A versus A: The Epic Struggle

“Es chata’ai ani mazkir hayom — My transgressions I recall this day” (Bereishis 40:9). Well, perhaps not precisely transgressions, maybe not even misdemeanors, but I do confess behavior that, in today’s chareidi world, is considered inappropriate. I hereby testify publicly that once upon a time I was guilty of such untoward behavior. Today, I am proud to say, such un-chareidi behavior is somewhat mitigated.(Note the “somewhat.”)

What were, and still remain, these unsavory habits?  As a boy and as a young man, I was hopelessly addicted.  Addicted? Yes, but not to drugs or substances, but to major-league baseball, first to the Orioles of Baltimore and then to the Braves of Atlanta. Although I am today mostly recovered from my cravings, there still remains within me a residue in need of detoxification. (As to why baseball and not football or basketball — though one can admire the training, grace and skill that creates any top athlete — that would lead to an arcane discussion of sports, which, in a chareidi journal, it might be circumspect to avoid.)

Granted, there are sins far more cardinal than attachment to sports. It violates no laws, is not even a minor halachic infraction. The problem exists in its downside potential. Given free rein, it can easily become a major distraction from more serious pursuits and an ever-present catalyst for sheer waste of time — which bnei Torah rightfully call bittul zeman. An occasional momentary indulgence is harmless — a glance at yesterday’s scores, a look at the league standings, perhaps a one-minute recap of a crucial game’s highlights — but like sugar or salt, a small dose adds flavor to the day, but overindulgence can have deleterious long-term effects.  If not controlled, it becomes the silent killer of time.  In extreme cases, a team’s losing streak can even engender anger and depression within a true fan, while a long winning streak can brighten the general outlook of that same fan (fan being short for fanatic).

While I have recovered from most of my youthful dependence, certain residues remain lodged in my neurological system. I try to satisfy myself with a quick daily fix that consists only of a fleeting glance at the scores and nothing more. But even that fleeting glance is fraught with risk, because the scores can serve as a trigger for just one more glance, one more look — at starting pitchers, innings pitched, home runs, strikeouts, walks, errors and all the other esoteric paraphernalia that comprise the written and oral lore of every baseball game.