Have you ever noticed how much baseball players spit? Outside baseball–even among other male sports figures--spitting is considered impolite. Football players, with their customary headgear, don’t spit, nor do basketball players, who might slip on the court. No spitting by Roger Federer, Tiger Woods, Paul or Morgan Hamm, or Michael Phelps. Not even Mark Spitz (a swimmer turned dentist). But watch any baseball game for a few innings and you’ll see spitting galore. Since pitchers appear to be the spitting champions, the custom likely originated on the mound. It continues today as a carryover from the days when pitchers routinely chewed tobacco, believing that nicotine enhanced their concentration and effectiveness. The spitting custom spread to other players, who unabashedly spew saliva from the outfield to the dugout steps.
For the student of custom, ritual, and magic, baseball is an especially interesting game, to which lessons from anthropology are easily applied. The pioneering anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski, writing about Pacific islanders rather than baseball players, noted they had developed all sorts of magic to use in sailing, a hazardous activity. He proposed that when people face conditions they can’t control (e.g., wind and weather), they turn to magic. Magic, in the form of rituals, taboos, and sacred objects, is particularly evident in baseball. Like sailing magic, baseball magic serves to reduce psychological stress, creating an illusion of control when real control is lacking.
In several publications about baseball, the anthropologist George Gmelch makes use of Malinowski’s observation that magic is most common in situations dominated by chance and uncertainty. All sorts of magical behaviors surround pitching and batting, which are full of uncertainty. There are fewer rituals for fielding, over which players have more control. (Batting averages of .350 or higher are very rare after a full season, but a fielding percentage below .900 is a disgrace.) Especially obvious are the rituals (like the spitting) of pitchers, who may: tug their cap between pitches, spit in a particular direction, magically manipulate the resin bag, talk to the ball, or wash their hands after giving up a run. Batters have their rituals, too. It isn’t uncommon to see Milwaukee Brewers outfielder Carlos Gomez kiss his bat, which he likes to talk to, smell, threaten–and reward when he gets a hit. Another batter routinely would spit, then ritually touch his gob with his bat, to enhance his success at the place.
Humans use tools to accomplish a lot, but technology still doesn’t let us “have it all.” To keep hope alive in situations of uncertainty, and for outcomes we can’t control, all societies draw on magic and religion as sources of nonmaterial comfort, explanation, and control. What are your rituals?
