Does Baseball Make You A Believer?

You see it all the time: professional baseball player A, batting, takes professional baseball player B, pitching, deep to left field, over the fence, a home run. He runs the bases: first, second, third, some love from both coaches at the corners along the way, and, finally, home. But before he steps on the plate, or just as he does, he tilts his head skywards, and points towards the heavens.

Think of Albert Pujols; he does it all the time. David Ortiz, too, after his leisurely stroll around the diamond. But by no means is the salute exclusive to the home run. I remember seeing Nick Swisher do it after he’d walked, once he’d arrived at first base. And, knowing Swisher, it was probably a four-pitch walk, the pitcher’s control long gone, never to return. Hell, maybe it was an intentional walk, but someone up above deserved some thanks, some acknowledgement.

So I’ve been wondering: it’s God these guys are giving props to, right? Some guys are surely saluting a departed family member, maybe a lost friend, but in most cases, I think the answer is, yes, God. Pujols, deeply religious, is definitely praising the man above.

I have so many questions. Well, two, actually:

1. Is God a baseball fan? If he or she is smart enough to have worked their way to the top (no pun intended), to the title of “God,” I’ll assume he or she is very smart, and, yes, therefore a baseball fan. And a sabermetrician.

2. Is God a St. Louis Cardinals fan? I’m sure Albert Pujols certainly believes so. And, the more I ponder it, perhaps Pujols knows something we don’t. Think about it: St. Louis is about to play in their third World Series in eight years. They won the 2006 World Series after winning only 83 games during the regular season. Eighty-fucking-three. The Toronto Blue Jays won 87 games in 2006, and didn’t make the playoffs. (I will never not be bitter about this.) And, finally, think about what’s gone down over the past couple of months in Cardinals-ville: the collapse of the Atlanta Braves; the brilliance displayed by Tony La Russa; someone actually saying, “We couldn’t have done it without Dotel.” I mean, come on, that’s insane. I can’t in good conscience rule out divine intervention in favor of the Cardinals.

In all seriousness, and in the interests of full disclosure, I’m an atheist. Religion and the belief in God fascinate me. Hence me writing this. There’s something about a professional baseball player looking up and pointing to the heavens after a successful at-bat. While I understand that playing Major League Baseball is the furthest from a conventional job, he who gets on base, or strokes a two-out, two-RBI double, or blasts a solo home run, is, well, working when he salutes his God. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

I’d love to know what percentage of baseball players classify themselves as religious, and very religious. A quick Google search on the religious affiliation of baseball players didn’t result in much. I found a couple of articles on team chapel service, and more teams praying before they play (the Boston Red Sox are looking into both), but I wasn’t able to find a breakdown, or any conclusive numbers. More so than the average baseball player, though, it’s the stars, the Pujolses and Ortizes of the baseball world, the guys who bank millions, that fascinate me the most.

I’ve often thought about when I stopped believing, after growing up in what I’d call a religious Hindu household, your standard, I’d say, for a Canadian child of immigrants. I don’t know the answer. But it was gradual. By 25, at the latest, I knew religion wasn’t for me. And so, now, I’m thinking, maybe it’s the opposite for professional baseball players. Maybe as they work their way up — high school, college, being drafted, the minors, the majors — they believe more, and stronger.

It wouldn’t surprise me if baseball players were more religious compared to a cross-section of the average American and/or Canadian population. Maybe being so good at something so insanely difficult, like hitting a 95 MPH baseball 400-plus feet, makes it a lot easier to believe in God. Maybe dealing with so much luck and so much failure on a regular basis, as one has to in baseball, makes it easier to believe in God. Maybe being paid so much money to play a child’s game makes it easier to believe in God. I mean, Vernon Wells has to believe in God. I think it’d upset me if he didn’t.

Maybe that’s why I don’t believe in God: I’m not particularly stellar when it comes to, well, anything. I don’t have what most athletes describe as “God-given abilities” or “God-given talents.” I wasn’t born with anything “God-given.” I mostly blame my parents. But don’t get me wrong, I’m blessed, and I’m not going to sell myself short: I can spell. I mean, really spell, an amazing speller. And I can drive, too. I’m a fantastic driver. Yes, better than you. And I’m probably the world’s best procrastinator. But my abilities to put things off, keep right and pass left, and win a spelling bee, any time, any place, aren’t about to affirm my belief in a higher power.

But that’s kind of my point. I think I get it. I think I understand why Albert Pujols — born to play baseball, who grew up poor in Santo Domingo, who wanted to quit baseball after he was looked over the in 1999 draft, who in a few months will sign his name to a piece of paper that will guarantee him $200 million dollars — believes in God, and is giving it up, praising the Lord, each and every time he does something Pujolsian on the field. Were I wearing his shoes, I think I’d probably be doing the same.

Image via my this isn’t happiness.