United, We Scorn

NEW YORK--A couple of Thursdays ago was my first baseball game in, admittedly, a long time. It was nothing like what I remembered about ballgames. The stadium had been packed--even where I was, on the third deck--and there had been an almost savage tension in the air. Then again, I had never attended a famed Mets game on their own home turf, with La Guardia planes flying overhead and all, and one more thing: It was John Rocker's return to Shea Stadium.

The New York Times had warned that there would be more than 600 police officers roaming the stadium to control especially fervent anti-Rocker fans. Although nothing in particular called for such an outpouring of NYPD officers, I'll admit that the security was a wise decision on the part of the police department. Especially in light of last month's Los Angeles Lakers fan-instigated riots, the NYPD had to be prepared for anything. Despite the extensive preparations--the cop standing guard at my seating section had been there since 1 p.m.--nothing of consequence happened.

Some contend that John Rocker's arguments in that fateful Sports Illustrated interview do not render him worthy of punishment. Famed conservative commentator Dennis Prager has defended Rocker to the hilt. In The Weekly Standard, Prager wrote that Rocker's disparaging remarks about Manhattan and its minority inhabitants "merit as little attention as comic books"--not the "hysteria" that the closing pitcher has received. On his talk show, Prager asserted that Rocker was simply exercising his freedom of speech and had never taken any action against the people who commute on the No. 7 subway train. Why shouldn't he be able to say what he wants?

In all fairness, though, the New Yorkers had free reign to retaliate. Rocker made unsolicited, ungrounded and rude comments about Asians, women, New Yorkers, foreigners and blacks. And the people of the greater Manhattan area fought back with the same weapons: words. The vendors outside Shea Stadium were making a killing selling anti-Rocker apparel. A large majority of the audience donned specially designed T-shirts claiming the standard "John Rocker sucks" to the more creative "Rocker sucks Cox." (The aforementioned "Cox," of course, refers to Braves manager Bobby Cox.) One man proudly displayed a sign meant to read, "How do you spell Ignorant? R-O-C-K-E-R." (Unfortunately, the sign spelled ignorant, "ingorant.") Rocker's name has been sullied, booed and hissed more than any athlete in my generation. And I can attest to it.

Prager and others characterize New York's reactions to Rocker as "hysterical," as a product of the media-mob, and as so ridiculous that it could not possibly yield commendable consequences. Say it ain't so, Joe.

There are benefits from the rivalry that exists between John Rocker and the rest of New York that extend beyond the marketability of the feud. Mets' fans hatred for the not-so-impressive Rocker (he had been demoted to the minor leagues just a few weeks ago) united the stadium in energy and enthusiasm. Rarely does anything today inspire entire groups of people to feel passionate and moved--or even just excited.

Most indicative of this is our depressingly dull presidential race. USA Today ran a fantastic graphic that showed a face split between that of Vice President Al Gore '69 and Texas Gov. George W. Bush. The two halves were practically identical. Green Party candidate Ralph Nader, a unique and interesting individual who has unfortunately been quarantined from the presidential debates, summed up the political predicament perfectly. In an interview last week, Nader was asked if it would bother him that his presence in the presidential race helped to elect George W. Bush. He responded, "Not at all. I mean, you're dealing with Democratic do-littles and Republican do-nothings. And that's just not enough for the American people."

As dreary as the presidential race looks, there is hope on the horizon. Thankfully, the Rocker syndrome has struck more than just baseball; it has infected--and thus inspired--our politics, too. Consider this year's New York Senate race: When Rudolph W. Giuliani was still running, the contest focused on the popular opinion of the New York City mayor. Votes were determined by an assessment of the mayor's performance in office. (Hillary Clinton, of course, had done nothing for New York and there was no means of judging her performance.) Now that the mayor has excused himself from the race, and only Clinton and Representative Rick A. Lazio remain, the Rocker syndrome has stepped up to the plate to fill the vacancy.

Whereas Rudy was once the stick by which voters measured and cast their ballots, Clinton is now the driving--or repelling--force. The week that Giuliani waved the Senate seat goodbye, a Times/CBS poll showed Lazio owning a paltry percentage of the New York vote. Weeks later, he had worked his way up to a hefty 39 percent.

What had happened? Lazio hadn't reformed his platform, he hadn't given an inch to the left, and he hadn't played into anyone's hand. No matter their political ideology or their hopes for reform, a significant percentage of the New York vote simply despised Clinton and would do anything possible to avoid her representing them on Capitol Hill--even if it meant boarding the ship of an underdog with little to no chance of victory.

The Rocker syndrome has struck again. More than platforms or ideals or issues, bitterness and ill-will continue to drive the New York Senate race. If Lazio wins, it will probably be not so much because New Yorkers embrace his vision but rather because they could not muster the strength to cast their ballot for a non-New Yorker (And let that be the least of their problems with Clinton). But this may not be such a bad thing. New York politics are interesting again. There's a real and important issue to discuss and the race is receiving attention. The impetus behind the political excitement? Resentment, skepticism and dislike. The result? An energized, live and fluctuating electorate.

Without doubt, the consequences that result from intense dislike are not always so fortuitous. But if it is enough to unite thousands within a diverse community, enough to energize a political race and enough to discourage us from throwing our hands up--and throwing the towel in--because of disinterest and disgust, then it's a start.

Jordana R. Lewis '02, a Crimson executive, is a history and literature concentrator in Eliot House.