Mighty Vocal People

With the baseball season winding down, people are talking about who's going to win the MVP awards. Of course, I was hoping that Toronto's Josh Donaldson would win for a second straight year, but he fell out of the running after he joined most of his teammates in taking September off. My next choice would be the Astros' Jose Altuve, since he is, like me, both short and not a member of the Boston Red Sox.

But like any discussion of MVP awards, we also have a debate of the definition of Most Valuable Player. You might think that it is tantamount to the best player. But the "most valuable" player could just be the player who makes the biggest difference to their team. But then, the player that makes the biggest difference could just be the only good player on a bad team.

It can be a frustrating argument. Yes, I know, part of the fun of sports - especially baseball - is the arguing about it. But in this case, it's arguing about what we're arguing about, and that's never fun. But it gets worse, because in the past few years, a lot of people go into the baseball MVP discussion with the argument that Mike Trout is the best player in baseball, so he be MVP. That's despite the fact that Trout trails probable-winner Mookie Betts in just about all offensive categories.

I've heard a few people make a similar argument in basketball, calling for LeBron James to be the default MVP as the best overall player, even if Steph Curry had the best season. Essentially the argument is that James and Trout should win the award year-in, year-out, until another player surpasses them in general talent.

So the MVP could be the player who had the best season, the player who made the biggest difference, or the best overall player, even if he doesn't have the best season this particular year. Just what we need, a third definition.

I guess this idea is a result of our celebrity culture, where the designated star gets to be the centre of attention, with details like reality not mattering. But another contributing factor is the weird place baseball occupies in American culture right now. As I mentioned once before, baseball has become a local game, where fans care about their own team, but not the sport in general. That's unfortunate for someone like Trout: as a generational talent in a popular sport, he should be the most popular guy in America. But most baseball fans care more for their own team's utility infielder.

This situation seems to be frustrating baseball journalists. They're trying to give credit to a star player, but no one seems to be listening. And they have to worry for the long-term health of a sport that's traditionally been defined by individual stars. So sometimes their efforts to laud young talent at every opportunity sounds a bit heavy handed.