by Frank Terry, Canton Repository

Monday, December 15, 2008

It could have been anything really.  Maybe it was the economy taking a nosedive after the boon of 2005.  Maybe it was the birth of the loathsome Red Sox Nation.  Maybe it was boredom and maybe we will just never know.

Whatever it was that started it, baseball in America died.  A complete loss of solvency was the stated reason for the collapse.  We all could have seen it coming.  $5 hot dogs and beer for $6.50 simply could not last for long.  Families of four were spending over $150 just to watch baseball or, in Cincinnati, something that sort of looked like baseball.  The collapse was as complete (every team declared bankruptcy) as it was sudden (all within three hours of each other).

It doesn’t matter really.  All that matters is this: After the 2006 World Series, Major League Baseball closed its doors.  The venerated Yankee Stadium was never to be filled again, Jacobs Field sat empty in the Cleveland snow, Tropicana Field… well no one was ever there anyway.

Baseball in America, however, refused to die.  An original plan, brought about by the Steinbrenners and a shadowy Canadian group, involved bringing the household names back with different organizations in different cites.  A long series of meetings ended with the famous Helsinki Incident, and after that there was no doubt that no one represented by MLBPA would ever play in America again.  Following that, the Canadian group attempted to form a league that used minor league players to stock teams located mostly north of the border.  An abortive 2007 Spring Training was cancelled after it was learned Canadian winter didn’t lift until July.

Fans of baseball feared the worst.  Little Leagues began to despair of players as kids were drawn to soccer, football, rugby and any number of other sports.  At this point, things looked bleak.  Mark Shapiro was already working as a CPA, Brian Cashman was, presumably, still working for the devil somewhere else, and Dr. Phil was trying to console a nation.

From this, some hope was born.  The first stirrings came in early 2007, nothing major, just another rumor.  The idea seemed to be that baseball was coming back to the people.  Baseball, the game of perfect grass, the smell of summer, the sweet sound of wood on rawhide, was going back to its roots.  Soon, fathers and sons would be talking about their heroes again.  Mothers and daughters would be smilingly tolerant of gloves, bats and the detritus of the game being spread about the house.  The idea sounded great, noble even, but like so many great ideas, there was little to make more than just a happy notion.  Owners submitted drafts, players from high school and college tried out and scouts watched, but something was missing.

Late in February, however, something changed.  John Rodriguez was really nothing special before that day.  He was a fan, just like you and I.  John, however, was not going to let his game get away.  With no special amount of capital, Rodriguez used his networking skills to find a select group of cities and wealthy men that would consider brining the national pastime back to the nation.  From the humble beginnings of Rodriguez's cross-country campaign (in which he quirkily stayed only in Motel 6’s) came the Planetary Extreme Baseball League.  Based mainly in the United States, but with a franchise in London, England, PEBA attempted to rise to replace MLB.

Sledding was tough at first.  Canton replaced Cleveland, Aurora garnered a team, Duluth, Omaha, Bakersfield and many other blue collar towns signed on.  On Opening Weekend, ego seemed to take a backseat to just getting baseball back to the kids that seemed to miss it most.  Ticket prices stayed under $20, hot dogs were cheap and fresh off the grill and beer was only $2 for a 20oz.  Baseball, and PEBA, were finally back in America.