Batting 1000 (or 250)

Baseball is a game of small numbers. As expansive and gaudy as the fields are—oh, and the salaries of the players that man them—one might think that it’s a sport about being big. But it’s not. It’s a sport about infinitesimally small figures, measurement, and details.

The difference between a fly-ball and a homerun is a less than a sixteenth of an inch where the ball contacts the bat. The difference between a successful carrier as a starting second baseman and floundering in the minor leagues might be two or three errors . . . in a hundred-plus-game season.

Baseball is the one sport I know where scoring an F can still be a wild success. If a player succeeds a quarter of the time he is a batter, he’s good. A third of the time, and he’s very good. A few more than that, and he’ll make millions endorsing shoes.

Batting 250 or 350 or 500 (which is unheard of at higher levels, really) is baseball jargon for a decimal written to the thousandth digit. (Remember, it’s a game of small numbers.) 250 really mean’s .250. 350 is .350 and so on.

Today marks my 500th blog post in a row. 500 blogs in 500 days. In batting average terminology, I’m batting 1000. (Where are the shoe deals?)

Confession: I'm not batting 1000.

All I’ve done is step up to the plate 500 times in a row. Sometimes I strike out. Other times I hit a fly-ball to the right fielder. Occasionally, I make good contact and get on base. Maybe a quarter of the time. Probably less.

By baseball standards, I’d say I’m batting close to 250, or .250—25% of the time I get up, something meaningful comes out. Every once in a while I hit a homerun. Batting 250 is not going to win me any awards, but I’m also not going to sit the bench. Blogging and baseball are similar in this way: an F, or succeeding a quarter of the time, is success.

I think I’ll keep playing.

Here’s to the next 500 reflections on vocation, social change, and the deep faith of people like us that are unwilling to continue with the way things are.