I once believed people played the lottery because they weren't smart enough to calculate the odds. Since the chances of winning are so poor, the rational choice is always to keep your money in your pocket. For this reason, I thought of the lottery as a tax on stupid people.
(What does this have to do with baseball, you ask? Bear with me two more paragraphs, please.)
It occurred to me the other day that most lottery purchasers are fully aware that the odds are stacked against them. But lottery tickets offer hope: after all, somebody has to win the big prize. And many people have no rational source of hope in life, so they go to their local lottery retailer to buy some irrational hope. A few dollars a week for a little bit of hope is a tradeoff many people are willing to make.
(There's baseball in the next paragraph. I promise.)
Baseball fans, being human, need hope too. As I write this, virtually every team in the majors has at least a slim chance of making it to the post-season. And almost all of those who are out of contention have some talented young players who offer hope for next season. (There are exceptions. If you're reading this, and you're an Orioles fan, all I can say is: I'm so sorry.) This hope - that something wonderful is going to happen some day, and we're going to get to be a part of it - keeps us watching the games, writing to web sites like this one, and generally caring about baseball and the Blue Jays. And caring and hope are Good Things.
And this is why I don't like the output of certain Toronto baseball columnists. It's not because they're cranky and sarcastic - many of the best people are cranky, sarcastic, or both. And it's certainly not because they write negative things about my beloved Blue Jays: diehard fans often bash the Jays harder than even the meanest-spirited writer does. No, the reason I don't like what certain writers write is because they seem to see their job as Myth Debunker, or Reality Therapy Specialist.
These writers believe that it is their duty to explain, clearly and rationally, why the local team hasn't a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding. (You've seen those dreary calculations: "The Jays have to play 46-5 ball between now and the end of September, while everybody else plays .500 or worse, to have even a slim chance of making it to the postseason. Where they're likely to be stomped by the Yankees anyway. Have a nice day.") When they do this, they are trying to take away my hope. That is why I don't like them.
And there is hope, by God. Sure, the odds are against the Jays. The Jays need to have several bats wake up all at the same time. There are a lot of teams ahead of them. And George Steinbrenner needs to keep his wallet tightly chained. But these things could happen. The Jays could win, and so could your lottery ticket. Hang in there; don't give up.