellence in our careers, and so forth, but many of our stories are about single moments. Accumulation of enough of those single moments can mean a career of stories, and if those stories are repeated enough to enough people, they can pass into legend and become instructional material for the next generation. The player is often transformed into a demigod or full deity of the domain of the stories that are told about them, and, in some ways, risk becoming only the stories that are told about them, as the people that know them pass on and their knowledge is lost. The Legend lives on, often independently of the being that have birth to them.
Legends are primarily figures of adoration, respect, and good will of their particular fields. The basic canon of stories generally starts with creation, then moves forward to the old times before, and progresses toward the current era's heroes - there's a little bit of ego involved in putting the current as the very best, and usually a little bit of pride in telling the stories that we have experienced ourselves, as opposed to those that have come before. There are always stories of villains, too, but wherever possible, villains show up accompanied by heroes that will defeat them. It's one of the Pratchettian Big Lies, of course, that villains and cheaters are always caught and punished, because it tends to be more likely they don't, but without that bit in place, the stories lose their coherence and the legends are swiftly overwhelmed by the ne'er do wells. The bad side needs acknowledging, though, and so usually the stories retain a couple monsters to try and keep everyone else away from that path. The "Black Sox" scandal, for example, and the strike-shortened seasons are there as reminders of when things went astray and needed to be brought back.
We choose our stories based on how others see us. Those new to the game will get different stories about why this sport is worth following and watching than those who are already here. Much like how experts see the world differently through the lenses of their expertise, the stories traded from people who understand the details and intricacies of the game will be different, and quite possibly a little bit more arcane. Stories with the intent of persuasion leave off some details in favor of a more convincing narrative. Legends are there both for the people who are trying to understand and for those who are trying to deepen their appreciation. Sometimes within the same story.
Retirement is scary. Nostalgia is tempting. Becoming legendary while still being around to appreciate it is the goal of many, even those that know that the truth of one's legends is much the same as the truth of funerals - they're not there for the person being talked about, they're there for everyone else. Many people will go onward without knowing that they have become a legend to someone. If you have the opportunity, now would be a good time to let your legends know how much you look up to them.
The card itself is the Rider-Waite equivalent of the Emperor, a person invested with temporal power and absolute authority over the people that are his subjects. Emperors are often styled to be related to gods, if not gods themselves, with corresponding stories of their majesty, part, and divine right to rule to follow with them. As with all of our constructed stories, it requires shared belief to elevate anyone to a role above others, whether in small ways, elected ways, or divine ways. Our legends tell anyone who listens about what our values and beliefs are, even if they can't quite understand why we believe it.
The presence of a Legend in a reading says that the stories are important to understanding - looking to the paths of those gone before and extracting the important parts of their stories to apply to the situation at hand. It's not necessarily the case that the good things and the heroes are the important parts of the story and are the only things to pay attention to. The whole story is important. Pay attention to all the action going on to gain full understanding.
As in baseball, as in life, as in so many other things.
This concludes the second year of baseball tarot. The remaining cards available would only cover a half-month of material, so for next year, maybe I'll spring them out somewhere in the All-Star break. This means I need a new December Days topic for next year. Suggestions greatly welcomed.
Besides being the only permanent rule of Calvinball, no two baseball games unfold exactly alike. Many are close enough to each other that some general rules and strategies can develop and some percentages can be played and statistics-driven baseball is likely to be, on paper and in simulations like video games or fantasy sports, a way of believing the numbers mean things.
Of course, many of the memorable games of baseball are the ones that defied numbers and statistics - a man with an injured leg hits a game winning home run in the bottom of the ninth and can thus take all the time he needs to circle the bases, for example. Or, having just hit what would be the game winning home run, a player suffers a ligament tear that absolutely prevents them from going any farther under their own power. And so, in a stunning display of sportsmanship, because the rules prevent any member of their own team from assisting them, fielders for the opposing team pick up the player and take them around the base path, stopping at each base so that the player that hit the home run can touch each base legally and ends the game that they have won. The other side could have refused, and the batter would have had to find a way to get around the bases themselves. But they understand the shared pain of playing, and ultimately that a fellow human is suffering. At a certain point, the game is set aside, because the entertainment is soured.
In these scenarios, as was said when wrestler Owen Hart died from a malfunction of safety equipment, "This is not part of the entertainment tonight.
This is as real as real can be here." (Jim Ross, play-by-play commentator.)
Enough of depressing things. The actual point is that each instance of baseball, each pitch, each hit, each play, can be influenced by numbers, but plays out in still not-modelable reality, where pitchers and batters both take advantage of the mental state of each other to achieve their ends. The best hitters in the world still have slumps, the worst hitters come through in the clutch. Hero, Goat, Winning Streak, Slump, All-Star or Rookie, everybody goes through cycles. And yet, despite those cycles, or pertussis because of them, some players build careers that stick a little bit better in our heads. Our they have the good skill and fortune to participate in games that have special significance, either for the game, for the team, or for themselves. There probably wasn't anything special about most of the games Cal Ripken, Jr. played. But then you realize that he played in every game, without fail, without a game off, without injury or sickness strong enough to necessitate missing a game, for almost fourteen years before breaking the previous record for most consecutive games played. That level of health and fitness seems impossible these days. As does the lack of being part of or requesting trades that might otherwise cause him to miss a game. It's unlikely that his intent was breaking the record when he set out on the journey.
There are a lot of names in the Hall of Fame that are only really known to dedicated baseball scholars and the fans of the team those players played for. They had great careers in baseball, but unsure not the first names that come to mind when one thinks of baseball players. As with everything involving fame and memory, it seems like it's random in determining whether or not one player or another lives on after their baseball days are done.
I think, though, after having done these series, I realize that a lot of baseball, sport, careers, and perhaps even life in general, once someone learns the rules and mechanics, is mostly about telling stories. And if that's the case, then really, none of us are in control about whether we become legendary. We can try to set ourselves up for being part of a good story with virtuous behavior, pursuit of passions, voicing our opinions, excellence in our careers, and so forth, but many of our stories are about single moments. Accumulation of enough of those single moments can mean a career of stories, and if those stories are repeated enough to enough people, they can pass into legend and become instructional material for the next generation. The player is often transformed into a demigod or full deity of the domain of the stories that are told about them, and, in some ways, risk becoming only the stories that are told about them, as the people that know them pass on and their knowledge is lost. The Legend lives on, often independently of the being that have birth to them.
Legends are primarily figures of adoration, respect, and good will of their particular fields. The basic canon of stories generally starts with creation, then moves forward to the old times before, and progresses toward the current era's heroes - there's a little bit of ego involved in putting the current as the very best, and usually a little bit of pride in telling the stories that we have experienced ourselves, as opposed to those that have come before. There are always stories of villains, too, but wherever possible, villains show up accompanied by heroes that will defeat them. It's one of the Pratchettian Big Lies, of course, that villains and cheaters are always caught and punished, because it tends to be more likely they don't, but without that bit in place, the stories lose their coherence and the legends are swiftly overwhelmed by the ne'er do wells. The bad side needs acknowledging, though, and so usually the stories retain a couple monsters to try and keep everyone else away from that path. The "Black Sox" scandal, for example, and the strike-shortened seasons are there as reminders of when things went astray and needed to be brought back.
We choose our stories based on how others see us. Those new to the game will get different stories about why this sport is worth following and watching than those who are already here. Much like how experts see the world differently through the lenses of their expertise, the stories traded from people who understand the details and intricacies of the game will be different, and quite possibly a little bit more arcane. Stories with the intent of persuasion leave off some details in favor of a more convincing narrative. Legends are there both for the people who are trying to understand and for those who are trying to deepen their appreciation. Sometimes within the same story.
Retirement is scary. Nostalgia is tempting. Becoming legendary while still being around to appreciate it is the goal of many, even those that know that the truth of one's legends is much the same as the truth of funerals - they're not there for the person being talked about, they're there for everyone else. Many people will go onward without knowing that they have become a legend to someone. If you have the opportunity, now would be a good time to let your legends know how much you look up to them.
The card itself is the Rider-Waite equivalent of the Emperor, a person invested with temporal power and absolute authority over the people that are his subjects. Emperors are often styled to be related to gods, if not gods themselves, with corresponding stories of their majesty, part, and divine right to rule to follow with them. As with all of our constructed stories, it requires shared belief to elevate anyone to a role above others, whether in small ways, elected ways, or divine ways. Our legends tell anyone who listens about what our values and beliefs are, even if they can't quite understand why we believe it.
The presence of a Legend in a reading says that the stories are important to understanding - looking to the paths of those gone before and extracting the important parts of their stories to apply to the situation at hand. It's not necessarily the case that the good things and the heroes are the important parts of the story and are the only things to pay attention to. The whole story is important. Pay attention to all the action going on to gain full understanding.
As in baseball, as in life, as in so many other things.
This concludes the second year of baseball tarot. The remaining cards available would only cover a half-month of material, so for next year, maybe I'll spring them out somewhere in the All-Star break. This means I need a new December Days topic for next year. Suggestions greatly welcomed.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-01 12:02 pm (UTC)Hmm... Lessons From The Library, perhaps?