Below is one of my favorite stories. It is probably a fictional fable, but easily relatable for anyone like myself who turned a hobby into a profession. The story has a simple lesson at its core, but deserves analysis on many different fronts, which I will do in future posts.
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A grumpy old man lived next to a dirt lot where the neighborhood children gathered after school to play baseball. He hated being disturbed daily by the noise, not to mention the occassional broken window. The kids would play an average of one game of baseball every day; sometimes they didn’t have enough players to start due to weather, and sometimes they would get through two games by dinner time, but usually they’d play a single game and head home.
Determined to put an end to the disturbance, the old man concocted a plan which would have looked crazy to an observer.
He interrupted a game one afternoon with an announcement. “Thank you so much for playing baseball next to my house every day. The sounds of children laughing and playing reminds me of my kids when they were young, and brings me such joy. To show my appreciation, I’d like to give you each a nickel for every game of baseball you play here going forward.” The kids were stunned, and enthusiastically continued playing.
However, the average number of games played daily immediately rose to one-and-a-half. Now, kids were playing a game rain or shine, and frequently staying later to play a second game.
After one week, the old man interrupted with another announcement. “I cherish the sound and activity so much, I’m upping the payment to a dime per game!”
The number of daily games again rose, now to two on average. The kids were ecstatic and started playing faster with less downtime and casual enjoyment, somehow finishing a third game some days. The frequency of the sound of bats hitting balls rose, but the children’s cheers subsided somewhat.
Finally, the coup de gras from the old man came a week later. His new announcement was, “Unfortunately, I have run out of money to pay players with.”
The children responded as would workers who were told no more paychecks would be issued:
“Screw this, I’m not going to play baseball for free!”
“Do you think we’re suckers?”
“You can’t afford to have us here anymore.”
“I quit.”
The number of baseball games played in the dirt lot dropped to zero. Absolutely none. A few kids might show up, but without enough to fill the positions on-field, they left.
Some of those kids went looking for the others, thinking they may have relocated their game because the man could no longer pay to keep it in the dirt lot. But no, most of the former players had given up baseball altogether.
You see, the old man had turned their game from recreation to profession, using only meager nickels and dimes totaling less than $50.
Baseball was no longer something done to pass the time and purely derive enjoyment from. It became a method of pursuing the children’s individual goals. The money they earned represented progress towards a new bike or video game, and so they treated the game as a means to an end. They increased efficiency blindly, churning out games of baseball at a breakneck speed to earn more and reach their goals faster.
Their baseball game became a baseball factory. And when the money stopped, so did the gears and levers in their machines. Production ground to a halt.
The old man won, and baseball in the dirt lot next door was dead.
