Take us out of the old brawl game
BASEBALL RIVALRIES are rarely epic struggles between the forces of good and evil, such as when the Red Sox play the New York Yankees. Most are less noble, like the violence that erupted between the Sox and Tampa Bay Rays earlier this month, which could rekindle tonight in St. Petersburg, Fla. The downward spiral to a benches-clearing brawl is often scripted to an unwritten players' code: one of yours for one of ours, and always have your teammates' backs.
The code is as old as Ty Cobb was mean. But new research into the social code that fuels gang violence, like the cycle of violence that included the gang-related shooting of a father and his 6-month-old daughter in Mattapan this month, could help explain beanball wars - and suggest new ways to interrupt the fighting. The idea is this: If social codes expect violent retribution, the best way to squelch revenge is to exert opposite social pressure, encouraging reconciliation.
The tit-for-tat cycle that escalated into fisticuffs at Fenway during the last Sox-Rays series was typical, initiated by a petty offense. Sox center fielder Coco Crisp stole second base on a head-first slide in the sixth inning, but he took umbrage at Rays shortstop Jason Bartlett for blocking the bag with his leg. Doing so is bad baseball etiquette, to be sure, because it endangers the runner's fingers. But it's unclear whether Bartlett was playing dirty or was pulled over the bag by a wide throw (which replays suggested).
Research in Boston and elsewhere has likewise found that small-time slights spark conflagrations between gangs. David Kennedy, founder of the Boston Gun Project, which contributed to a decline in violence known as the "Boston Miracle" in the 1990s, said common flashpoints are verbal slights and disputes over women. He estimates that 80 to 90 percent of gang conflicts arise from personal affronts, as opposed to "business" like drugs or territory.
Crisp got his retribution two innings later, upending Rays shortstop Akinori Iwamura with a hard slide at second. After a shouting match between Crisp and Rays manager Joe Maddon, Crisp's being beaned the next day - and the ensuing melee - was a foregone conclusion.
Gang violence often reaches this point of simmering inevitability. Chicago's CeaseFire program, which borrows its name and some theories from part of Kennedy's Boston program, identifies this moment as the last, best chance to prevent mayhem. CeaseFire employs violence interrupters - former gang members who left jail eager to atone for their sins - to communicate with gangs. Their message: Stop the killing. Interrupters leverage their credibility to forestall expected retaliation. And their mere presence gives gang members an out to save face without firing back. The program was credited with reducing shootings and the frequency of violence in a recently released 16-year Northwestern University study.
Gary Slutkin based CeaseFire's strategy on public-health techniques, such as rehabilitating the most contagious, that he first used to fight cholera and AIDS in Africa. But he's a baseball fan, too, and said beanball wars are subject to the same social codes of retribution. "Nothing predicts a violent event as well as a preceding violent event," he said.
So what would he do to prevent future brawls? Bring interrupters into the clubhouse. Designate a veteran player or coach on each team (someone with gravitas among ballplayers) to cool off steamed centerfielders and prevent saber-rattling like Sox closer Jonathan Papelbon's "comes around goes around" threat after the Rays had left town. Interrupters would act as liaisons between feuding clubs to prevent the next day's starters from renewing ill will.
Many NBA teams designate a coach to keep players from rushing on to the court during a fight, which incurs a mandatory suspension from the league. A swift, guaranteed deterrent could help prevent brawls in baseball, too. It's similar to the "lever-pulling" theory behind the CeaseFire campaign: Threaten feuding gangs with massive legal response if any member retaliates, and they'll start self-policing and holding each other back from retaliatory shootings.
By stepping in where violence appears imminent, instead of waiting to punish on-field fisticuffs with suspensions and fines, baseball could get players back to pounding the rawhide and not each other.
Padraig Shea, a student at Emerson College, was formerly an assistant in the Globe editorial department.
