Anarchist Baseball

When I was a kid, I loved to play baseball, not so much in organized leagues, but in pick-up games in pastures. Looking back, one of the most interesting aspects of these games was the informal way we resolved disputes. We had no umpires, and we relied on the honor system to make calls in the games.

For example, the fielder got to call whether a ball was fair or foul. There was no visible foul line; it was entirely imaginary. The fielder was expected to call it rightly and to resolve uncertainty against his own interest. We did not have bases on balls, as we did not have an umpire to call balls and strikes. The batter was expected to swing at any decent pitch close to the strike zone. This is not to say that you couldn’t take a pitch now and then, but you were not supposed to be too picky about your pitch. Base runners decided whether they were out or safe if they could tell, and the infielder decided otherwise. A fielder who trapped a ball was expected to admit it.

If you were a jackass, you could abuse this system. The penalties were that nobody wanted to play with you in the future, and it was entirely possible that the other players would quit the game right then and there over your dishonesty. Some dishonest players were readmitted to games on the condition that they could not make any calls, and this was a humiliating status to be in.

Sometimes, it was not possible to drum up enough players for full teams, and we had to make rules to account for being short. This made it even more important to play fairly and honestly. One solution frequently employed was to have the batting team provide the catcher, the pitcher or both. The pitcher was expected to do a decent, if not masterful, job of pitching, and the catcher was expected to put out his own team mate if need be in a play at the plate. When even fewer players were on hand, we would use “invisible men”, eg an imaginary base runner would substitute for the actual runner who had to bat again. It took a good deal of cooperation to be fair about what the invisible man was up to.

Other solutions involved setting up fields with only two bases and home plate, having offensive team players play other defensive positions for the opposing team, and having home runs be outs instead (this was especially important as balls were hard to come by, and a home run often meant lost balls).

One reason the honor system worked for us was that we did not have fixed teams. Today’s opponent was tomorrow’s team mate. The rural character of the area meant that playing opportunities were scarce, and you had to play fair to be accepted into the games. Also, we were somewhat poor, and not everybody had his own glove or bat. You needed to be on good terms with players who would lend you their gear. The disincentives for cheating were greater than the incentives. Nobody kept track of who won anyway, and nobody kept statistics on individual performances, so cheating or abuse of the honor system got you nothing but the most fleeting benefit.

Oddly enough, the boys I played baseball with were not the most pacific fellows in the world. We never fought over a baseball game, but we fought over plenty else and nothing at all from time to time. Fights almost always occurred in the schoolyard where you were thrown together with boys you might not voluntarily associate with and with whom you had no long term relationship to cultivate.