Nobody’s Perfect
I, for one, believe Major League Baseball (MLB) umpire Jim Joyce was right in making a boneheaded 9th inning call in the Detroit Tigers and Cleveland Indians game the other day. Sure, it cost Detroit pitcher Armando Galarraga a perfect game. Who cares?! At least it breathed life into the game. What could be more torturous than watching 26 Indians batters retired in succession? Okay … I guess listening to former president George W. rationalize waterboarding, something he confuses with a boat-oriented aquatic sport, would be worse.
There have always been terrible calls in baseball. I’m sure you can think of a few. I know I can’t. Some say the call was the sorriest in baseball history, others a “teachable moment,” while Al Gore claims it, “was caused by global warming.” But really, let’s stop this sensationalistic finger pointing and get on with life. I’m sure Galarraga has pulled out a clean pair of socks and moved on. So what if, since 1880, there have only been 20 perfect major league games? Injustices happen daily — as clearly evident by Sarah Palin freely roaming the streets.
Umpires are a tough and courageous lot; willingly chewing and spitting with zeal because they know the MLB rules state, “No umpire may be replaced during a game unless he is injured or becomes ill.” So, no matter how blurry their vision is from carousing the night before at Debbie’s Bar and Live Bull Wrestling Emporium, they have job security. It really doesn’t make any difference anyway. When big plays happen, most spectators are either picking up their spilled warm beer, swatting flies off their hotdog, or wiggling in restroom lines that stretch to the parking lot.
MLB base umpires have more pent up boredom than any other major sport (with the exception of lawn dart referees). The stress must be terrible — watching inning after inning of players adjusting their caps, mitts, sunglasses, and personal protection devices (a.k.a. something you’d mix hot chocolate in even though you won’t want to in one of these). It’s all a part of a game that’s more boring than watching C-Span’s live coverage of the national gerbil farmer debate.
You really can’t blame Joyce. He was stuck at first base enduring a game of excruciating tedium when all of a sudden a once-in-a-lifetime play appears. Even a seasoned professional would get so excited he’d forget a first base runner isn’t necessarily safe because he’s still wearing a batting helmet. Up until the play, Detroit fans were eating this kind of history making fun up but Joyce, and any other human with a functioning heart, was bored to death.
All in all, it turned out to be a very endearing “teachable moment.” We learned Galarraga could take what life had to dish out without whining and racing around the bases naked. Joyce also came through as a frail human with a heartfelt apology and teary-eyed moment that gave meaning to the old adage, “4 out of 3 people have trouble with fractions.”
As for bad calls, maybe using instant replays is the best solution. But I’m still proposing the “Cumulative Point Rule.” Here’s how it works: if, by the fifth inning, a total of 25 points have not been scored, each base umpire gets a card table full of chilled beer and salted peanuts. This would keep them busy, plus lead to a festive atmosphere where, say, after a double play, everyone in the infield would compete in a game requiring four shot glasses, beer, and a quarter. Variations can be expected, depending on league standings and the number of umpires still standing.