A substantial aspect of the human condition is the need for belonging. Collectiveness, as a whole, is what shapes shared ideas in our society, and congregations of people who have the same interests tend to have better, reinforced relationships. Whether it be food, exercise, art, or anything that piques human interest, interests act as the fabric that is woven into the tapestry of belonging. When we tie stories to these interests, the anecdotal facet associates both the storyteller and the listener(s) with something that happened in regard to that niche, in turn propelling them to want to learn more about the topic. In short, stories bring a seemingly simple but complex topic to life, allowing people to immerse themselves in this interest. In some cases, these stories give the interest a cultural identity, diffusing a collective community with the shared interest rallying together to enjoy the topic. Sports, for example, does not have a shortage of these communities. Every sports fan remembers growing up on stories about a star athlete or a moment that sparked a win for their favorite team. However, no sport holds more relevance in this field than baseball, “America’s Pastime.” But how did baseball win this de facto title? How did these stories, which were passed down from generation to generation due to the sport’s long-withstanding legacy, instill a sense of nostalgia and excitement simultaneously in these communities? What makes baseball a cultural identity?
To put it bluntly, baseball is just like that. Unlike most other sports, its legacy is not primarily based on statistics and championships (although this is obviously a major component). Instead, the political, social, and just plain fun stories told by older fans inspire generations to enjoy the game, and feel like they are a part of the sport. Jackie Robinson, to name one player that embodied this cultural identity, faced adversity and overcame the institutional disparities between the Negro League and the Major Leagues during the integration era. A story that most people have heard, Robinson’s odyssey inspired an extensive amount of Black players throughout the past to push through societal barriers, and today, about 40% of the league is composed of minority players (Castrovince, 2025). On top of that, baseball hosts more stories that act as antecedents to change in both the world and the game, and players over time have been vocal about political issues, more so recently. This proves that baseball is not just a sport, but also a collective identity shared through fans that hold a common interest, the colloquial x-factor that sets it apart from other sports. Messages from professional athletes that younger generations look up to are definitely beneficial in shaping morals from a young age, and act as a basis for education. My experience aligns with many young fans, and before getting into the inputs of this cultural identity, I would first like to share the events that shaped my interest in the sport, and led me to this conclusion through spoken word and personal experiences.
My grandfather was born a home run away from Doubleday Field in 1947, the same year Jackie Robinson, as I mentioned before, broke into the league and made a lasting impression on the game for generations to come. In the following years, my relatives had the privilege of viewing the golden era of baseball, experiencing moments in time that they weren’t aware would add a stitch to the game’s rich tapestry of history. From Bobby Thomson’s shot heard ‘round the world to the iconic postseason moments that fold before our eyes every October, the game has been writing a story throughout time for any fan to interpret, enjoy, and understand. No other game is so interwoven between fans and players to the extent that baseball offers, and my family and I have done the best we can to preserve the legacy and enjoy baseball as we should. At the age of ten, I visited Cooperstown, the host town for the Baseball Hall of Fame and yearly inductions, for the first time I can remember. I had just recently, at the time, tried my hand at collecting baseball cards regardless of the fact that I knew only the superficial factors of the game and not the real impact that it carried socially. After all, I was only ten. Gradually, I came to the realization that although I didn’t fully comprehend the magnitude of the exhibits I was perusing, I was walking on holy ground. Viewing firsthand the racism that Hank Aaron had to overcome during his chase to break the home run record in 1974, through hate mail, disillusioned me to the political and social hardships that accompanied the game. On the other side of it, the impact that Aaron had on fans all over the world was illustrated through a letter from a father that grew up watching Aaron as an ally. The moment where the sender mentioned that he named his kids Henry and Aaron still makes me tear up a bit to this day, and that just further illustrates that this era in baseball paved the way for the aforementioned community aspect through social justice inputs. Nowadays, the Hall is still cultivating exhibits to highlight the cultural side of baseball and show the truth of the adversity these players faced, including their new Japanese Baseball exhibit, their Negro League exhibit, and their women in baseball campaign. I go about twice a year, and I find a new aspect that propels me to dive deeper into this disillusionment and view baseball as more of a cultural movement each time.
The Hall hosts a viewing session every hour of an exclusive movie that portrays the significance of major baseball events since the National League’s inception, offering never-before seen interviews from inductees, announcers, managers, and other legends of the game. Nothing could have prepared me for the effect that this seemingly miniscule short film would have on my interest in the game and my pursuit of knowledge in general. I will never forget hearing Dennis Eckersley, a Hall-of-fame closer, break down the events that led to his pitch to Kirk Gibson, who would hit a walk-off homer in the World Series that changed the course of baseball forever. The man colloquially known as Eck seemed to be caught between two sides of the same coin - one praising Gibson for sparking one of the greatest moments of the game - the other being the man himself having to relive the same event that haunted him another time for the camera. Eckersley, understanding the magnitude that this situation carried for baseball itself, handled the scenario perfectly, wrapping it up in two short sentences. His words still resonate with me to this day -
“Great moment for the game,” Eck replied enthusiastically. “But not for me!” (Generations, 2018)
No matter how hard I laughed at the time (It was one of those you had to be there moments.), I still understood the power that this sentence holds, underlining each major baseball moment throughout history. There’s always a winner and a loser. Gibson’s mountaintop moment as the underdog would be followed by seven more years in the league, and while he had a prominent career, he was never the same after this home run. Eckersley, however, became one of the most decorated closers of all time, not letting this setback deter him from his ambition to become one of the greats. After all, Cooperstown is the goal, right? The main outcome of this story is the fact that baseball can immortalize anybody in any given moment, giving players a moment in the sun, such as Mark Lemke and Travis Ishikawa, who still hold weight in their respective teams’ communities for their exceptional play in the World Series while eking out subpar performances during the regular season. To put it bluntly, baseball is the sport where the most prominent players fail 7 out of 10 times (The threshold for a star in baseball is a .300 batting average). It’s what they do with those three major moments that immortalizes them - an embodiment of the phrase “Carpe Diem.” These moments are pretty much the perfect inputs for movies themselves, and I would like to segue into how the portrayal of baseball on the silver screen furthered how baseball won over fans’ hearts as the national pastime.
Before we get into how movies propelled baseball’s position as a cultural identity, we must first understand the antecedents that pushed the sport to Hollywood. Baseball movies stemmed from viewership losses over the years, and these movies looked to correct the narrative of baseball’s pureness and regain the fans that left the game. We should first analyze how viewership declined to understand the impact that movies had on the game. First, in the mid-late 1970s, baseball could be summed up in one word - extravagant. Teams were experimenting with new, out of the ordinary concepts to ensure fans came to the ballpark, and Bill Veeck, the White Sox owner, was the showman behind this newfound view of the game. After the “Golden Age” of baseball in the 50’s, viewership dropped and more empty seats gradually began popping up at the harrowed ballparks of old that were the grounds for some of the greatest stories in the game. Polo Grounds and Ebbetts Field were demolished to make way for a more capitalist market in bigger cities, and the owners had to find a way to bring the national pastime back to its prominence. Veeck, an already notable figure for signing the first Black player in the American league (Larry Doby, HOF 1998), found the solution through his unorthodox field promotions such as “Disco Demolition Night,” where fans brought their disco records to Comiskey Park and burned them on the field as an unofficial goodbye to the disco era. Tying culturally significant moments to the game gave fans an outside reason to attend the ballpark, and multiple owners caught on. Charlie Finley, the Oakland A’s owner, began emphasizing the personalities of his players to make them seem more human and bring more people into the fanbase. By motivating his players to become animated versions of themselves (growing hair long, rocking odd facial hair), Finley was able to revitalize the Oakland energy, and Veeck simultaneously brought up White Sox attendance from a mere 800,000 to over 1.6 million in 1974 (Case, 2018). For a while, it seemed like baseball was back. Until it wasn’t.
It wasn’t a secret that players used stimulants in the Major Leagues. Amphetamine, or “greenies,” were a mainstay in locker rooms across the country, and players used throughout games to gain a competitive edge. However, the full truth wasn’t brought to light just yet, and the league had a real issue on their hands for the first time in a while. In 1985, the Pittsburgh Drug Trials placed a damper on fans throughout the world, and the colloquial cat was essentially out of the bag. The nationally televised trials showed that many players ceded amphetamine for cocaine, a much more worrying situation. After this came to light, viewership had taken a dip for the first time since pre-Veeck, and front offices were scrambling to restore baseball’s pure designation. In this case, Peter Ueberroth, the commissioner of the MLB, brought the hammer down and held implicated players accountable. However, this would only prove to take away stars from the game and fanbases. While Ueberroth took the moral high ground, baseball was still struggling to continue its pure legacy. That all changed when prominent figures thought outside the box and baseball took to Hollywood.
As a solution to the reignited fall in viewership, the 1984 movie “The Natural” established itself as a major hit in the box office, followed by more lucrative baseball movies such as the heartwarming underdog film “The Sandlot”. These films gradually reeled fans back into the game, generating a more personal, story-based approach to the game. “Bull Durham” provided comedy, “The Natural” was a heartfelt romance story, and it seemed that there was something for everyone, fan or not. Most of all, the romanticization of baseball through these movies played into a new cultural identity, as fans began to rally around some of these cult classics and find a shared interest through them - sparking a reinforced community. These movies took on a life of their own, becoming an “American Pie” type of genre, interweaving baseball not just into society, but into America’s history and identity as a whole. As A. Bartlett Giamatti, the commissioner at the time, said,
“I believe that thinking about baseball will tell us a lot about ourselves as a people. Baseball is part of America's plot, part of America's mysterious, underlying design - the plot in which we all conspire and collude, the plot of the story of our national life.” (Patell, 1993)
The narrative of Giammatti’s statement is consistent with the ethos of fans worldwide, and I believe that the movies of the game supplement the historical story aspect as well. The “National Pastime” was mainly shaped through stories, and what better way to tell a story on a screen in a community? In short, realism and fantasy share a symbiotic relationship in baseball and both contribute to a greater cultural identity.
On top of revitalizing fans’ respect and admiration for baseball, movies gave a novelty for fans to enjoy outside of the real playing field. Being a part of the game from the comfort of your own home is something special, and being able to share these stories and methods with others and pass them down to younger generations is essential to any fan. Through the phenomenon of collecting baseball cards, I have been able to connect on a personal level with people in my life, young and old, and follow the game through cardboard, essentially. However, it goes much deeper than that. There is no logical reason that a piece of cardboard with a photo should hold so much nostalgia and relevance in the world, but I am willing to forgo real logic if it means that I can become a part of this community and share my love for the game with others. My grandfather, for one, began collecting at a young age, and the stories that come with some of these cards transcend anything that a novelty should have to offer. His son, who passed away in 2007, shared this love for collecting with him, and they have met former players and notable figures in the game and just through collecting. He passed this love for collecting to my brother and I, giving us boxes upon boxes of vintage cards every time we saw him and taking us to card shows. There was an era in my childhood where my cousins and I would forgo any attempt from my parents to make us do something other than trading cards or playing wiffle ball! Having a laugh while my grandfather told me for the tenth time (never gets old) about how my Uncle Mike traded a ball for three of the most valuable cards of all time back in the 80’s is something that will stay with me forever, and it’s these seemingly minor stories that have shaped my love for collecting to this day. Grandpa made Mike give the cards back, in case you were wondering. On top of that, my dad and I find astronomical amounts of fun in spending a day in the Cooperstown card shops and trading stories about the players that we find on vintage cards. Even my 9-year old sister enjoys, or at least pretends to enjoy hunting for deals at local card shops and opening up packs. In a way, Stella started “collecting” the same way I did!
While other major sports create sets of cards, no other game embodies their players like baseball, and the baseball card market has generated the most demand over time in regards to other sports. While football holds the top share now due to digital sales, vintage and autographed baseball cards occupy the upper echelon of seasoned collectors and easily provide the most stories behind these cards (Thompson, 2024). For example, the most famous and scarce sports card of all time began with a story known by fans throughout the world. Johannes “Honus” Wagner, an all-time great shortstop with the Pittsburgh Pirates, found out that his image was plastered on the 1909 T206 set, and replied with contempt and stopped the tobacco company from using his likeness. Wagner didn’t want to promote tobacco or cigarettes in any way, and this led to a limited production that acts as the holy grail for any collector. Funny enough, a 1920s card depicted Wagner casting doubt on his earlier statement, posing with a wad of chewing tobacco under his lip. Regardless, the last sale of one of his T206 cards amounted to over $5 million. That’s a story within itself - not bad for a piece of cardboard.
Economically, these cards hold a hefty amount of weight, proven through the recent sales of Wagner’s cards, the surge in the market during COVID, and the hunt for the ever elusive 1952 Mickey Mantle rookie card (record $12.6 million in 2022). In essence, baseball cards are a business. On top of that, historian Melvin Adelman argues that baseball affected business and the workplace itself. I have no shortage of agreements, and I especially like to inverse historian Steven Gelber’s noteworthy claim that baseball evolved from business, instead offering the opposite perspective. Through examples such as the work-leisure relationship during wartime and how it took on a life of its own through military baseball (Fairbanks, 2008), I attribute baseball’s success partly to its influence in other sectors of life rather than life’s impact on the game. Regarding wartime, baseball was one of the only events that gave Americans and people all over the world alike leisure, and even military stations had their own baseball teams along with businesses and institutions all over the country. Instead of letting the pressures of society deter grown men (and women, which I will get into shortly) from enjoying a ballgame, Americans during this period of time found solace in something familiar, letting this sense of leisure take hold in the workplace. This paved a way for making the workplace enjoyable to a degree, and baseball may have acted as the main antecedent (Adelman, 1989). Even today, some firms have softball and baseball teams that compete against each other to enhance the work environment and promote the team aspect of business. Providing a contemporary viewpoint on past events is important as well, as we can figure out how these events are connecting, and how one baseball-related story permeates into culture, with that newfound cultural aspect spurring on a future baseball moment. This is the tapestry that I mentioned before - players have defined the culture of certain generations, passing down that influence for decades to come. Metaphorically, a single stitch in this tapestry can give way to an entirely new design for an entirely new generation through a lineage of correlation. For instance, Willie Mays was a beacon for Black players in the 1950’s-on post-integration, and his happy-go-lucky nature along with his prowess on the field led to his position as a role model for future players on and off the field. Decades later, Ken Griffey Jr. replicated Mays’s exact playing style and demeanor, carrying on his legacy in a new generation. Interestingly enough, Bobby Bonds, Mays’s teammate, had a son named Barry. You may have heard of him. Who was the godfather of the player who hit the most home runs of all time (though the ethical component of Bonds’s record is debated)? You guessed it, Willie Mays. This links three of the greatest players of all time, and while it can be chalked up to a coincidence, I believe that it plays into an even larger narrative. This cycle continues, and the fact that two players from completely different eras can be interlinked through a seemingly larger-than-life game is surreal.
To add, when discussing the workplace and wartime, the full story can never be complete without women. The prominent role of women during wartime is typically omitted when discussing this era. Many devoted fans aren’t aware of women's contributions to the game. However, the film “A League of Their Own” gave a perspective to and made fans aware of women’s impact. Many attempt to shine light on how women not only essentially replaced men during World War 2 in the All American Girls Professional Baseball League, but also quietly influenced many important changes throughout the league. For example, Jackie Robinson’s integration may not have arrived without Effa Manley, a female National Negro League team owner. Fans wouldn’t have been able to watch a full schedule of games without the AAGPBL taking place and generating revenue for owners that would have been lost during the war (Shattuck, 2018). Through the efforts of advocates for women in baseball, youth women’s leagues are becoming increasingly popular, and young girls are finally allowed to play baseball at a full-scale, a decision which was long overdue. About a year ago, I went to a panel of speakers advocating for women in baseball, and it was eye opening as I wasn’t aware of many of the historical moments sparked by women in baseball aside from Mo’Ne Davis’s elite performance in the Little League World Series.
Aside from business, baseball has strong roots in social justice, highlighted by stories such as Jackie Robinson’s aforementioned integration, Curt Flood’s contract renegotiation to become the first free agent, and more stories that paved the way for baseball’s inception throughout the world. Before getting into the impacts, I would like to tell a story that embodies the differences in social and political norms throughout the world, and how baseball speaks the same language worldwide even while some players don’t. This story takes place in my hometown Syracuse during 1951, spanning across an era where Major League Baseball had undergone a major shift as a whole. Four years prior, Jackie Robinson had courageously become the first Black player to integrate a major sport, sparking change across the country and inspiring many. Unfortunately, many Southerners, and even some Northern citizens alike, had not taken lightly to this change and aimed to uphold their bigoted agenda, retaliating against management, throwing racist remarks, and even resorting to violence in Brooklyn, where the Dodgers played. Even hotels and restaurants made it a point to deny entry to Black players traveling with the team, and the players had no choice but to heed these rules due to law enforcement withholding any attempt to appeal removal. This atrocity lays the groundwork to this story as even four years after, racism still ran rampant across major league baseball. However, Black players proved that they could excel amongst the competition of the MLB, and by 1951 almost 10% of the league was non-white. The more Black players crossed the threshold, the more bigoted business owners made it a point to deny these players from their establishments. That year, Vic Power, a player of African descent living in Puerto Rico, won a spot in the Yankees organization. While bulldozing through the minor leagues, Power made a stop in Syracuse, playing for the Chiefs. Even in Upstate NY, racism still manifested itself to a high extent, and Power experienced it firsthand at a diner with his new teammates. Upon entry, Power took a seat at a table within the restaurant, and a server took notice and shuffled over to the infielder. Looking confused, Power put down the menu and gazed up. The server remarked,
“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t serve colored people.”
Power, still trying to take in what he just heard, appeared shocked. For a second, he tried to interpret the server’s bigotry, as Puerto Rico had a more progressive approach when it came to acceptance. However, instead of leaving or accepting what the server had said, Vic Power chose to make light of the situation. He replied back,
“That’s okay. I don’t eat colored people. I want rice and beans. (James, 2001)”
I heard this line in a movie and confirmed its existence in Bill James’s Historical Baseball Abstract, and it still holds true as one of my favorite minor but impactful stories to this day. It may not fit the conventional definition of a powerful, impactful story, but I like to view its roots in a different way. When interpreting this story in a historical context, the context of the line proves to go much deeper. Many Black players felt trapped by these societal de facto laws, and even proving their prowess on the field would not deter them no matter what, until later in the game’s history. Power, on the other hand, came from an area where racism wasn’t as prevalent, and his play on the field proved his belonging rather than the color of his skin. However, he didn’t let the societal pressures deter him from playing the sport he grew up enamored by, and continued to let his game do the talking. As his career progressed, the bounds that held these players metaphorically eventually loosened, paving the way for many Black greats throughout the years such as Willie Mays, Rickey Henderson (may they rest in peace) and Ken Griffey Jr. As for Power, he went on to win seven gold glove awards, securing his spot on six different all star teams during his twelve year career. Best of all, instead of succumbing to culture shock and societal pressures, Power held true to his stance, becoming an idol and role model to many young Puerto Ricans and African-Americans alike. This is also a good starting point for showing how baseball, like soccer, is essentially borderless. This claim is spurred by events such as the World Baseball Classic and prominence of not only Latin-American leagues, but also leagues in Japan, Korea, and other countries in the East (Klein, 2007). Thus, the “national pastime” takes an international identity, and the grand narrative is pushed beyond the bounds of the US. This allows for cultural diffusion, and each country brings a different perspective on the game to the table. Having these discussions strengthens baseball’s cultural significance, and while it started out as leisure, the game took on cultural, political, and especially social influence to a high degree. This is especially relevant right now, as the World Baseball Classic had just wrapped up two weeks ago with Venezuela claiming the title. Seeing the metaphorical melting pot of players bringing different perspectives and the diffusion of their respective cultures provided a mountaintop moment for the diversity of the game that many have fought for throughout the years. I think it’s an amazing thing that after years of hardships, people who have dedicated their lives to this game can finally express their culture and represent their country with pride and a newfound sense of verve. That’s belonging if I’ve ever seen it.
To wrap up, everyone wants to be a part of a community, like I said. Everyone wants to share an interest with someone close to them. These interests, after all, shape our identity. Baseball embodies this concept of a cultural identity to the fullest extent, and I will always highly regard its history through spoken word. No other sport carries so much significance or permeates so many areas of daily life. To revisit an analogy I made earlier, think of baseball as a tapestry, with each stitch representing a culturally or socially impactful moment of the game (most have pinstripes for me - I’m a Yankees fan!). This tapestry becomes much more beautiful when we can add experiences from different cultures and areas of the world, and offering different perspectives is part of what makes baseball so powerful and nostalgic. As Juan Marichal, a Hall of Fame pitcher once said, “Who would have thought that a kid from that town (Laguna Verde, Dominican Republic) could make it all the way to Cooperstown?”, having a good laugh after (Generations, 2018). The paths that these players embark on, even if they don’t realize, open the doors for young fans in future generations and give them the ability to hope that they, too, can one day become Juan Marichal. Maybe they could strive to become the next Shohei Ohtani, or Cristobal Torriente. The possibilities are endless. Jackie Robinson (he’s come up a lot) embodies this perfectly, stating that “a life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.” If you saw me after reading Hank Aaron’s fan mail and thought I was teary-eyed, you better believe that reading about what my favorite player of all time has done for the world and the game alike, alongside hearing Robinson’s quote, opened the floodgates.
References
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Castrovince, Anthony. “Number of Black Players on Opening Day Rosters Increases.” MLB.com, 11 Apr. 2025, www.mlb.com/news/mlb-diversity-shows-increase-in-black-players-on-opening-day-2025.
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James, Bill. The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract. Free Press, 2001.
Klein, Alan. “Latinizing the ‘National Pastime.’” The International Journal of the History of Sport, vol. 24, no. 2, Feb. 2007, pp. 296–310. https://doi.org/10.1080/09523360601046029.
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