Hey, here’s a lithograph from the 1968 Summer Olympics . . .
Mexico City 1968, Olympics Rowing Poster (Lance Wyman and Elliot Ellentuck, c. 1968; Art Institute Chicago).
Now that we’re on the subject of sports, Let’s Review...
Scanning the image above, you might be inclined to process that sea of green or, possibly, that groovy retro font.
If you’re anything like me, though, your brain might tarry a bit on the boaters, themselves—or, more precisely, them that’s manning the oars, toward the stem, and the coxswain, seated opposite. You might even make note of the two shells, competing side by side, each stocked with a hale crew, in rough coordination.
If you do—great! For it means you are primed to discuss another core sociological concept: institutions.
A concept that, once we gain comfort with it, will enable us to better appreciate the hidden intricacies of sport—any sport, not just rowing. And not only sport, but society, itself.
A useful tool then.
For, make no mistake about it: institutions aren’t merely existential; they can serve as a practical and productive device, as well. A conceptual gismo capable of culling data about the life-world. Even more: revealing the invisible organization, myriad parts, sublime dynamics and variegated behaviors—contextual, planned or contingent—that attach to whatever social entity we happen to point our brains at. Be it a family, a crime syndicate, a health care system, a social media platform, a sorority or rock band.
“What about sports?'“ you ask.
In fact:
It wouldn’t be far-fetched to argue that a sociology of sports would be limited if one were to ignore the vital role that institutions play.
Whether it is:
a staged event—like The Olympics or March Madness;
something of slightly smaller scale—such as a league or franchise;
an entity a bit less structured—like the fraternity of coaches or a cheer squad;
something amorphous—like the nationalist rituals performed before a game or the fight song played by the school band after every touchdown or interception; or
a formation less formal—such as a fantasy sports group, a regular pick-up game at the park, your recurring yoga circle, or a seasonal office pool . . .
. . . all of the above are institutions. And, as you might now apprehend, institutions have their fingerprints all over the existence, activity and impact of sports in our everyday lives.
For this reason, absent an institutional perspective, we could easily miss the enormous role sports serve; as:
binding agents within groups;
linking mechanisms between sectors of society;
connective tissue between historical eras;
“media” for transmitting values and behaviors; and
instruments that generate societal phenomena.
Definitions
Alright. Now you’re convinced that this might matter. But what does it mean to adopt an institutional perspective?
Well, to answer that, it might first behoove us to define institution. And, when we do, the attentive reader will surely surmise—given our prior Rounds—that institutions are social constructions. That is, they are dependent on collective agreement, validated by repeated social practice, and subject to amendment. More on that later.
Here (and the next important thing), we must clarify: an institution is not identical to an organization. Both can—and often do—overlap and share complementarity, but they are also distinct things.1
For, unlike organizations, institutions are broader, and often more abstract entities. They can also be less, while being more . . . crews in shells, for instance; or athletes who have participated at some point in world’s history in an on-going, complex event like The Olympics. Or (in my case), Chandler High School’s boy’s basketball team.2
“Why-z that?” you wonder.
Well, because I know how to read. And google, too. So, when I plug in the keyword, what returns is this definition:
institutions are established and stable patterns of behavior that define, govern and constrain action.
Since people occasionally get tired of talking about sports (can you imagine?), I often recommend that students think about the movie The Purge as an off-the-grid way of grasping this concept. If you don’t recall the premise, America is under threat of unraveling due to economic collapse and excessive crime. But the introduction of one simple activity—a twelve-hour window, one night each year, in which any and all criminal activity is legal and emergency services are suspended—has, counter-intuitively, produced a citizenry that refrains from crime, and a booming economy nearing zero unemployment. Sure thing.
Still (let’s roll with it), on this scenario, The Purge, is a “stable” set of recurring, established behaviors that serve to define, govern and constrain action.
In other words, it’s an institution.
Alright, so that might seem a bit far-fetched. But we can apply this definition to any number of entities in our world today and see their institutioness.3 Try it. Pick something—March Madness; the National Hockey League; Friday night football games in Youngstown, Ohio; the weekly yoga circle; your Saturday pick-up game at Rucker Park. Does it manifest patterns of behavior? Are they stable and established? Do they, in turn, define, govern and constrain action?
Yup. Yup. And yup.
Still, I’m not convinced that this checklist manages to capture the entire institutional picture: the parts present; the points of connection; the dynamics involved; the ripple effect repercussions of interaction.
Notably:
who is defining and constraining the established patterns of behavior?
By what means?
Based on what commitments or motivation?
With what consequences and outcomes?
Under what conditions (i.e., based on what history and constraints? Where and when)?
Since this is a newsletter centering on sports, for many who are paying (🙏🏼), these aspects might be fruitfully explored by getting back on topic. And, since we began with that lithograph, why not consider rowing?
A Better Example
Being an Olympic rower requires that I perform specific acts, in specific ways, at specified times and places, alongside and in conjunction with a coterie of other like-minded folks, all performing acts that, if not identical or even similar, do articulate with mine.
To be concrete about it, the institution of rowing places me in the company of a class of competitors who may transcend any one event, or even series of events, spanning my rowing career. And that career, itself, may be more than this particular meet. It can outlast any single group of athletes occupying the shell at a given moment. So, too, it may transcend the group of rowers (of various event types or gender designations) who belong to my nation, or, too, the grouping of various collections of athletes (i.e., outside my sport) that collectively comprise that nation’s delegation at that particular Olympiad.
Which is to say that the institution to which I belong includes the players and coaches I’ve been both paired with and pitted against. It encompasses the trainers and logistics officers I’ve shared meeting rooms and morning meals and bus rides with. It also includes athletes I’ve never met—who preceded me wearing this uniform, as well as others who may not have shared these national colors, but whose records I’ve chased, and others who will follow (and chase or obliterate mine). The institution is further comprised of local, regional and national qualifying tourneys, and officials at those meets who’ve handed out number-bibs and recorded race times and stepped in to settle disputes.
It includes those in far-flung factories who have never even seen a rowing competition, but who shape and seal the shells I toil in; so, too, the folks who load and haul them so that I can compete. It also embraces the reporters who interview me and write about my exploits, and the fans who weave my daily exertions into the stream of their lives.
Wow. That’s a lot.
And it wouldn’t be a stretch to reckon that it’s a lot we probably overlook when cheering on the Oxford and Cambridge open-weight eights gliding along the River Thames . . .
A portrayal of the Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race dead heat finish (Black and white engraving, 1877; artist unknown)
. . . or, more likely, marveling at Nikola Jokić’s no-look pass to a back door cutter.
When we start thinking about institutions this way—that is, all of these hidden dynamics, the various personnel, the sets of social engagements and requisite activities—it begins to feel as if another definition might be necessary. One that I’ve found provides better cover is this one:
a complex arrangement of interdependent positions that, together, perform a social role, and reproduce themselves over time.
Well, that’s truly a mouthful.
And, to help us make sense of it, here’s a completely different example . . .
Consider baseball.
No one in my classes ever cops to this sentiment today, but it was once hailed “America’s game” by Walt Whitman;4 so, too, it's been dubbed “the national pastime.”5
So, not an insignificant activity, one might surmise.
Powers goes even further, characterizing it as a “sacred institution.”6
Well, is it?
By the definition above, the first test would be whether it is a complex arrangement.
That seems like a no-brainer, because just about everyone would agree that there is nothing simple about baseball. For one thing, just to play it requires all manner of equipment—none of which the average person can easily produce. A ball, a bat, a glove, bases. Animals have to be slaughtered; timber has to be cut; long-hauling is involved; as are technologies for cutting, shaping, polishing, rendering, sewing. Now that I mention it, I don’t really want to master the intricacies.
Moving on, depending on the level the game is played (i.e. “sandlot” versus “organized” ball such as Little League or high school or college or professional), it may or may not require a raised pitcher’s mound, a rubber, a backstop, outfield fencing, some stands for family, friends, family, a dirt infield and a grassy outfield, umpire paraphernalia (especially for the dude hunkered behind home plate), uniforms, ball caps, batting gloves, rosin bags and pine tar rags, batting donuts, pitching machines, speed guns, video equipment, energy snacks and drinks, bubble gum, chewing tobacco and sunflower seeds (!), and numerous other derivative goods.
Again, depending on the level, the field may require grooming, which would require grounds-keepers who specialize in raking the dirt, trimming the grass, and laying down chalk markers (foul lines and the batter box). Once more, depending on the level, there may be need for a public address announcer, an official scorer, a scoreboard operator, bat girls and boys, and ball lads and lasses along the foul lines. Some stadiums have paid parking and sell concessions—so vendors associated with those activities are required. There are probably a dozen other elements that are missing from the passages above.
But you get the point, right? A complex arrangement; involving people; who perform various jobs; in order for the endeavor to function. The function, itself, dependent on the inter-relation of the various jobs (or, more concretely, articulation of the people who perform those jobs).
Status and Role
The jobs that people perform are often characterized as “roles,” which is a technical term sociologists like to toss about (like so many warm-up throws between innings).
Role, which derived from the influential work of Robert Merton (and is closely associated with the Structural Functionalist approach to sociological theorization), is defined as: the (set of) behaviors that are expected of a person who holds a particular status.
Okay, that clarifies a bit . . . but, what is Status?
That’s a position in society.
If we think of society as a network of social relationships,7 then one’s position is situated in a particular relationship set.
Moreover, since other positions are involved, we can think of status as possessing two characteristics. First, it takes the form of as a physical location in social “space”; second, the location is relational—that is, relative to other positions.
If this sounds similar to institution, itself, then you are not confused (yeah!). On the contrary, you are right where you need to be—since an institution is comprised of interdependent positions.
The bottom line here is that if we view an institution as a construction that binds people together (in spirit or action), then the people who are caught up inside that apparatus are assigned and must adhere to their particular place within it (and follow the prescribed behaviors that match that assignment).
To the perceptive ear, this sounds like a physical (or tangible) arrangement (and you certainly can think about it that way).
Your garden-variety sociologist might invoke a family or religion or school as an example to help this make better sense, but since this is a column about sports in society, let’s stick with baseball.
A manager holds a certain status (i.e., position) in the baseball eco-system. She is not only an employee of a particular organization; her position within the activity known as “baseball” helps determine what she thinks, how she acts, what she may do and also refrain from doing.
No different than the player (but also different than a player!), her status determines the sorts of behaviors she will engage in before, during and after a game. Filling out line-up cards, talking to the umpires pre-game, deciding whether to challenge a call on the field, making pitching changes, subbing in a pinch-hitter (and the like).8
So, too, based on her position, others in the baseball eco-system—her players, coaching staff, opposing managers, umpires, the general manager, the media, fans, etc.—act in relation to her behaviors. In short, her position establishes certain reciprocal conduct, elicits certain behaviors in response, generates certain expectations, and produces particular outcomes—much of which can be anticipated.
While the duties differ, the same is true for those occupying other positions in the institution—that is, they all possess a certain status, which then generates their own set of expectations and prescribed behaviors. This is true whether the position in question is the general manager, the pitching coach, the batting instructor, the advance scout, the catcher, the shortstop, the centerfielder, that day’s opposing manager, the opposing players, the play-by-play announcers (for both teams), the peanut vendor walking the aisles, the parking attendant, the scoreboard operator, the public address announcer, the umpires, the league president, the television executive in charge of airing the broadcast, the replay team “in the truck”, the journalists covering the game, the fans watching inside the stadium, on their couches at home, or generating or consuming highlights on YouTube.
Hopefully, the point has been made: while an institution often takes on the appearance of an organization (since so many actors on the organization chart are also engaged by institutional activity), in fact, the institution is something larger, more amorphous, less formal, and often comprised of far greater diversity of interest, experience, purpose and result than the narrowly-circumscribed, hyper-focused, heavily formalized organization.
Above all, less so than in the case of an organization, our focus is on the behaviors that result from the position of actors, as well as the social outcomes that result because of the relationships between these various “parts”.
Clean Up
One core fact (in this second definition) of institution is that any one of these folks above will not perform the roles of any other (since their status—or position—in the social structure differs). Further, based on their positions, there are certain expectations that attach to and influence interactions when their paths cross.
For instance, we don’t expect the parking lot attendant to sell us hot dogs; the right fielder is not expected to wave off the catcher’s sign and deliver the next pitch; the fan is not expected to drive the relief pitcher in from the bullpen (etc.); the team mascot is not expected (nor should be allowed) to confront an ump over a bad call.9
In short, social interaction and outcome is determined, to a large degree, by the particular positions present in the institution and the behaviors that are attached to each of those positions.
So, this explains how baseball (or any sport, for that matter) can be explained using institution.
The roles are specified by the positions that exist within the baseball ecology; so, too, by the interrelationship of these positions.
As they do their thing—separately, and also in interaction—the institution gets produced again (i.e., it is reproduced). Its rules, traditions, history and values are validated by the participants, who, through their actions, place their stamp of approval on it. (And . . . if this reminds you of our old teammate, social construction, then—congrats—you are definitely in the game!)
Consider, for instance, the pitcher who throws a “high and tight heater” at a player of the opposing team, in retaliation for the previous batter’s bat flip following a home run.
The pitcher is performing a behavior that, according to tradition, is required of one holding his status. (“Defending the honor of his team,” or “preserving the integrity of the game”—or . . . something along those lines). When he does, he has fulfilled one aspect of his role, at least as demanded by his team, given the run of play in that particular game, or, more generally (and historically), as dictated by certain “unwritten rules” of the institution. The institution has seen this before—indeed, it has sponsored and justified such punitive behavior many times over.
The batter, who may be the innocent victim of this particular action, also has a specific role to play in this interaction. Their roles—the retributive pitcher and the passive batter—are defined not just by the moment, but in accord with their expected behaviors, based on the institution’s values and historical practices. The batter is forbidden from throwing his bat in retaliation or charging the mound—and if he does, then the roles of catcher, umpire, manager and teammates (as enforcers of the order, preservers of the roles) all become engaged.
A complex arrangement of interdependence, indeed!
Extra Innings
There are three points to make before bringing this exercise to a close. One of passing interest, the second of a certain profundity, the third of greater possibility.
First, note that in the baseball example, there are no written rules anywhere—no code of regulations, no formalized procedures. That is the hallmark of an institution.
Cut class and don’t tell your parents? Off to bed without dinner or perhaps grounded for the weekend. It isn’t written out in some parent’s handbook—it is up to the informal codes that your particular family has. Haze a rookie who’s just joined the team? There is no formal policy on that either—in fact, formal rules often prohibit such behavior. Nonetheless, there is often a “tradition” that governs: how the members of a particular team have always done it, or else, perhaps, what the current crop of captains decide is appropriate during their tenure.
Unlike organizations, which are governed by formalized rules, regulations and procedures, institutions tend to follow customs and adhere to values of those in charge at a given moment. We purge this year because we purged last year. Our group purges by robbing ATMs, not by slashing car tires—it’s just how our gang has always rolled.
The second, and more important recognition to emerge from the applied analysis, above, is consistent with our social constructionist perspective. The continued performance of those behaviors associated with each role not only reproduces the person’s position in the system, but the behaviors performed in that role, and, in turn, the system (or “institution”), itself.
It goes without saying that, in the performance of status-engendered behaviors—the brushback pitch, the kicking dirt on an umpire’s cleats to “win” ejection, the “routine” rookie hazing—is dependent on a reaction by others as they engage with those occupying particular positions in the system. The sympathetic (i.e., corresponding) behaviors associated with, or possibly departing from, the requirement of their specific role have the power to, respectively, reinforce or challenge the positions of all others within the institution, thereby reproducing (or threatening) the institution, itself.
A current example of this is the tragic shooting death of a young woman in Tuscaloosa, Alabama and the involvement of players (and derivatively the Head Coach and administrators) from the university’s men’s basketball team.
Image Source: Black Sports Online
This incident, itself, raises a final point: that institution can be defined a third way. And if it is, the analyst may end up somewhere else entirely.
On this account, what an institution is, above all, is a set of stories we tell ourselves; a form of narrative, if you will. Institution is the way we explain what is front of us, employing filters such as events, identity and networks (to name a few).
This version highlights ties manifested by identifiable entities (people, informal groups, formal organizations, ideas, histories, practices); it aims at describing the pathways that give rise to the logics that underlie the connections that result in the behaviors that impact or result in social outcome.
Well that sounds interesting. Why don’t we take up Narrative in our next Round?
Something to look forward to.
Until further review.
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Until the next Review . . .
For this reason, we will reserve organization for later Round.
I would still wear my Kelly green jersey (#44) to all the games—if Chandler hadn’t closed their high school decades ago.
Yes, a word I just made up. Slap the ™ mark on it.
The full quote: ”It’s our game. America’s game … it belongs as much to our institutions, fits into them as significantly, as our Constitution’s laws; is just as important in the sum total of our historic life.” As reported by , quoted in John Thorn, “Why Baseball: An American Eden of the Mind” October 19, 2018; https://ourgame.mlblogs.com/whitman-melville-and-baseball-662f5ef3583d (date last accessed: February 25, 2023).
Quoting “A Baseball Lover” from Williamsburgh, in the Sunday Mercury (New York), December 14, 1856.
Albert Theodore Powers, The Business of Baseball. Jefferson, N.C: McFarland. 2003.
We’ll get to networks in a later Round. It also can be linked (haha) to Figurational Sociology, which you may recall arose in passing in an earlier Round.
In an earlier draft, the list was longer. It included: deciding which players will be on the team and/or “active” for a particular game; going over scouting reports with her assistant coaches; speaking with the trainers about the health of various personnel; strategizing with pitching and hitting coaches about match-ups; speaking with individual players about recent performance or perhaps their physical and emotional health; making out a lineup card; and exchanging it with another manager. During the game, her status as manager means that she can address umpires during games regarding disputed calls; and make decisions regarding substitutions, situational plays such as stealing bases, holding a runner close to the bag, intentionally walking a batter—even how to pitch to certain hitters. After game duties include: calling team meetings; speaking with the media; and determining aspects of the schedule that touch upon rest, practice and travel.
Although there is the case where a mascot was actually tossed from a major league game, as explained here.