The filter of memory

So I'm cruising Deadspin the other day, where I discovered to my dismay that the site's spleen-rupturing funnyman Drew Magary will not be posting his annual (and cripplingly hilarious) Hater's Guide To the Williams-Sonoma Catalogue this year, on account of he apparently had an accident and is laid up for the time being.

"Bummer," I said, because the Hater's Guide To The Williams-Sonoma Catalogue is Blob appointment reading for the holiday season, just as the George C. Scott version of  "A Christmas Carol" is Blob appointment viewing.

Then I saw this other item.

It was a quote from a podcast discussion with free-agent reliever Adam Ottavino, who opened that eternal can of worms, How Would The Sports Legends Of Yesterday Fare Today. The legend in question was Babe Ruth. Ottavino said he would strike the guy out every time he faced him.

"I remember I had an argument with a coach in Triple-A about Babe Ruth’s effectiveness in today’s game, and this was, like, 10 years ago," Ottavino said. "I said, 'Look, Babe Ruth, with that swing, swinging that bat—I got him hitting .140 with eight homers.'

"He was like,  'Are you nuts? Babe Ruth would hit .370 with 60 homers,'and I’m like, 'I would strike Babe Ruth out every time.' Like, I’m not trying to disrespect him, you know, rest in peace, you know, shout out to Babe Ruth. But, it was a different game. I mean, the guy ate hot dogs and drank beer and did whatever he did. It was just a different game."

Now, I have to confess, as only a very casual observer of the baseball landscape these days, that I frankly have never heard of Adam Ottavino. Apparently he's a hell of a reliever, though, with filthy stuff. And while I don't know if he'd strike out Babe Ruth every time, I think he's generally spot-on with his assessment.

It is a different game. They're all different games these days. Athletes today are bigger, stronger, faster and generally more skilled than athletes 30 or 40 or 50 years ago. That's simply a fact, and it has irrevocably altered the very nature of the games we grew up watching.

Let's take the NFL, for instance.

A good NFL offensive lineman back in the day -- let's say the '60s -- ran about 260 or 270 pounds tops. Today they go 320, 330, and they're in infinitely better shape. They're also as fast, if not faster, than some running backs were then. The running backs and wide receivers, meanwhile, are light years faster -- and bigger and stronger in a lot of cases, besides.

Yet in my memory, those players from the '60s remain immortal. Time and context does this to us; what you remember from when you were a kid always seems bigger and louder and more majestic than what you experience as a grownup. That's simply how memory works.

Know how I know this?

Because not so very long ago, I ran across an old NBA game from the '60s on one of those sports classics channels. Suddenly I was transported back to my childhood, watching all those guys who, in my memory, made every shot and played impeccable defense running up and down the floor.

Running ... but very slowly.

Truth is, I was astounded by what I saw. Those immortals who never missed a shot when I was growing up clanked plenty. Compared to today's players, they were slower, less athletic, almost clunky. And the defense I remembered them playing so much more effectively than the defense NBA players play today?

Not even close. The defense those '60s immortals played, at least in this game, was shockingly lax. The ball pressure I'm used to seeing today was virtually non-existent. Ditto the help-side shifts. And of course it was all played at 45 rpm as opposed to the 78 rpm at which today's game plays out.

In other words, it wasn't remotely the same game.

Which I think someone else said on that podcast.