Golf

by Dave Cupples

Created on: April 23, 2009

Ask people, between baseball and golf, which is the slowest sport, and many of them will yawn and ask a question of their own: Who cares? The answer to both questions depends on how much of a fan you are-of either game. The chemist who invented Rustoleum probably gets a thrill watching paint dry. Any sport is going to be more exciting if you have some emotional investment in the game, and even a fast-paced, end to end game like basketball can seem slow and boring if you do not. The more you know about the game you are watching, and the more you care about the adversaries and the outcome, the more likely you are to find excitement. So everybody will have their own personal and equally valid opinion on the question, but MY opinion is that golf is by far the slowest.

Strategy adds interest to both games, but in golf, even diehard fans can miss the important details that make the difference. The strategy in golf depends largely on the terrain, the lie of the ball, and the distance to the hole; but those particulars are hard to distinguish, even if you are at the tournament. The golfers, themselves, have to ask their caddies about the locations and specific distances to sand traps, water, and other hazards. Much of the excitement is muted while you wait to see if the golfer hits into one of them or manages to land safely in the short grass. It's also difficult to see if the ball is above or below the golfer's feet or buried in the sand or rough; and no matter where you position yourself, most of the time you can only watch one group of players and one hole at a time. With at least thirty-six groups and eighteen holes all in play at the same time, you're going to miss a lot. Television does a good job of giving better looks and following the different groups from hole to hole, but it can't capture all the action, either.

In baseball on the other hand, all fields share the same basic layout, and only one ball is used at a time. It is possible to see all the action and all the strategic details. When a batter hits a ball, you know where it's going-right, center or left; grounded, lined or popped up-and if you understand baseball, you can follow the excitement from the moment the bat hits the ball. You don't have to wait to see if the ball is going into the lake or the sand or slicing into the trees, and you don't have to wait for the announcer to tell you that the slope of the green is going to make that putt extremely difficult. And if you want to know how any single play affects the overall competition, you don't have to look at a scoreboard to see which other players just gained or lost a stroke. In baseball, you always know the score.

Another reason that golf is the slower game is that it lacks the fast action and the immediacy of direct confrontation that is present in more exciting sports, including baseball. Baseball and golf are both leisurely-paced games with no time clock, but baseball at least has MOMENTS of fast action-as well as head-to-head battles between the competitors, like pitcher versus batter and batter/baserunner versus fielder. The only thing that ever REALLY moves fast in golf is the club head-and the club never leaves the golfer's hand.

Baseball has line drives into the gap and two-out, game winning home runs just inside the foul pole. It has outfielders racing back toward the wall-or crashing into it-to make incredible leaping catches. It has diving stops, sparkling one-handed grabs, double plays, and runners sliding head first into a base just barely ahead of the throw and the tag.

Golf has a guy standing alone and hitting a ball off a tee or rolling it slowly across a manicured lawn for four feet before it drops into a cup. When a golfer hits a shot, none of his opponents try to stop him. They don't try to field the ball before it gets to the green; and when he moseys up the fairway after hitting his shot, nobody is trying to tag him out. Unless the ball rattles into the trees or plops in the lake, there really isn't much going on. Golf is competitive, but it's more a subtle, implied thing than direct confrontation. It lacks those truly exciting fast-paced, action-filled moments that other sports thrive on.

Baseball also has some slow moments, but it's all relative. In any sport, some fans are only turned on by high-scoring offensive games, and everybody knows that a good pitcher can stop that. A good pitcher with good stuff can dominate a baseball game, giving up few hits and fewer runs. The celebrity egos of players-who now see themselves as entertainers-can also slow the game. Between the pitcher shaking off signs and flashing his tough guy stare to the hitter before every throw, and the batter stepping out each time to reset his focus and his "package", it can be a long time between pitches. Add to that the specialization of the game which has given us frequent pauses for pitcher and batter substitutions, and the length of a typical baseball game has gone from a little over two hours to about three or more.

In an important situation, if the pitcher gives up a walk and a few foul balls, then needs a visit to the mound from his coach before making several pickoff attempts, it can easily take twelve or fifteen minutes to get three "quick" outs. A casual observer will call that slow, but a baseball purist would be on the edge of his seat with every pitch, calculating what the pitcher will throw next and what the batter will try to do with it. Is the pitcher a fireballer in a classic matchup of speed against power, or is he a finesse guy moving the ball in and out, mixing pitches, changing speeds, and dropping curves off the end of the table? If he gets two strikes on the hitter, what will be his out pitch and what will he use to set the guy up for it? Will the batter hit away with a man on first, or try to give the runner a chance to steal second and play hit and run? If the runner is on third, will the batter try to hit a fly ball to sacrifice him in or will the manager call for a squeeze play?

Okay, here's the situation. The Cardinals are playing the Red Sox in the World Series. The Series is tied at three games apiece and the Sox are ahead by two runs in Game 7. It's the bottom of the ninth, two outs, and the Cardinals have gotten runners to first and second on a walk and a scratch single that barely got through. Albert Pujols is at the plate facing Red Sox closer, Jonathan Papelbon, and he's worked the count to three balls and two strikes. Papelbon throws a 99 mph fastball that slides just a little outside. Pujols swings with everything he has and hits a rising line drive toward the gap in right center. The runners are off with the pitch. The center and right fielders were both shaded to the gap, and they race to where the ball is heading. If it drops in safely, two runs will probably score, tying the game, and Pujols might even have a chance to get to third. If the ball gets out for a homer, the Cards win their second World Series of three they've played in this decade. If it's caught, the Red Sox win their THIRD of three in the same time span. The ball is screaming out and up. It looks like it's either going to hit the wall or just get over, but the outfielders are chasing it down. It's well hit. It might be! It could be! Uhh, . . . hold on. I've gotta switch over and see if Fuzzy Zoeller lands that 7-iron on the green. Yeah, right. Think again, duffers.

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