As I wrote last night immediately following the game, I was angry. Me and millions of others, too, no doubt.
As history making as the blown call will be, I think I am almost as surprised by the events reported after the game. It appears that the umpire who blew the call was genuinely upset once he saw the replays. He agreed, on the record, that he got it wrong. He even asked permission of the team to talk to the pitcher, Gallaraga, which he did and apologized to him for his mistake.
I don't think I can ever remember a major league umpire admitting a mistake, much less apologizing to the player affected by it.
As I wrote last night, the umpire—his last name is Joyce—will go down in history as the man who stole the perfect game. One hopes that history will also recall that he was a big enough man to admit the error immediately and to appear to the reporters to be distraught about it.
Yankees manager, Joe Girardi, suggested that perhaps the league should look at the play and reverse the call. The effect would be to reinstate the perfect game. His point is that it would not affect the outcome of the game, but would be the right thing to do. It would mean that the 28th and next batter, Trevor Crowe, who grounded out, would lose his official at bat, which I suspect he would be most happy to pretend never happened. However, Jason Donald, who was called safe at first was credited with a hit, and that would be turned into an out; statistically he would be hurt by the reversal since it would lower his batting average as opposed to it being raised by the call.
I’m not sure how I feel about this suggestion. Part of me says the league should do it. Gallaraga earned it and deserves it. Donald should be out and not have credit for a hit he didn't earn. On the other hand, I’m not a big fan of rewriting history. As the saying goes, what is done is done.
No matter what, there are going to be asterisks all over this game.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Unperfect Game
This is just a quick post. It relates to my first post on this blog about using instant replay to verify, and in some cases, replace umpires and referees.
Armando Galarraga just pitched a perfect game. 27 up and 27 down. Except that an umpire robbed him of it by calling the 27th batter safe at first when that batter, according to all the replay angles, was clearly out. What a crock of shit!
I watched the game live and saw it all go down in real time. I was a baseball player in my younger years, and even did some umpire work. I know that the speed of the game and even the pop-pop of the play at first can be hard to call. But, this wasn't hard. The ump just blew it. Period.
I don't want to sound like a conspiracy nut, or anything like that. But, as I watched the coaches and players of the Tigers arguing the call, I thought I saw a look on the face of the umpire that said,"I am the law. I am never wrong. You have no right to question me."
Of course, all of America is going to question him. And, anyone who watches the replays will conclude that he flat blew it. He did.
Naturally, many of those who comment will question the umpire's integrity. There will inevitably be questions about his stake in the outcome, or, much worse, his own ego demanding that he break up what would be only the 21st perfect game in the entire history of major league baseball, or a span of more than 100 years. The question many will ask is did he think he was more important than history in the making, and, even if it meant that he had to make a bad call, at least he would get the attention and not some hot shot young pitcher. "Take that youngster! You think you're so all that, well now you know differently."
The worst part of the whole ordeal is that if baseball had a replay system in place, they could have corrected this terrible, back asswards, ego induced call.
Still, I have to feel sorry, a little bit, for the umpire. He is going to go down into baseball history as the ump who blew the perfect game. I thought I heard that he had been doing umpiring in the majors for 20 years. Well, guess what, no one is going to remember him for the 20 years he got the calls right, if he ever did. They are going to remember him as the guy who got the one call that made history wrong.
If the attitude I thought I saw on his face afterward is correct, he deserves all the villification he's going to get. Umpires are like judges. Once you put them above everyone else, and make their calls final, they pretty much better be perfect, or else.
Armando Galarraga just pitched a perfect game. 27 up and 27 down. Except that an umpire robbed him of it by calling the 27th batter safe at first when that batter, according to all the replay angles, was clearly out. What a crock of shit!
I watched the game live and saw it all go down in real time. I was a baseball player in my younger years, and even did some umpire work. I know that the speed of the game and even the pop-pop of the play at first can be hard to call. But, this wasn't hard. The ump just blew it. Period.
I don't want to sound like a conspiracy nut, or anything like that. But, as I watched the coaches and players of the Tigers arguing the call, I thought I saw a look on the face of the umpire that said,"I am the law. I am never wrong. You have no right to question me."
Of course, all of America is going to question him. And, anyone who watches the replays will conclude that he flat blew it. He did.
Naturally, many of those who comment will question the umpire's integrity. There will inevitably be questions about his stake in the outcome, or, much worse, his own ego demanding that he break up what would be only the 21st perfect game in the entire history of major league baseball, or a span of more than 100 years. The question many will ask is did he think he was more important than history in the making, and, even if it meant that he had to make a bad call, at least he would get the attention and not some hot shot young pitcher. "Take that youngster! You think you're so all that, well now you know differently."
The worst part of the whole ordeal is that if baseball had a replay system in place, they could have corrected this terrible, back asswards, ego induced call.
Still, I have to feel sorry, a little bit, for the umpire. He is going to go down into baseball history as the ump who blew the perfect game. I thought I heard that he had been doing umpiring in the majors for 20 years. Well, guess what, no one is going to remember him for the 20 years he got the calls right, if he ever did. They are going to remember him as the guy who got the one call that made history wrong.
If the attitude I thought I saw on his face afterward is correct, he deserves all the villification he's going to get. Umpires are like judges. Once you put them above everyone else, and make their calls final, they pretty much better be perfect, or else.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A Letter to My Nephew
Several years ago my nephew, who was in the Army Reserves, was being deployed to Afghanistan. I couldn't make the trip from Ohio to Oregon to attend his going away party. They asked me if I could write up some memory that he might take with him instead. I did that very thing. I was thinking about it the other day, and thought you might find it entertaining. So here is the "memory" I wrote for my nephew David.
I’m not sure what you write to a man who is about to go off to a foreign land to serve his country in war. I suppose the obvious thing to say is keep your head down and do the right thing. But, what sort of memories can I supply that lends support to this idea? There is one that I still enjoy remembering.
I remember a boy of 11 or so sitting in a boat with his father and uncle (me) as his grandfather steered them down the Owyhee river near Leslie Gulch. We were headed to the next canyon to hunt for chukars, a wild partridge that lives in the desert hills. The boy was clutching his first .22, a Marlin tube magazine semi-automatic rifle, watching the ridges and hillsides carefully for the chance to shoot at something meaningful. At his side was his younger sister nagging him about anything and everything that came to mind, as she was often wont to do.
As the boat came around a bend, would you believe two coyotes appeared on the long, steep sloping mountainside at least a hundred yards or more away. They paused to watch the boat go by.
For some reason, call it the instinct of the wild, suddenly these coyotes must have realized they were looking at a killer on the river. They both turned and ran diagonally upslope in the same direction the boat was traveling, their hind feet coming up past their ears in their haste. Our lad, finally finding something useful and heroic to shoot at, filled the air with lead. As the bullets hit the hillside, dust flew up all around the two galloping creatures. Those little clouds of dust chased those coyotes for a long way up that slope.
He ran out of bullets 18 shots later and could only stare as the two beasts became tiny specks far up the mountain. His grandfather, father and uncle roared great shouts of approval and exclamations of delight at the show. They praised his prowess and the good shooting that surely had put a lifetime of fright into those two wily creatures.
His sister, once all had calmed down, offered how he might actually have hit one of the coyotes had he only aimed a little better.
Personally, I like that he didn’t shoot one of those coyotes, since the story would not be nearly as much fun if he had. On the other hand, that young boy was ready and willing when the chance offered, and I can’t think of a better testimony than that for what he is soon embarking to do in Afghanistan. But, if in this new adventure he should be faced with a similar circumstance, I’m with his sister: aim better.
Uncle Mike
I’m not sure what you write to a man who is about to go off to a foreign land to serve his country in war. I suppose the obvious thing to say is keep your head down and do the right thing. But, what sort of memories can I supply that lends support to this idea? There is one that I still enjoy remembering.
I remember a boy of 11 or so sitting in a boat with his father and uncle (me) as his grandfather steered them down the Owyhee river near Leslie Gulch. We were headed to the next canyon to hunt for chukars, a wild partridge that lives in the desert hills. The boy was clutching his first .22, a Marlin tube magazine semi-automatic rifle, watching the ridges and hillsides carefully for the chance to shoot at something meaningful. At his side was his younger sister nagging him about anything and everything that came to mind, as she was often wont to do.
As the boat came around a bend, would you believe two coyotes appeared on the long, steep sloping mountainside at least a hundred yards or more away. They paused to watch the boat go by.
For some reason, call it the instinct of the wild, suddenly these coyotes must have realized they were looking at a killer on the river. They both turned and ran diagonally upslope in the same direction the boat was traveling, their hind feet coming up past their ears in their haste. Our lad, finally finding something useful and heroic to shoot at, filled the air with lead. As the bullets hit the hillside, dust flew up all around the two galloping creatures. Those little clouds of dust chased those coyotes for a long way up that slope.
He ran out of bullets 18 shots later and could only stare as the two beasts became tiny specks far up the mountain. His grandfather, father and uncle roared great shouts of approval and exclamations of delight at the show. They praised his prowess and the good shooting that surely had put a lifetime of fright into those two wily creatures.
His sister, once all had calmed down, offered how he might actually have hit one of the coyotes had he only aimed a little better.
Personally, I like that he didn’t shoot one of those coyotes, since the story would not be nearly as much fun if he had. On the other hand, that young boy was ready and willing when the chance offered, and I can’t think of a better testimony than that for what he is soon embarking to do in Afghanistan. But, if in this new adventure he should be faced with a similar circumstance, I’m with his sister: aim better.
Uncle Mike
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