by Jerry Chen
On April 11, 2020, at the outset of the COVID-19 pandemic and while the rest of the world put professional sports on hold, the CTBC Brothers played the Uni-President Lions at Taichung Intercontinental Baseball Stadium to start the world’s first professional baseball game of the year. Taiwan, long neglected—or isolated—by the international community, was finally gaining a global audience, not only for its successful COVID-19 response that led to this much-anticipated season-opening, but also for a national sport that had always craved international recognition.
But this moment in the limelight did not actually elevate the profile of Taiwanese baseball or boost Taiwan’s “soft power” in global influence as reported. One problem was that Taiwan’s major league was confusingly named the Chinese Professional Baseball League (CPBL), and no casual fan was going to research the historical or linguistic context of why that is the case, or care that this league is different from the China Baseball League (CBL) across the Taiwan Strait. Some media outlets used the term “Chinese Baseball League” or “Chinese baseball,”undercutting Taiwanese baseball’s distinct identity.
After popular podcaster Jared Carrabis erroneously reported, “We are playing baseball in China” in April 2020, he followed up with something perhaps worse: “Correction—it’s a Chinese baseball league in Taiwan. Whatever. It’s baseball. And it’s happening.” The name of the CPBL, now resembling a marketing blunder, has been a contentious topic for decades, involving domestic politics, ethnic identity, and even foreign affairs. However, the name is just a symptom of a much larger, perhaps generational problem. Taiwanese baseball is having an identity crisis, yet its fans seem to be entirely unaware or indifferent.
As a national game, baseball has captivated Taiwanese fans and reflected a unique and collective self-image in Taiwan for almost a full century. This self-image, as with any other expressions or aspirations of consciousness, is full of complications, contradictions, and ultimately illusions. As baseball faces challenges around the world, any initiative to advance the sport requires an examination of its role in society. For the Taiwanese people, it means facing, coming to terms with, and addressing the harsh realities of their historical relationship with baseball.
Existing scholarship offers an extensive historiography of baseball in Taiwan. In Playing in Isolation, Yu Junwei provides an assessment of a national game that is arguably hollowed out from within by inorganic incentives. Government policies that focused on maximizing propaganda instead of the long-term development of baseball buoyed amateur participation but led to the game’s decline. In Colonial Project, National Game, Andrew Morris offers a reading of baseball as a manifestation of Taiwanese social identity within the context of globalization. He discusses in depth the historical dynamics between Taiwanese baseball and governing forces like Japan, the Republic of China, the United States, and even capitalism. Finally, in Empire of Infields, John J. Harney makes the case that Taiwanese baseball epitomizes a nuanced history transcending simple narratives of assimilation or resistance. The history of Taiwan is complex, and the history of baseball in Taiwan is no exception.
Fans around the world view and cherish baseball through the lens of nostalgia; Taiwanese fans specifically find a shared pride in old tales of international glory. Despite undoubtedly creating a collective identity, Taiwanese baseball has sometimes been marked by unsavory goals and means and often entangled with class and ethnic stratification. Investment in baseball development has primarily been made to serve the interests of empires, literal and otherwise. The legacy of those interests continues to hinder the modern game, and a clear-eyed attempt to reconsider baseball’s cultural role is needed for the game’s future in Taiwan.
In this essay, two of Taiwanese baseball’s most prominent origin stories, the Kano and Hongye legends, are thoroughly examined. The historical incentives of creating or reinforcing myths surrounding these origins are weighed against the cultural costs of upholding them; their many complications or contradictions are laid out and contextualized. While any attempt to amend or remove these culturally pertinent legends will likely be futile, examining the manufactured significance that overlays them is an essential first step toward creating authentic baseball moments beyond historical or extrinsic interests. These cultural moments may just evolve into the beginnings of a new era of Taiwanese baseball.
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