God and Baseball

[Rejoice! Morphizm writers are slowly infiltrating the Huffington Post. The latest to make a splash is our longtime pal Tom McNichol, who posted his first spiel for them today. It is reprinted below here, since Morphizm made the trade, but you can drop by the HuffPo and post a comment. Enjoy! -- ST]

It's always sad when the baseball season comes to a close. During the long winter months that loom ahead, we won't get to see a single baseball player point to the sky after a successful at-bat or pitch.

The point-to-the-sky motion quickly has become baseball's signature celebratory gesture, sort of the national pastime's version of the dance in the end zone. Barry Bonds is often credited with popularizing point-to-the-sky and bringing it into wide use. Each one of Bond's historic home runs, including numbers 715 (passing Babe Ruth) and 756 (passing Hank Aaron), featured the slugger pointing two index fingers to the sky as he touched home plate, a visual shout out to the Great Baseball Fan in the Sky.

Following Bonds, many other players have adopted the gesture as their own. David Ortiz points to the Big Papi in the sky after every home run. Albert Pujols, Vladimir Guerrero, and Preston Wilson all point to the sky after every dinger. The Rockies' Matt Holliday goes with the two-fingered point after big hits. Reliever Francisco Rodriguez points to the sky after every save. The A's Nick Swisher points to the sky after every hit, although Swisher says it's a tribute to his deceased grandmother, not a high five to the Fan Upstairs. It used to be just home runs that got the finger treatment, but now it's being extended to weak dribblers up the third base line.

On one level, the point-to-the-sky gesture can be seen as a legitimate way of giving thanks to an unseen Creator who has endowed the baseball player with special gifts. The pro athlete's gifts are special indeed; they enable grown men to play a kid's game and become millionaires. If that doesn't deserve thanks, nothing does.

But the God invoked by ballplayers when they point to the sky is quite a peculiar Deity, one whose preferences, desires, and team loyalties seem to track very closely with those of the player doing the pointing. The God that Barry Bonds points to doesn't worry about all the steroid talk -- He just digs the long ball. David Ortiz's Big Papi apparently doesn't care much for American League pitchers in general or the Yankees and Rockies in particular. Reliever Francisco Rodriguez's God doesn't think the save is a cheap stat; it's a great stat! God knows the save should be more generously rewarded than it already is, and with His help, Rodriguez will someday get the contract he deserves.

We tend to fashion God in our own image and likeness. That's long been the case; the Kings of the Middle Ages pictured God as a King ruling over His subjects. But the Baseball God, the one baseball players point to -- seems awfully single-minded about success. Isn't the God that helps a player hit a mammoth home run the same God that helps him strike out the next time up on three nasty sliders? Why aren't there any baseball players who point to the sky after they whiff on three pitches, or pop out to the mound, or ground into a rally-killing double play? How about pointing after a successful sacrifice? Surely, God has a special place in His heart for the sacrifice.

But then the Baseball God -- the one the players point to -- is all about winning. The past World Series provided further proof: David Ortiz's God was unstoppable. Practically omnipotent.

You can look it up. Or just point straight up.