Today was the day I had tickets to watch the Yankees open their season in Baltimore, with their new ace pitcher, Gerrit Cole, on the mound. Instead, I’ll be staying inside and eating skillet hot dogs while I watch the Yankees defeat the Red Sox in the American League Championship Series — of 2003, that is.
For fans of the sport, the ripping away of baseball is a bitter pill to swallow on top of many others as the coronavirus landed in the United States and wreaked havoc with all of our lives.
To be sure, the loss of baseball pales in comparison to what many are facing. There are COVID-19 patients fighting for their lives on ventilators and overwhelmed hospital workers trying to save them. Many business owners and workers, who just last month were thriving, have suddenly seen their livelihoods ripped out from under them. Those who were struggling to pay bills even in good times have gotten crushed by the swift crumbling of the economy.
As an advocate of aggressive social distancing measures as a necessary last resort to try to save the medical system from totally collapsing under the weight of critically ill patients, I certainly understand why the baseball season is postponed indefinitely.
But it still stings, because baseball is more than a game. It is one of the quintessential symbols of American life. And the loss of baseball is a reminder of how the coronavirus pandemic is disrupting daily life in a way that lacks any clear parallel.
Americans have certainly endured great hardships over the course of our history. But there’s something unique about the widespread shutdowns and social isolation that are at the very core of the coronavirus response.
During the Great Depression, there could still be events and large gatherings. People ate out in restaurants and convened in bars. Broadway was thriving during World War II, and people went out to the movies.
In other words, even in tough periods in the past, people still had ways to escape. There were ways of gathering with friends, family, and meeting others. Yet all of those options are cut off in the age of the coronavirus. Now, you can’t even go out and meet a friend for a drink in the city that never sleeps.
There is no exit from the coronavirus. It has kept us trapped indoors and forced everybody (even those who aren’t in the business) to be glued to the news. It feels like every post on social media is about the coronavirus, and it’s difficult to have any interaction with friends or family that does not eventually end up focused on the coronavirus.
Sports in general, and baseball in particular, have long served as a major distraction for people in times like this. No matter what goes on in the world or no matter how toxic politics can get, it has always been possible to find some live sports to pass the time.
The sports, at various times, have had disruptions — such as player strikes. But there has no time at which all live sports were shut down at the same time.
The closest major event that most people have a memory of that is in any way comparable to what’s happening now was the aftermath of the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. Yet on the night of Sept. 11, I ate at a restaurant in Manhattan. And a few weeks later, I attended a playoff game in Yankee Stadium to watch them take on the Oakland Athletics.
Things weren’t quite normal at that game. We had to go through more security than we were used to at the time. And when we entered, the jumbo screen over center field was showing a George W. Bush press conference, and the fans (in the South Bronx!) were erupting in cheers.
Yet, at the same time, having playoff baseball in New York City felt like some semblance of normal. Everybody in the city knew somebody who either died or lost a loved one in the horrific attack, yet baseball offered a sense of calm. Despite being shaken, it was a symbol that the American way of life would endure.
At some point, the U.S. will find a way to get past the worst of the coronavirus era and return to some form of regular life. I can’t predict when that might happen. But I know we’ll be there when baseball returns.
