Pretty good, episode 18
Jaw Sprinz, a 37-year-old catcher in the minor leagues, finds himself in a curious position.
It’s August 3, 1939. Joe stands on a baseball field, boasting a 16-season career that will stretch to 23 seasons in total.
By the end of his journey, he will have participated in 2,224 games—2,223 in the minors and only 21 at the major league level. While he’s an excellent teammate and a solid catcher, his batting skills are subpar, sealing his fate as a minor league player.
Is this career ultimately meaningless? Well, perhaps not to him. After all, he’s making a living doing what he loves—playing baseball, a dream for many. Yet, if we could ask our ancestors about such a life, there might be a hint of frustration.
As anatomically modern humans, we’ve existed for around 200,000 years. The last few hundred have ushered in industrialization, and the last 12,000 years have seen the advent of agriculture, allowing us the luxury of pondering life’s intricacies. Before those developments, though, 90% of our existence was spent focused on survival, not leisure.
What would our forebears think of Joe’s lifestyle? They likely wouldn’t grasp it. He’s neither hunting nor gathering, cooking, sewing, nor building shelters. There aren’t any spiritual practices to perhaps gain favor from the divine either.
Instead, he spends his days catching a small ball and running around in a square. In exchange for this, the rest of us provide him with food, clothing, and shelter.
What would those ancient human beings make of such a trade? Their existence was strictly bound by survival, characterized by endless days spent scanning the horizon or toiling with the earth.
Joe’s reality is starkly different, an unexpected opportunity thanks to technological advancements. Now, it’s possible to explore the skies, manipulate water, and enjoy the land around us. Yet, oddly enough, these pursuits can sometimes feel trivial.
On this day in 1939, though, Joe is engaged in something quite significant—his role is to catch a baseball.
With thousands watching from the stands, he stands alone on the field, ready to track the game’s most important projectiles.
The ball hurtles through the air at approximately 145 mph. According to mathematicians from the University of California, that’s about 40 mph faster than any recorded hit, with an additional 20 mph from a pitcher’s throw. It quickly becomes obvious to Joe that hitting this ball is not an option. Perhaps it’s just as well; it smashes into the bleachers—empty, thank goodness.
“Yes,” he muses, feeling the lack of support from his teammates.
These players, who have caught countless baseballs in their time, have never witnessed a pitch like this one. As more pitches come, fear rises in Joe. Suddenly, it seems entirely reasonable for him to be out there all alone.
This increasingly absurd world may take some adjusting to.
