Not on watch lists

ST. LOUIS -- Bud Selig has proclaimed the times we live in as "The Golden Era" of baseball and there is ample evidence to support the commissioner's bold premise.

Overall attendance set a record, as more than 76 million people paid their way into major league ballparks. For the second year in a row, the Yankees drew more than 4 million. Seven other teams drew more than 3 million. Sixteen additional teams drew more than 2 million. Baseball is so awash in money the owners and Players Association, obviously pleased with the fiscal state of the game, have reached accommodation for a five-year collective bargaining agreement a staggering and entirely unprecedented two months before the deadline.

But if baseball is so popular, why are so few people (relatively speaking) watching the World Series on television? More importantly, does it matter?

If you believe in ratings (personally, I think they are statistical instruments of the Devil), we are well on our way to having the lowest-rated World Series since the measurement of ratings. I wish I were in a position to refute the ratings, but I can't. Ratings might not be perfect, but they are all we've got, and if we're being told that no one in Walla Walla, Wichita Falls, or Watertown (South Dakota, New York, or Massachusetts) is watching, so be it. But, by golly, they're going to play these games anyway. And I predict the spectators will declare themselves to have had a darn good time blowing out their lungs for the benefit of their beloved home team.

No sport has more abundant mythology accompanying it than baseball. It became America's team sport of choice in the mid-19th century. It became a well-documented rite of American passage for immigrants wishing to assimilate as quickly as possible into our Way of Life. It got the White House seal of approval when William Howard Taft became the first president to throw out the first ball in 1910. It got the Supreme Court okey-dokey when our Nine Wise Men ruled in 1922 that baseball was not subject to antitrust laws because it was not ( ha-ha, hoo-hoo) "engaged in interstate commerce," and it enjoys that status to this day. Somewhere along the way, baseball even managed to acquire American sport's most esteemed nickname: "The National Pastime."

And has any other activity contributed more colloquialisms to American lingo? It's not even close.

All this took place from, say, 1850 to, say, 1960. But at no point in all those years were Americans actually spending money to attend games in the numbers anywhere close to what we are witnessing in the 21st century, when, if we listen to some people, America sporting hearts all swear complete, unswerving allegiance to the almighty National Football League.

The '50s are forever being held up by some as the Best of Times for baseball. But consider this: In the game's signature event, not only of the decade, but of all time, there were more than 20,000 people disguised as you-know-whats at the Polo Grounds when Bobby Thomson hit the most famous home run in the history of the game on Oct. 3, 1951. The highest per-game attendance achieved by either league in the decade was 16,501 by the National in 1958. Based on 77 home games per team (because of the 154-game schedule), the average NL attendance for its eight teams was 1,207,577 before remembering that in those days teams actually played a number of scheduled doubleheaders.

The per-game National League attendance this season was 32,366. The per-game American League attendance this season was 32,341. If you had told a '50s baseball executive that someday the league per-team averages would each be in excess of 2 million, they would have accused you of being in cahoots with Jules Verne. And there is a lot more to compete for the American public's leisure-time attention nowadays, both inside and outside the world of organized sport.

I mean Somebody seems to think baseball is still pretty cool, right?

So where are those people now? Have they decided that six months of following baseball is enough? Is the standard nightly TV fare that enticing? Are people playing Scrabble? Are they watching gubernatorial candidates insult each other? (We know that's surely not the case.) Are they gathering around the old piano in the parlor singing the Harry Von Tilzer songbook? Are they preparing " to-do" lists for the morrow? I have no idea. I am simply being told they are not watching the Cardinals and Tigers, just as they were not watching the Astros and White Sox last season, or any other combination submitted for their perusal. And don't say getting New York teams is the answer, because the 2000 Subway Series laid as big a stegosaurus ratings egg as any other World Series we've had lately.

Football does not have this problem. Football has a lot of advantages (once a week, great TV game, and, of course, exquisite gambling possibilities) and it has cleverly exploited all of them. Football fans watch their sport's biggest games, only more so. People in Kansas City or Washington will watch San Diego-Denver or Chicago-Dallas, no questions asked. The Super Bowl? It simply doesn't matter who's playing. It is an unofficial American holiday. The 21st-century immigrant wishing for quick assimilation into American culture need only learn about stunts and Cover 2 to gain entrance into the lodge.

If you want to tell me that in the mind of the American public it is simply no longer baseball season, I'll listen. The camera shots of spectators bundled up as if this were a Packers game in December does the sport no good. These conditions are ridiculous. We have had rain and cold here and we're being told it might snow in Detroit.

Well, gee, isn't it late October in the Midwest? This is not ordinarily confused with summer in the Outback. But when you have too many teams and too many tiers of playoffs and too many greedy people everywhere who won't buy into the idea of a shorter regular season and, yes, old-fashioned Sunday doubleheaders that would allow you to get baseball concluded by no later than Oct. 15, these foolish weather conditions are what you get and deserve. Instead of the Boys of Summer, you get the Men of Frostbite.

All the principals can do is put on a show for the fans who pay to get in. They don't worry about the ratings. "Well, I can just speak for myself," says Tony La Russa. "It's not something we talk a lot about in the clubhouse. It's really concentrating on playing the game. The way I look at it, if you're anywhere from a casual to a great baseball fan, and you've got the Cardinals and the Tigers with the history both these franchises have, it's a must-see World Series. That's enough for me."

Me, too. I can play Scrabble some other time.

Bob Ryan is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is ryan@globe.com