There is no real explanation for the struggle that people have when it comes to understanding America’s game. But after close examination, it probably stems from one simple word — catch. Defined in baseball’s rule book, a catch is “the act of a fielder in getting secure possession in his hand or glove of a ball in flight and firmly holding it; providing he does not use his cap, protector, pocket or any other uniform in getting possession.”

Thirty-nine words and countless prepositional phrases (they could be counted if one could remember the exact definition of such a phrase) for one simple act.

And speaking of catches, the infield fly rule causes more havoc for baseball novices than a fly ball in the sunshine at San Francisco’s Candlestick Park.

In its intended form, an infield fly is “a fair fly ball (not including a line drive or an attempted bunt) which can be caught by an infielder with ordinary effort, when first and second, or first and third bases are occupied, before two are out. When it seems apparent that a batted ball will be an infield fly, the umpire shall immediately declare ‘infield fly’ for the benefit of the runners.”

But somehow, people have managed to expand this simple rule to include such situations as, “with runners on the corners and less than two outs, when the runner on first’s last name begins with the same letter as the last name of the opposing pitcher, who also has three kids and was born on Memorial Day, the infield fly rule is also in effect.”

It’s just not that difficult.

And why is it so hard for people to figure out what a fair ball is? If baseball’s rules committee can describe it in a mere 260 words, why can’t people understand it?

Baseball lingo is also confusing to the average fan.

Although baseball does not provide a definition of an “average fan,” it is typically a person who has never listened to a complete nine-inning game on the radio while correctly imitating each player’s batting stance and keeping the box score at the same time.

In baseball, a “battery” is not a Duracell or Energizer, but instead refers to the tandem of the pitcher and catcher.

And, unlike other leisurely activities, there is nothing illegal about a group of friends gathering around a “dugout.”

When someone is in a “pickle,” he is not lying inside a green vegetable that comes in dill or zesty flavors. Rather, a pickle is a situation where several fielders trap a runner between two bases. Death for the runner is imminent, as all fielders have the same objectives: They want to tag the runner out or throw the ball as close as possible to the runner’s head without hitting it.

A “can of corn” is an easy catch of a pop fly made by an outfielder. Its name comes from the olden days, when grocery store workers knocked cans down from the top shelf with the help of a pole. The result: an easy catch.

See, these things make sense.

But despite the fact they have attended hundreds of games over the years, mothers still seem to struggle with some of baseball’s most essential concepts. Be it at pee wee or high school level, the postgame conversation between a little leaguer and a mother always goes the same way:

Mom: “Good job today!”

Son: “Good job? I sucked. I didn’t get any hits.”

“Yes you did. You hit the ball three times.”

“Mom, groundouts to second, pop-ups to short and foul-outs to left are not hits.”

“But you hit it.”

“Mom … Oh, never mind. Do we have any ice cream?”

For those who have never competed in baseball, it is very similar to a shot in basketball that rolls around the rim and eventually falls out. Certain mothers believe that this sort of shot should count for a half-point, especially when it is their sons taking the shots. Interestingly enough, that same mother does not support a half-pointer when a shot by the kid on the opposing team does the same thing.

Along with the “re-do,” the “half-pointer” has been banned from all professional leagues, including Wiffle Ball.

After billions of hot dogs sold, 100-plus years and one World Series championship for the Chicago Cubs, baseball still remains confusing to the average person.

Why?

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Drew Harris is a senior in journalism and mass communication and political science from Peosta.