Baseball is embroiled in a uniform controversy of Biblical proportions, which I suppose explains all the rending of garments.
According to the Major League Baseball Players Association, MLB’s new uniforms are too thin. Especially the somewhat see-through pants. Especially those areas of the somewhat see-through pants that cover protective cups. Many players don’t wear cups. I think you can see where I’m going with this. And now you can’t unsee it.
But, still. This much fuss about uniforms?
Of all the issues yanking at the game’s sleeve, the most-pressing concern is that the workday apparel is distressing to the athletes? That the players’ names and numbers on the new jerseys are smaller than they used to be? That the uniforms don’t fit well? That they fit too well? That sweat or rain will make the pants even more revealing?
All of this should be far, far down the MLBPA’s to-do list, yet here we are, watching the union address dress with an exactness found on fashion-show runways. It seems to be devoting much more energy and emotion to uniforms than to sagging TV ratings and the reality of young people ignoring baseball in droves. Last year’s World Series between the Rangers and the Diamondbacks drew the smallest audience in history.
And we’re talking about uniforms. I think we’ve found the perfect metaphor for the game’s nearsightedness.
If baseball believes that a jersey is the entry point for new fans to the game, then it has a bigger problem than it even knows. If the uniforms sell the sport more than the sport itself does, why not open 30 MLB apparel stores around the country and hand out the World Series trophy based on gross receipts?
Players put on uniforms and go to work, whether it be picking up a bat or shaking a rosin bag on the mound. They play. We watch. That should be it, right? Simplistic, but true. The uniforms are wrapping paper for the athleticism we see in baseball.
But that doesn’t take into account the vanity of major-league ballplayers, who seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in front of mirrors. A baseball season has 162 regular-season games per team, and there are many hours to fill. This is when a ballplayer’s thoughts turn to a good exfoliating scrub.
Baseball isn’t like football. Faces are on public display. That makes it a recipe for fastidious grooming. If Phillies star Bryce Harper doesn’t spend a couple hours a day getting his hair and beard just right, I’d be shocked. This, friends, is how a uniform controversy happens.
Most of us don’t wear uniforms to work, and most of us aren’t in the public eye. But if Chumley in Accounts Payable suddenly were thrust into the klieg lights of celebrity, he might start complaining that the company-issued sweater vests are constricting. And he might start letting his freak flag fly like Harper does. But if Chumley’s corporate employer were dying, he might be more concerned about the future than fashion.
Not so with baseball players, who can’t see beyond their own looking glasses.
“I think that the performance wear might feel nice, but the look of it is like a knockoff jersey from T.J. Maxx,” an unnamed Oriole told the Baltimore Banner.
This has struck a chord with fans, many of them adult men who consider baseball jerseys a style statement. They’ll follow their heroes’ lead. They won’t buy the 2024 model until MLB, Nike and Fanatics improve what they’ve been told is a terrible product. In the meantime, they’ll wear last year’s jersey to weddings and baptisms.
Maybe MLB commissioner Rob Manfred and the designers at Nike knew exactly what they were doing with the revealing uniforms. Maybe they saw that the way to save a gasping sport is with something more than the power of suggestion. If they did, then maybe I have it wrong about the importance of uniforms. Maybe uniforms are more meaningful than the game itself, especially when partially see-through pants come with an unspoken, “Hello, world!”
Can pants that make every pitcher a junkball pitcher save baseball? I don’t know. But I do wonder if ballplayers are missing the urgency here. It’s not about them anymore. It’s about finding ways to bring attention to the sport.
I picture a new advertising campaign. “Major League Baseball: Where Every Day Is Casual Friday. At Chippendales.”
