MLB: Pastime or Past Time
by Abe Wyett
Major League baseball has been in decline for some time. The game’s Golden Age – -with stars like Lou Gehrig, Ted Williams, and Willie Mays– is a distant memory. The swinging summers of Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa, and Mark McGuire feel almost as remote. But lately, the sport has shown signs of new life. A modest revival. A minor renaissance.
MLB’s vital signs have drooped for decades. 36 million viewers watched each game of the thrilling Red Sox-Cincinnati Reds 1975 World Series. That number plummeted to 12 million in 2022 – fewer than many college football matches. Stadium attendance numbers are equally weak. But except for allowing instant replays in 2008, MLB pretended not to notice. Or care.
All that changed last year. The MLB expanded the postseason and implemented a draft lottery. They added two additional playoff teams, incentivizing teams to try harder and not to tank. Coupled with the implementation of a draft lottery — which doesn’t guarantee the worst teams the best picks — playoff expansion drives competition and spending. And with the National League finally adopting the designated hitter—eliminating what was almost always an automatic out (unless you’re Shohei Ohtani)—the game has added more firepower.
But the MLB didn’t stop there. 2023 saw the most drastic changes in MLB history: the league banned defensive shifts, increased plate size, and in perhaps its most visible move, introduced a pitch clock. Eliminating defensive shifts was a no-brainer—those shifts, driven by technology and statistics, reduced hits and made the game less exciting—at least to casual fans. Banning the shift produced more baserunners, which, combined with the larger bases, made steals and steal attempts more frequent, again increasing excitement. And the pitch clock—limiting the time a pitcher and a batter take between pitches—sped up the game, shaving an average of 26 minutes off each Major League game and addressing another long-standing fan complaint.
And the changes are paying off. These shortened games—the new MLB light—have made baseball at least more bearable, and even, at times, electric. Larger bases generate more steal attempts and successful stolen bases, and the lack of the shift has led to more balls put in play. The new rules have given some of the game’s new stars a chance to shine. Young phenom Elly De La Cruz stole second, third, and home in a single plate appearance this season, only the second player to do so since 1961. As of August 11, Ronald Acuna Jr. had hit 26 home runs and stolen 53 bases — well on his way to becoming the first player with 30 home runs and 60 stolen bases in a single season.
Defense may win championships. But offense puts butts in seats. And online. The volume of users logging onto the MLB’s platforms is up 26% this year. Attendance is up 9% this year, the highest spike since 1998, (not factoring in the 2021 and 2022 COVID seasons.)
But despite the rule changes and the momentary MLB rebirth, the sport still seems to lack those “intangibles” that truly drive interest. While some of the rules are changed, fans still hunger for superstars, for dramatic rivalries and head-to-head matchups, for players that “carry” a team for a week or month or an entire season. Sadly, baseball, even in its new clothes, doesn’t seem to offer these. Stars are increasingly rare. Breakout seasons are often followed by breakdown seasons. And the sport is increasingly driven by the front office—which dulls the fan experience even more.
Baseball also lacks the physicality most major sports have. There’s none of the unbound savagery of MMA—which is still in the midst of a stunning growth spurt. There are no big hits or NFL linemen driving a running back into the backfield. While there are still occasional brawls, MLB can’t match the spectacle of two NHL players dropping their gloves and circling at center ice. And the game’s tempo, despite the new rules, is still, well, slow.
For a long while, the pace of baseball was not a problem. It was a virtue. So many generations counted out their summer days with the slow, steady beat of baseball. The game was a pulse that seemed to match the pace of our lives. But that pace has changed—especially the way we watch sport and consume media, expecting constant and perpetual fireworks. And I wonder whether baseball, at any pace, could be our pulse again. Baseball, once America’s Pastime, now feels part of America’s past time. MLB is trying to drag the game into the present, and to give it a future. For the moment, it seems to be working, with more competition, offense, and shorter games boosting viewership and attendance. But is this recent surge a rebirth, or just a momentary spike?