Don't be SAD (Sorry.)

Of course, maybe hockeyists are just susceptible to ulcerative colitis. . . .

But if that's so, then it may also be the case that baseball players have a pronounced vulnerability to mental disorders.  We may be exiting the steroid-era only to enter the Paxil age. 

According to an article in yesterday's Times, a number of prominent baseball players, including Dontrelle Willis of Detroit, Khalil Greene of St. Louis, and Zack Greinke of Kansas City, all suffer or have suffered from Social Anxiety Disorder (which is basically just what it sounds like).

(Digression: Detroit, Kansas City, St. Louis. . . . Maybe it's just depressing to play baseball in flyover country?  We'd be anxious too if we lived somewhere where the biggest Saturday-night activity is shuttering automotive plants.  EOD)

Now, the Solipsist--whose own hold on sanity is tenuous at best--is sympathetic to those suffering from mental illness.  But the sudden prevalence of these social-anxiety-disorder diagnoses is one of those things that make you go "hmmm."

(Digression: We can't help but wonder if there's something to the fact that this disorder acronymizes (?) as "SAD" but that nobody actually uses that acronym.  Are we simply meant to feel clever for noticing it?  Is it meant to be subliminal?  Discuss.  EOD)

Look, the basic symptomology of SAD (there, we did it) is that people are, well, extraordinarily anxious in social situations, to the point where they cannot function.  Now, take Dontrelle Willis.  Here was a young man who electrified the major leagues when he came up in 2003 with the Florida Marlins.  He was named rookie of the year, and he helped his team win the World Series (over the Yankees, no less, for which he will always have a special place in the Solipsist's heart).  This kind of performance--this kind of career choice in general--would hardly seem possible for someone who cannot function around large groups of people.

Baseball can be a harsh game: The difference of a few centimeters in the place where bat meets ball can be the difference between a home run and a weak grounder.  And on the pitching side, a few inches in any direction can be the difference between a strikeout, a walk, or, indeed, a home run.  It's precise.  And baseball history is full of players who soar one year only to crash the next.

It's more than understandable that the Dontrelle Willises of the world--and the teams that employ them--would want to find an explanation, especially one that could be ameliorated by simple administration of anti-depressants.  But, frankly, a human arm repeatedly throwing a ball over 90 miles an hour to a precise location practically defies the laws of physics.  Maybe the laws of physics just catch up with some players sooner than others.