Oh, Babe, Where Art Thou?

I attended a Pirate game over the weekend. God save me.

Actually, it was a fun night even though the Pirates closer blew a save in the ninth inning. One thing that stuck with me is that if you live in Pittsburgh and want to see lots of Penguin and Steeler attire, go to a Pirate game.

One other thing that’s stuck in my head like glue is a really disturbing image of major league baseball players and silvery helium balloons.

Here’s the deal: the games aren’t enough in Pittsburgh anymore, the team is horrible and has been horrible since, oh, the first Bush administration. So we need fireworks, bobbleheads, beach umbrellas (which is strange because there aren’t any beaches here), beach towels (which is strange because…oh never mind), and a gigantic hi-def scoreboard that can be seen from Wheeling, West Virginia.

The first time a player comes to bat the scoreboard displays all his relevant stats. The second time less so, in keeping with the traditions of the game. It’s that third at-bat where things get…well, weird.

Last year, somebody in management decided it would be cool to dress each player in an artist smock and provide them with paint brush, palate and easel. You may not be surprised to learn that being able to play baseball at a level above 99.9% of the population does not make you a painter. At least the player left the particular video shoot with his manhood intact. Not so this year.

In this banner season in which the Pirates could well break the all-time professional sports record of consecutive losing seasons, the players have been placed in a large white room with dozens upon dozens of floating silver helium balloons. The player holds a bat. And then begins to swat the balloons. Some twirl around, creatively, like they’re being coached by an unseen choreographer. It’s all very…I can’t even say the word. I refuse to say it. But I’ll say this: what in the name of Babe Ruth were the players thinking when they agreed to this? I’m certain this was a decision made in the marketing department, but did the players have to buy off on it? Couldn’t someone have stood up and said, “Enough! I refuse!” I mean, I never even saw one of them break a balloon, which is fertile ground for the more sarcastic among us.

After watching about three of these video clips, I thought about how glorious baseball used to be and where it is today: perennial champions, perennial doormats, steroids, empty luxury seats at the new Yankee Stadium, and on and on. Then I thought of Babe Ruth approaching his team’s management and saying something to the effect of, “Can you guys film me in a room full of balloons and I’ll just swat away at them for a few seconds? I’ll twirl, I’ll spin, I’ll smile like a kid at Christmas. Then you show it to the crowd just as I come up to bat?”

Imagine Yankee management buys off on this and projects this image on a giant screen assembled over the left field wall. Imagine two guys in the crowd sitting in stunned disbelief. Finally, one turns to the other and says, “I do say, I believe the Babe is queer.”