Key to a Cold City: A Personal Odyssey Through Baseball Statistics of the Late Fifties to Understanding Bigotry, Failure, and the Human Soul
John Harris
language
(, Nov. 3, 2018)
Any devout baseball enthusiast will appreciate the creative metrics that Dr. Harris has applied to the careers of young black ballplayers whose big-league life (in the cases examined here) began a good six or eight years after Jackie Robinsonâs debut with the Brooklyn Dodgers. The âstudy groupâ is mostly drawn from Post Cereal cards that Harris lovingly collected as a boy. Some of his collectionâs most promising members had dropped off the map when he revisited the cards decades later, and he grew curious. Black players, especially, seemed abundant in this unhappy set of strange disappearances. The project started, therefore, in a thesis: as of about 1960, making it in the Major Leagues remained much harder for African-Americans than for Caucasians.Statistical review included not only a comparison of black and white batting averages, Earned Run Averages, and other standard metrics, but also an exploration of environmental conditions, such as how often players endured the disruption of being traded and how much time they spent in inactivity between starts. There are two sides to every story, of course, and Harris takes pains to underscore the presumptions and blind spots in his own arguments; but the tendency for black players to encounter more obstacles and fewer rewards often emerges rather powerfully.As Dr. Harris attempts to refine these findings with additional research into sportswritersâ accounts and other sources, he unveils a theory never succinctly proposed by any source: that the prejudices in question were not simply a conditioned reflex to skin color, but that the âanything goesâ baseball of the Negro Leagues made coaches and managers of the Fiftiesâ systematized, highly controlled Major League game very suspicious and uncomfortable. Members of the Caucasian âbrain trustâ feared being shown up or drawn beyond the bounds of their expertise. This stylistic prejudiceâwhich lay close to the heart of the gameâs racial prejudice, Harris believesâappears nowhere more clearly than in the emphasis of the home run. Aaron, Mays, Robinson, Banks... they all rose to glory on an impressive wave of homering; but potential superstars like Pinson, Altman, Al Smith, and Floyd Robinson may have been ruinously infected by Home Run Fever.Such a conclusion, because it removes prejudice from the purely ideological corner of racism and chooses to view it as a complex puzzleâbecause, that is, it doesnât confront us with a simplistic âgood guy/bad guyâ scenarioâwill disappoint many of todayâs social critics who want to cast all racial questions in a âgood vs. evilâ mold. Dr. Harris stresses, however, that he is uninterested in being the âwhite scholar trying to advertise⌠moral enlightenmentâ in a grand feat of virtue-signaling. Referring to prejudices that beset his own sonâs baseball experienceânot racial, but nevertheless severeâhe asserts instead, âI am a father who once felt the anguish of looking on helplessly as his sonâs confidence was sabotagedâand who has re-aggravated that anguish in pondering the young lives of a few talented men now gone from this world.âThe book thus ends up being a personal odyssey: an odd, even unique evolution for a work on sports history. But then, baseball is a unique game. It bonds fathers and sons, and it breaks down barriers that ordinarily separate our communities. If John Harrisâs approach defies the expectations of sportswriting by confusing its subjects with our sons and our brothers, does it not also therein suggest the only possible solution to the problem of racial bigotry?