When it comes to athletics players, coaches and fans, for the most part they fall into two categories - old school and new school. The former embraces the traditional approach to competitive athletics while the latter champions a path much more bombastic, grandiose, and gladiatorial. One is no better than the other. But they are different, way different, and the trend is moving in a direction where respectful behaviors related to sports decorum is now teetering on the brink. But as Bob Dylan wrote and sang six decades ago, “The Times They Are A Changin.” Mind you, I grew up in an era where fans got their sports information from the newspaper, the nightly news, the radio, or the back of a baseball card. Absent was round the clock coverage of sports on countless cable channels. Today, from football to baseball, to soccer and televised bean bag toss games, we live in an era of 24-hour sports, where the cameras are always watching and “athletes” of all kinds pursue their 15 minutes of fame. For this fan the changing nature of competitive sports has been a tough row to hoe. The wonderful simplicity of sports is waning. The game itself is not enough. Six-hour pre-game shows are commonplace along with seemingly choreographed performances that would make P.T. Barnum green with envy. So what makes someone fall within the “Old School” or “New School” category? 

The short game in baseball is becoming a lost art. The “get ‘em on, get ‘em over, get ‘em in” part of the game appears to be headed to the same fate as the Dodo Bird. Standing ovations and headlines for players and fans are not typically associated with those who have successfully executed the short game. However, for a handful of old school, seed cap wearing fans, exclamations of “Atta Boy” can still be heard after a successful sacrifice bunt at ball parks around the country. I guess I’m old school. 

When it comes to baseball, statistics have always been the backbone of the sport. Years ago, fans young and old alike would read the sports page to see how close Pete Rose was to 200 hits or if Mike Schmidt was still on pace to hit 50 home runs. Was Dwight Gooden closing in on 20 wins and was Nolan Ryan inching closer to 300 strikeouts? No matter. Today it’s all about sabermetrics, analytics, the new way of determining the value of players. Being impressed by a player’s runs batted in, batting average, and era is for lazy, some would say uninformed fans. Numbers experts argue today’s fans should revel in stats that “actually mean something.” Granted, there is something to be said about baseball analytics and their importance in today’s game. But there is a reason attendance at Major League Baseball games continues to fall. For my money, one of the reasons is the loss of shared statistical lexicon that fans have used for over a century. Today’s statistical categories have acronyms that read like a column of FDR New Deal Programs or characters from a science fiction movie. And it’s hurting the sport and its connection to the fans. Today’s youngsters don’t talk about a player’s VORP, LIPS, or WAP on the playground. Nor do today’s adults argue about the Brewers team WHIP, UBA, or PECOTA over Saturday morning coffee. They like sticking to the old script like talking about the ERA of Greg Maddox or the baserunning of Rickey Henderson. I fail to remember the last time I discussed or was remotely interested in a player’s xFIP or pitcher’s BQR-S number. I guess I’m old school. 

Pitching velocity. There is little doubt pitchers are throwing harder than ever before. Specialized training at all levels has increased pitch speeds to levels never seen before in the game. Pitchers with 90+ mile per hour fastballs are becoming commonplace at the college level and specialized training has created explosive fastball arms for a growing number of today’s teenagers. For the high school hurler of today it’s all about “velo.” Pitchers post weekly screenshots on social media of radar guns measuring fastballs at 86 miles per hour while throwing into a windscreen or a brick wall. Who cares where the pitch went? Inside, outside, low, high, in the dirt, behind the batter, or over the backstop. Who cares? The pitch was clocked at 86 miles per hour. Ball one - so what. Ball two - big deal. Ball three - doesn’t matter. Ball four - I’ve got a good velo today. At all levels, command of the strike zone is becoming more of a lost art. The exploits of pitchers like Greg Maddox or Tommy John are but a distant memory. Today, the notion is if you don’t throw 90+ there is little place for you on any pitching staff. I hate to break the news to Mom and Dad, but the vast majority of high school pitchers never toe the mound at the college or professional level. So when it comes to high school, strike one is still the best pitch in the game. It doesn’t matter whether it crosses the plate at a sizzling 85 miles per hour or a pedestrian 71. Pitching is all about throwing the ball over the plate, giving yourself and your teammates a chance to be successful. Throwing with a good “velo” is one thing, but being able to throw the ball over the plate is another. I guess that makes me old school.

Perhaps the greatest change in the realm of sports over the last 30 years is the emergence of the contrived and choreographed celebrations by players. They are everywhere. Receivers routinely give the first-down signal after a 10-yard catch in the first quarter. Basketball players scream at the roof and flex like the Incredible Hulk when they make a 3-pointer in the first half. And baseball players pound their chest at second base after a one out double in a game they are trailing by a score of 8-1. For this old school fan, when an athlete is asked about incessant chest pounding or the obnoxious pitcher sword celebration after a strikeout, the response is, “I am just being me.” To that I say “Yes, it is all about you.” That is the problem. Individualism in sports is replacing the importance of the team approach to winning and competing. Many of today’s celebrations are not spontaneous; they are planned and orchestrated like a World Wrestling Federation event. A pitcher will pump his fist, or blow imaginary smoke from his index finger, after striking out a hitter in the sixth inning with a six-run lead. Hitters celebrate irrelevant home runs with complicated handshakes and elaborate dances, all in full view of the opposition. NFL Hall of Famer Emmit Smith, whose 175 touchdowns rank first among running backs, when asked about his lack of celebratory behavior after touchdowns simply said, “Act like you’ve been there before.” But those days are long gone. This old school fan is stuck with walk up music, theatrical halftime shows, multi-colored shooting sleeves, and baseball players wearing John Randle like eye black. At least there’s a game in there somewhere. I guess I am old school.