Before I left the high Rockies air of Denver for the smog of St. Louis, I was what they call an “International Host.” This was a challenging job. Foreign students lived in my room for a few months while they took classes on how to speak English. That means that they didn’t know English when I would first meet them. Yeah, that was a bit difficult. But as you can guess, the job held some pretty cool opportunities.
Despite those opportunities, the job began to wear on me by the end of second semester. It was then that I was assigned my final roommate of the year. His name was Sung-Wook Park, and he was Korean. I had previously roomed with Brazilians, Argentinians, Saudi Arabians and Mexicans. I had heard many times of the baseball oasis that resided south of our border. I had heard fairy tales of how Dominican children received a bat and glove as their first gifts after birth. I had learned of those who played the game all day on sandlots, with rough, homemade equipment.
These people loved the game. At the same time, I was sitting in Kaufman Stadium in Kansas City on Saturday nights, looking at an “intimate” gathering of my fellow diehard Royals fans. Needless to say, I was expecting to be rooming with some great fans.
All I got was a bunch of soccer fans. “F?tbol this” and “F?tbol that,” was all that I got. These guys were great, but I was a bit disappointed. I told a close friend of mine, as I prepared my room for Sung’s arrival, “I bet this guy hasn’t even heard of baseball.” Oh boy, did I look like an ignorant American. The first words out of the kid’s mouth were (roughly), “You like baseball?”
He and I ended up staying up countless nights watching late night broadcasts of Dodger games in which Chan Ho Park, Korea’s only Major League player at the time (and of no relation to Sung) attempted to throw the sphere past the big American batters.
From the two months I spent bridging the language and cultural gaps by celebrating the excitement of “America’s game,” I learned just how much passion the international community possesses for our National Pastime.
So, I was distressed when I heard that a Cubs-Cardinals contest would not take place in Tokyo this year, because Mark McGwire didn’t feel that the season ought to be kicked off outside of North America. I understand Mark’s argument and don’t want to suggest at all that McGwire is racist against the Japanese. But I disagree with him that the game is improper.
The Japanese have a long tradition of baseball in their nation, with a very competitive professional league. The players have a very strong respect for the history, fans, and participants of the contests, but they hold American players in special regard. The MLB is trying to promote the United States major league not only in Asia but throughout the world.
Six teams played spring training exhibition games throughout Latin America this season. Last year the Colorado Rockies and San Diego Padres opened in Monterrey, Mexico. Just a few months ago, Major League Baseball released information showing a growing interest in Cameroon of all places. Apparently even the government of the small African nation has joined in on the excitement by allowing the nation’s young national team to practice on the field at the national soccer stadium.
That is the equivalent of allowing a national ultimate frisbee team practice at Yankee Stadium.
As a dedicated fan who is looking forward to a brand new season, my excitement is increased to new heights when I see the game I love going global. It is a strong testament to the appeal of baseball to know that Panamanian men and women are willing to stand sweltering temperatures to play baseball on hard, sun-baked fields, instead of running to the oceans.
Around the world national leaders and foreign intelligentsia are increasing their criticism of American influence in their nations.
Many blame our movie culture and magazine media for the alarming increase in eating disorders and suicide among their young women. Others are concerned that American influence is destroying their younger generation’s will to continue native traditions and culture. But baseball is often praised for the positive influence on the nations in which it plants its seeds.
Baseball itself is tapping unused resources of talent. The game has even served in diplomatic attempts as exemplified in Cuba last year when the Baltimore Orioles both hosted and visited the Cuban national team. Cuba has long been a power house in the baseball world.
The longing for competition superceded the antagonistic political issues which have plagued these two countries for the past decades.
I am excited about baseball’s prospects with our neighbors, and anticipate an eventual “World Cup” of baseball, which would be held after our World Series. Then finally, we can truly see who is the greatest in the world.
Personally I think the Yankees will suffer most from international competition. But in the end, we have found a force that in this world of globalization and interconnectedness, connects us with those in whom we see fewer other similarities.
Maybe replacing peanuts and CrackerJacks with sushi and saki isn’t such a bad idea after all.
