Baseball happens to be a game of cumulative tension but

When John Leonard, the critic and essayist, declared, “Baseball happens to be a game of cumulative tension but football, basketball and hockey are played with hand grenades and machine guns,” he spoke with the voice of one who understood not just games, but the spirit of time and struggle. His words describe the contrast between two great worlds: one of slow, building suspense, and another of immediate, explosive violence. In this observation, Leonard gives us a vision of sport as metaphor for life—sometimes a long tightening of the bowstring, and sometimes a sudden clash of thunder.

The origin of this truth lies in Leonard’s reflections on American culture. Baseball, long called the national pastime, unfolds like a novel: each pitch, each at-bat, each inning stacking upon the other until tension coils tight, waiting for release in a single swing or a single out. It is the game of cumulative tension, where patience is tested and suspense grows until the final moment tips the balance. By contrast, football, basketball, and hockey are games of speed and fury—hand grenades and machine guns, as Leonard put it. In these, the action bursts forth, relentless, with chaos and attack dominating the rhythm.

The ancients would have seen in baseball the likeness of the long siege, where armies circle one another, testing, waiting, probing for weakness. They would have seen in football and hockey the shock of battle, the clash of hoplites, the charge of cavalry. One is war of attrition, the other war of eruption. Both are true to the human condition, for life itself demands that we endure long waiting, and yet also be ready to survive sudden storms. Leonard’s words remind us that sport, like life, has many forms of struggle, and each teaches its own wisdom.

Consider the tale of the 1951 “Shot Heard ’Round the World”—when Bobby Thomson, after a long season of back-and-forth, delivered one swing that decided everything. Baseball’s slow march of innings culminated in a single, breathtaking moment that carried years of tension in its echo. Contrast this with a football game, where a kickoff return, a fumble, or a long pass can instantly turn the tide, like a grenade exploding on the battlefield. Both are victories, both are dramas, but one unfolds with slow inevitability while the other erupts without warning.

The lesson is clear: life, like sport, will sometimes demand of you the patience of cumulative tension—the long endurance of waiting, preparing, and building for a single opportunity. At other times, it will confront you with the sudden violence of change, demanding immediate courage and swift action. You must be ready for both. To endure the long game without despair, and to face the sudden battle without fear—this is the wisdom Leonard’s words uncover.

What, then, should we do? First, learn to cultivate patience. Like a batter who waits through pitches and innings, you must endure the long silences of life, storing strength for the moment to act. Second, train for swiftness. Like the quarterback or the winger, be prepared to seize the instant, to strike decisively when fate throws its grenade at your feet. Third, honor both kinds of struggle in others—those who labor long in quiet dedication, and those who shine in sudden bursts of courage. Both are warriors in their own right.

Thus, John Leonard’s words ring eternal: “Baseball is a game of cumulative tension, but football, basketball and hockey are played with hand grenades and machine guns.” He reminds us that human struggle comes in many forms, and we must be students of both endurance and eruption. To live fully is to master both games: the patient unfolding of long battles, and the furious courage of sudden storms. For those who can face both with steady hearts will be victors not only in sport, but in life’s great contest.