Basic instinct

Conflict is just as apparent in the games we play

Mike Piazza fought Guillermo Mota the other day, or tried to. Mota, a cowardly Los Angeles Dodgers reliever, threw a pitch in the general vicinity of Piazza's head, then ran and hid. Deion Sanders in his pass-covering prime couldn't have backpedaled any faster than Mota did when Piazza charged the mound, presumably to see what kind of damage he could inflict on the pitcher's noggin in return. Despite the crazed look in Piazza's eyes as teammates held him back, it wasn't, unfortunately, a particularly unusual baseball scene. It might have passed quickly from my mind if I hadn't, like many others, been thinking lately about what it is that makes men fight.

Turns out the motivations are often quite similar, whether the conflict is on a small scale or a large one. Piazza, the New York Mets catcher, is a strong, proud man who has been badly shaken by serious blows in the recent past, including a pitch from Roger Clemens that bounced off his batting helmet and left him with a concussion. Part of what spurred him to go after Mota surely was rage over that previous attack and frustration at an inability to retaliate, to actually get his hands on the attacker. Countries -- strong, proud countries who have been shaken by a serious assault -- also feel like that sometimes. At least their governments do. All you have to do is to have watched the news since Sept. 11, 2001, for proof of that.

Piazza is a probable future Hall of Fame player, a baseball superpower, you might say. He's also strong enough, in a bare-knuckles confrontation, to snap the slender Mota like a popsicle stick. But Mota with a baseball in his hand becomes a dangerous entity, not unlike a small country with weapons of mass destruction. Piazza felt the need to confront Mota partly to make sure that Mota, and all the other Motas out there, wouldn't use that lethal weapon they hold in their hands against him in a way that could end his career. Take that line of thought out of the sports realm into the geo-political one, and it can lead to a huge, powerful country doing the equivalent of charging the mound against a Guillermo Mota. Sometimes men fight because they believe, rightly or wrongly, that they can avoid a bigger, uglier battle somewhere down the road.

As always with men, pride is also a factor. Piazza had been called a wimp, and worse, for failing to confront Clemens during the 2000 World Series, when he broke his bat hitting a ground ball and Clemens picked up a piece of shattered lumber and appeared to throw it at Piazza. Was Piazza being prudent in not retaliating, or was he just scared? Critics asked how could he just stand there and do nothing. When Piazza charged Mota, he wasn't just protecting himself against future attacks, he was trying to tell the baseball world that he wasn't afraid to fight. Countries are almost always run by men, prideful men who sometimes feel the need to prove they're not afraid to fight -- or, in most cases, not afraid to send other men to fight. They give ultimatums, they warn other countries to disarm or else, and then they have to follow through on the "or else" or face the international equivalent of looking like a wimp.

Conflict, whether it is man-to-man or nation-to-nation, arises from the same elemental causes. The results are also the same, more often than not. Consider Piazza and Mota, who have both been suspended for five games. Mota has made himself look like a dangerous crackpot who turns tail when confronted. Piazza has made himself look like a loose cannon who only flashes anger at enemies he feels he can easily conquer. You wonder about Piazza and Mota just as you wonder about the combatants in far more serious fights: Does either side ever feel like a winner?

Sports Illustrated senior writer Phil Taylor writes about a Hot Button issue every Monday on SI.com.

 

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