To both the Rockies and those whose interests align with the integrity of the game, the Cubs grounding out to first to end an extra inning in which a runner was advanced safely into game-sealing scoring position by a warm embrace served as the aversion of a crisis. To someone like me, who is constantly looking for egregious examples that might strengthen my case that a one game playoff is an asininely small sample size in which to decide who deserves to advance following a rigorous 162 (in the Cubs' rare case, 163) game schedule, it feels like a missed opportunity. This morning we are talking about an objectively exciting game that proved capable of sucking casual fans into ruining their Wednesdays by staying awake well past Tuesday. A game in which the "right" team won without controversy. A game that was undeniably good for Major League Baseball. That said, with one more seeing eye single, we could just as easily be talking about how the largely hypothetical hindrance of one hug and the judgement call that soon followed potentially ruined all that one team had worked tirelessly for throughout the last six straight months. For what that would have done in tainting the outcome of a one game playoff, it would have at least brought full attention to how moronic it is for a one game playoff to exist in a temperamental sport that...wait for it...embraces its high level of human error. To be clear, I think Nolan Arenado cost Colorado the ability to argue that a double play that would have ended the bottom of the 11th inning was a legitimate possibility when he leaned right into that hug and even threw in a little pat on the back for good measure. He seemed perfectly content, if not overly affectionate, in tagging out Javy Baez and tossing the ball back to his pitcher with two down. For that reason, I don't think an ensuing walk-off would have been some crime against conventional wisdom. But man, oh man, you can bet your sweet ass that we'd be trying to pinpoint exactly how problematic a base-path PDA was in deciding the entirety of one team's postseason fate if it were immediately followed by their season ending abruptly in the extra innings. I highly doubt the MLB will ever see the error in their stubborn ways, but if they were to then it would more than likely take a circumstance that chaotic creating an unavoidable controversy. Credit to the Colorado Rockies as they earned their advancement, but we were one perfectly timed swing of a bat held by a Chicago Cub away from the type of mayhem that can inspire modifications to a puzzling playoff format.
0 Comments
There were already plenty of purists that thought Yasiel Puig was the worst thing to happen to baseball since the rampant steroid use they remained blissfully ignorant of as it bolstered both the ratings and the biceps of some of biggest names in the sport. I have a hard time believing their minds will be changed by watching him peacock around the Dodgers' locker room shirtless while guaranteeing victory over nearly every prospective postseason opponent as his skin glistened of an amount of bubbly that could rival his personality with each and every gyration. I, on the other hand, actually appreciate the most insanely bombastic interview/promo you'll ever hear from a baseball player for exactly what it is, which is a genuine display of who Yasiel Puig is as a person. Painting a target on his team's back for no apparent reason might not have been the most calculated decision prior to a playoff as unpredictable as that of the MLB. However, it sure was an authentic decision from someone who, for better or worse, refuses to let the repressive culture of professional baseball turn him into some respect-fueled robot. Yasiel Puig has certainly got his flaws as a messenger. However, having hoped upon hope that baseball players would eventually break out of the shell they've been scared into by antiquated traditions and the people in charge that still overvalue them, I'm all-in on the message that it's okay to be a little brash before, during, or after successfully whacking a ball around a field. Even if it's delivered in mildly broken English by someone who's half-drunk on a heavy-handed cocktail of cockiness, confidence, and vanity with a splash or sixteen of domestic beer.
Unfortunately I cannot, in good conscience, consider this anything other than a classy move. It pains me to classify it as such, as "class" is one of the many things that the Yankees' organization and all those that nauseatingly boast about the triumphs they largely weren't alive to witness take an inordinate amount of pride in. To clarify, I do think it's a classy move, but I don't think you're really all that classy when you feel it necessary to constantly rant and rave about how classy you are. Just an opinion I picked up having watched many a overpaid player damn near boo'd out of the pinstripes they didn't "earn" after a half-dozen underwhelming at-bats. Anyway, back to the point. It was undeniably nice of the Yankees to offer a collective tip of the cap to a player who has been nothing short of professionalism personified throughout an up-and-down career at the ass end of the Subway Series. I guess I just can't help but wonder whether or not how they chose to do so irks either the Mets or a fanbase that is second-class in their own city. There was a day, albeit many moons ago, when seeing the name 'David Wright' caps-locked in navy font above an interlocking 'N' and 'Y' that's as disproportionally large as it is internationally unmistakable was the stuff of nightmares for Queens' natives. Like, if I just arrived in 2018 by way of time travel from 2013 and the first thing I saw was that cover, I'd swear David Wright was pried into the Bronx by an egregious sum of money and wasn't walking away from the game as much he was walking towards his eternal home in 'Monument Park'. Maybe it's just me, but I find shamelessly branding your own organization while honoring someone from a rivaling organization to be the wrong (and obnoxiously non-anonymous) way to do the Wright thing. I'll begrudgingly give the Yankees the benefit of the doubt in assuming the intent of the ad wasn't to make the bittersweet retirement of a Mets' great almost entirely about themselves...but it's definitely not because they've ever done anything to deserve it. After all, it's not like they weren't given a blueprint on how to take a timeout from enjoying the sniff of their own shit to truly appreciate greatness that's not their own...
And there's your reminder that winning cures all. That even the most long suffering of fanbases forget what it's like to lose after getting just one super satisfying taste of winning at the highest level. You just can't convince me that the dude who basically stole the ball from Anthony Rizzo and sparked a 9th inning rally that tied a late September game for divisional supremacy would have done the same if there weren't a World Series banner already hanging in Wrigley Field. That one championship did such a good job washing away the stain of Steve Bartman from a history book that holds 112 straight chapters of pure, unadulterated disappointment that not even a scenario that used to give Cubs' fans PTSD could stop one of their own from recreating the most replayed nightmare in franchise history. We're talking about an act of interference was as responsible for running one man out of Chicago as the unforgettably ridiculous attire he happened to be wearing at the time. Again, I don't think that man reaches up for a playable ball in a pressurized situation if this was two years ago, but if he had done so two years ago then there's reason to believe he wouldn't have left his seat alive, never mind leaving it victorious with a souvenir in hand. If that's not a testament to how undefeated winning is in healing old wounds then I don't know what the hell is.
TheAthletic- When Mickey York and Craig Monroe threw to the booth during Wednesday night’s broadcast of Fox Sports Detroit’s “Tigers Live” pregame show, an unexpected duo appeared on screen — that of Matt Shepard and Kirk Gibson.
Conspicuously absent from the show was the regular tandem of play-by-play announcer Mario Impemba and analyst Rod Allen. Multiple sources told The Athletic that neither Impemba nor Allen were part of Wednesday’s broadcast due to a physical altercation between the two television personalities following Tuesday’s game in Chicago against the White Sox. It is not immediately clear what prompted the incident. According to the accounts of those sources, there has been simmering tension between both Impemba and Allen and the clash of personalities ultimately boiled over on Tuesday night. Both Shepard and Gibson had to be brought in to Chicago at last-minute’s notice, according to at least one source. Another source said that Impemba’s and Allen’s travel arrangements back to Detroit were booked separately to avoid further issues. --------- Not for nothing, but as much as this a hilarious story that paints quite the preposterous picture, isn't it also an indication that playing nice-nice while sharing otherwise dead airwaves with the same person, for hours on end, almost every damn day for six months out of the year can be inherently frustrating at times? Like, which of the following is more surprising... That, after 15 years of working together, the daily grind of another dreary season in Detroit had Mario Impemba and Rod Allen ready to rip each other's voice boxes out over qualities that soon became quibbles and quirks? Or that this is the first we're hearing of two people who work in the closest of quarters and need to censor their true feelings while on job finally going ahead and pummeling each other off of it? I'm inclined to say it's the latter. After all, broadcasting duos aren't made up of lifelong friends with pre-existing chemistry, and - even if they were - that would probably only increase the likelihood of heated interactions and altercations that came to pass due to spending too much time with someone you know far too well. I think I just convinced myself that every pair of announcers should use All-Star weekend to step in the ring and beat the (inconsistent pause) brakes off one another for the continued sanity of the team...and the peace of mind of the team that employs the team. I tend to think that enough feigned pleasantries will always lead to thrown punches, but that's just the opinion of someone that was never cut out for the business of family friend bullshitting. 
I don't want to say that Todd Frazier's ability to think on his feet while off his feet was a more impressive act than had he actually made a lunging catch just prior to tumbling into the stands, as I'm sure he'd much rather have added a web gem to his resume as opposed to the ever-so-rare found ball trick. Unfortunately, if only because nothing of the like has ever been seen before, I kind of feel as though I have to. After all, having the wherewithal to immediately sell a glorified chew toy as a regulation baseball to a professional official after scrambling around on dirty cement steps for all of two seconds is easily the best acting job we've seen from a team that has spent all seen trying (and failing) to masquerade as a Major League ball club. It's very fitting that one of the most re-watchable highlights of their season was actually just a dropped pop-up, but - on the bright side - they usually aren't anywhere near as good at covering up their mistakes. It was definitely enabled by some suspect awareness from the umpire, but Todd Frazier displayed coolness under pressure that you usually only see wafting from the Metropolitans' bats when they have runners in scoring position. That's got to count for something, even if it's just a second inning out in another lost season. 
SeattleTimes- Sources indicated the incident was between Gordon and shortstop Jean Segura and stemmed from Gordon’s misplay on a ball in center field during Monday’s win over the Orioles.
When asked about it, multiple players refused to comment and offered up some version of “what happens in the clubhouse stays in the clubhouse.” -------- I'd go out on a limb and say that any amount of punches thrown between members of a very, very fringe playoff hopeful doesn't speak glowingly about their chemistry headed down the stretch. I know that personalities can clash over the course of a season that's far too long. However, in a relatively non-contact sport in which success is mostly undetermined by individual efforts, inter-team turmoil is a bigger indictment of a locker room than it would be in a workplace where job performances are more co-dependent than they are on a baseball diamond. Of course, I hardly know the inner workings of the Seattle Mariners' clubhouse, but teammates brawling over one misplayed ball wouldn't be a positive sign of their collective headspace if it happened following a hard-fought loss. Never mind it happening before an embarrassing loss to a 41-win Orioles team a full day after the win in which the mistake that ultimately caused the melee took place. I'm not trying to play psychotherapist to a Major League ball club here, but if you want to sell the general public on a fight being a necessary release of frustrations then you can't immediately follow it up by bowing out to basement-dwelling Baltimore. I really don't think that's too much to ask of a team that already had all the motivation in the world to avoid the negative news cycle. Not every physical altercation between prideful professional athletes is symptomatic of a larger problem, but it's also not a non-story when it precedes the dropping of the biggest and fattest of stinkers during the last leg of a highly hopeless postseason race. What I do like is the juxtaposition of Dee Gordon calmly escorting the media to safer grounds before returning with his eyes filled with the fire of a 1,000 suns, as it has a very "parents asking their children to go to their room nicely before screaming at each other like the whole house is soundproof" vibe to it. What I don't like is what it says about the fragile state of a team whose season had torpedoed nearly as fast as their demeanor when the cameras aren't present, since it's basically what you'd expect from teenagers when there is no teacher around. Nationals' Mark Reynolds Reinvented The Ejection By Getting Tossed From The Same Game Twice8/29/2018 
Now we're getting somewhere! With the undeniable uptick in bullshit balls and strikes being called by umpires that have become frazzled by how close technology is to taking their jobs, we're probably pretty close to one ejection per game being the norm for most players. As I can personally think of nothing worse than watching the temper tantrums of grown men grow stale, I couldn't be more relieved to watch Mark Reynolds reinvent the practice of getting banished from baseball games. I mean, two ejections? For the very same set of botched calls? That's even more revolutionary than the double glove throw! I'm not even sure I'll be able to take the frustrations of his peers seriously if they don't force blue to make more than one largely exaggerated motion to the parking lot going forward. As far as I'm concerned, if the players really want to make the officials pay for the two human fallacies in the middle of their face then they should bitch, moan, pout, stomp, and scream until every umpire is at risk of needing Tommy John surgery after repeatedly throwing them out of the game. It's about time we got that pitch count up on those haphazardly hurling around their authority complex. Mark Reynolds just raised the bar, so here's to hoping all MLB players follow suit in doing the baseball equivalent of drunkenly dancing on top of it until they are not-so-kindly "asked" to leave two or more times. 
Let me tell you a little something about Butch Hobson. If absolutely nothing else, he's putting the "independent" in Independent League, because he's damn near singlehandedly responsible for all their online exposure right now. He's been aided by a couple questionable calls from underpaid umpires that couldn't care less about being there, of course, but the Manager of the Chicago Dogs has taken it upon himself to get the league that employs him their first official affiliation, which is quite obviously with hilarious ejections that are bound to go viral. A grown adult man capping off his temper tantrum by smacking an imaginary (and the Independent League's most memorable) walk-off dinger and slowly strutting around the bases with Wieners screen-printed across his chest should easily be enough for him to win your clicks. On the off chance that Butch Hobson has yet to win your heart, however, here's a reminder that he's the same grown adult man that is a mere two weeks removed from literally stealing third base and giving it to one lucky fan...
That should be all the evidence you need that the pennies on the dollar that they are paying him to rally his team during relatively meaningless baseball games in front of dozens of fans should at least be increased to nickels. Butch Hobson certainly isn't a dime-a-dozen, so the next time he's getting a contract drawn up on the nearest napkin he better demand the inclusion of an entertainment value incentive. After all, if only for a must-watch middle school-esque minute at a time, he's putting both the Chicago Dogs and the Independent League on the map (aka internet).  LBS- Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Aaron Sanchez hasn’t pitched for two months with a bruised right index finger, and he’s admitting the real cause of the injury for the very first time.
Sanchez said his finger got stuck in a falling suitcase, but he didn’t want to admit it publicly out of embarrassment. “It got stuck in my suitcase and it started falling,” Sanchez said, via ESPN. “It all happened in a span of about 30 seconds. I said ‘Ow,’ and my knuckle got super fat. I pitched that day, probably didn’t help, but it was the first time I was going to pitch in front of my family as a professional and I wanted to see what I could do. “I didn’t want to say it then because I saw Salvador Perez go down with the same injury and I didn’t want to get laughed at.” ------ What are the odds?! So many incredibly stupid ways for a professional athlete to hurt themselves and Aaron Sanchez falls victim to one with recent precedence? He had to sit on the sidelines for two full months while replaying a single, solitary moment of clumsiness, and only now does he feel comfortable getting the truth off his chest because his idiotic injury wasn't even original? That's a tough break, and I'm not talking about whatever is going on inside his index finger. I mean, misery typically loves company, but if you're going to be the guy that manages to compromise his availability in professional sports for a extended period of time by misplaying something that's built to be carried with convenience then you're going to want to be the first one to do it. At least then the shortsighted sports' world can laugh with you, as opposed to not-so-secretly resenting for forcing them to make the same jokes twice in the same season. To be honest, now I kind of pity Aaron Sanchez for being so overly concerned with what the general public might think that he lived a lie for two full months, as I think the inability to laugh at yourself is a much worse look for a professional athlete than being laughed at on the internet for a day or two. 
I never thought I would be put in a position in which I was hopeful that a Little League umpire was gambling on the most high-staked youth games he was officiating, if only for it would be the one justification for his abject incompetence. Alas, here I am with my fingers crossed that blue earned himself a little extra green by looking like he turned his boxers brown with the game on the line. I mean, that act of interference seemed so egregiously unnecessary that I just hope there was some reason, monetary or not, that the person who committed it ruined what could have been an all-time play at the plate during the bottom of the 9th inning. Unfortunately, there's not all that many ways to explain away the type of situational awareness you'd expect from someone walking across an active highway while texting with headphones in. Either way he should be sent back to the tee-ball fields from which he came, but I hope he returns with his wallet feeling a little fatter. For becoming Tim Donaghy's protege would be more understandable than popping a squat right in front of a pre-teen as he tried to put a stop to a walk-off in showing he's not the one to run on. 
First of all, let's take one second to acknowledge the hilarity of a baseball being flung from an MLB mound to the cheapest of seats in the Oakland Coliseum. If nothing else, it's another reminder that the beauty of sports are that they are liable to leave you saying "well, you don't see that everyday" on damn near a daily basis. Okay, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's take a second to admire the underlying takeaway from that clip, which is not-so-obviously that professional athletes are physically skilled in a way that's almost unfathomable to the average viewer. That might seem like an ironic conclusion to draw, as Shawn Kelley appeared to miss his spot by the length of the re-porposed football field he was playing on. However, the idea that attempting to launch a ball clear out of the stadium was both the safer and more instinctual option in comparison to stopping his pitching motion is proof of just how powerful said pitching motion is. A lot of NFL players are upset about the new tackling rules not just because even the people enforcing them have a hard time defining them, but also because they are moving at such high speeds with such mutant-like momentum that doing anything other than what they've been trained to do since Pop Warner is unorthodox in a way that could lead to more injuries. The same concept applies here, as the only thing more inhuman than hurling projectiles at upwards of 100 MPH per hour is slamming the brakes on an arm as it's in the process of doing so. So, in a weird way, the idea that throwing a baseball to a neighboring county on split-second notice was the optimal way for a pitcher to preserve his health should, oddly enough, reinforce our appreciation for the type of talent said pitcher, and all others like him, possesses. Your first reaction should be to laugh along with Shawn Kelley, but don't let that distract you from the fact that you've thrown in a couple pump fakes upon realizing the target of your pass was sipping his beer or talking to a friend and your average ass arm was made no worse for the wear...
It's almost as if José Ureña took the mound last night with the intent to draw attention to everything that is wrong with baseball. I know he didn't, as his time in the Majors has taught him that winding up and hurling a high-speed projectile at the ribcage of a hitter is a reasonable way to show said hitter that his sustained success is not appreciated. That being said, you couldn't script a more scathing indictment of the unwritten rules of baseball than the Marlins' pitcher, who had yet to spend so much as one single pitch attempting to get out the red hot Ronald Acuña Jr., using his high-end heat to target a rookie whose biggest breach of etiquette was batting beyond his years...
They are very, very different crimes against common sense, but - the way I see - that scene last night should basically be looked at in the same vein as "Dez caught the ball". Of course, this particular play didn't alter anyone's playoff fate, but why wait until something similar does when it's an antiquated practice that isn't anywhere close to being outlined in print? This should be something that is repeatedly looked back on as one of the most radical examples of objective idiocy being so obviously detrimental to a sport in such an unforgettable way that it ultimately inspires change. It more than likely won't be, as baseball touts its "tradition" over its talent in a way that makes you think their decisions makers have taken a few too many heaters to the head. However, for a league that blames Mike Trout for his failure to market himself, it doesn't get anymore astronomically stupid than an exciting, young prospect having his 5-game home run streak brought to an end by an injury that was inflicted for no other reason than his 5-game home run streak existing in the first place. If only to send an unmistakable message to Major League ball clubs, José Ureña should have been instantly tossed for taking the most exciting player in the game out of it before it really began. The only reason it took both benches clearing, as well as minutes of screaming, yelling, and deliberation to do so, isn't even that baseball is broken, but rather that - pending the announcement of a suspension - it appears to have very little interest in fixing itself. 
Professionalism, personified. Seriously, get these two on an Emmy ballot, for acting as if they didn't see the...umm...sizable security guard go heels-over-head in eating the steamiest of shits on-air required a unforeseen amount of focus. People taking an unexpected spill is always worth a laugh regardless, but it being its own scene completely separate from the postgame show it served as the comic relief to made this one all the more hilarious. Honestly, if it weren't for the slightest of smirks from the guy on the right, you could have convinced me that a green screen was used to insert a viral clip into the background of the Braves' broadcast. It all just took place in such a matter-of-fact way that reminded us that sometimes life is better scripted by itself. A special thanks to both the man looking for his five seconds of fame and the man who fell victim to some sort of obstacle in taking second place to his momentum in trying to deny those five seconds of fame, but the concentration of the hosts turned supporting actors was award-worthy as well. All in all, just a fantastically funny performance all around. 
Bravo! Bravo! That might have been a first time dismissal for the 37 year old, but there was no beginner's luck behind that barb! I'd say that's the perfect thing to snap back in earning an ejection, as the feelings it hurt will still be sore long after the game in which Ben Zobrist's active participation was cut short, but the truth is that I'm not even sure I feel comfortable calling that ejection. I mean, what else was the Cubs' veteran utility player going to do but leave the stage after dropping the mic on an umpire that was apparently pretty sensitive to his job security? Ben Zobrist knew damn well that line was going to get him tossed before he said it, so the end of that interaction was really more of an "I quit!" than a "you're fired!". Unfortunately, I'm not so sure the target of it will be so lucky to leave on his own accord if him and his peers keep making robotic officiating seem like an extremely viable option by backing up their bad calls with worse arguments. Despite its obvious detriment, I also see the benefit of the human element to a sport that misrepresents its stubbornness as tradition. That, however, doesn't mean I can't encourage its victims to highlight its flaws in pouring fuel on the fire. If were going to keep umpires around then we might as well shame them into shaping up by threatening to ship them out in the same box in which their replacement is potentially being packaged. I don't know if it will make any tangible difference, but it should make the ejection process a hell of a lot funnier for the time being. 
You know, at this point, I'm sort of starting to feel bad that the Washington Nationals have to play out the rest of their schedule. To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm more interested in seeing the players or those that are contractually obligated to both watch and talk about them every day put out of their misery first. You'd think it would be the former, considering the amount of on and off the field incidents that have plagued playoff hopes that are somehow still alive despite taking multiple kill shots between the eyes. However, after listening to two men who are paid to speak through the most trying of circumstances go dead silent for the broadcast equivalent of the running time of Titanic, I'm not so sure that it's not the latter. Suffering heartbreaking loss and heartbreaking loss is tough, but is it as tough as trying to be anything other than speechless while watching Bryce Harper's time in Washington tragically trickle to the darkest of depths? If only because their commentators are apparently running low on words that can accurately describe their dramatic demise, I really hope the Nationals start losing both leads and games prior to the bottom of the 9th inning. It's pretty clear all invested parties would benefit most from letting go and enjoying the sweet release of complete irrelevance together instead of having to flip a coin to decide who's pulling whose plug. Their heart might go on, but their collective soul has already been vanquished...
It's wouldn't necessarily consider it a secret that a little confidence goes a long way, but if you needed further proof of that than look no further than the Marlins' first base coach doing wonders for the social acceptability of wearing your food by candidly lining his helmet with lettuce in broad day light. I don't know that I too would give no fucks in using greens to keep myself fresh if I were in his position, but with how little hesitation he showed in doing so, I'd be a fool to not consider it. Every trend starts with a vast majority of society peering at it's pioneer as if he/she had...well...a whole ass leaf of lettuce on their head, so why should literally having a whole ass leaf of lettuce on your head be any different? The truth is, I have no idea if lettuce helps in keeping the wearer of it cool in the summer sun. I do know that I no longer feel comfortable knocking it until l try it after the person who introduced it had "funny you should ask..."-type facts at his beck and call the second he was called out for it. I'm not about to get shunned from the produce section for testing cabbage for it's Under Armour-esque qualities. Therefore, from here on it Perry Hill is my foremost authority on all vegetative vestures and the use of salad for dress as opposed to dressing one's salad. If only because he's an incredibly convincing one, if I do say so myself. 
First and foremost, a quick shoutout has to go to the Arizona Diamondbacks. Nothing pays homage to those participating in the Little League World Series quite like making those participating in the Little League World Series appear more fundamentally sound than Major Leaguers. So good on them for making pre-teens look like actual professionals by haphazardly flinging a ball that was intentionally hit as close to home as possible around the diamond like it had cooties. I'd imagine that the memory of seeing their role models give away unearned runs will really give those that will be left crying in the dugout a reason to wipe their tears. Now, the Arizona infield may have made complete asses of themselves with defense that was offensive in every sense of the work, but there's nothing like a timely reminder that it could always be worse. With that in mind, at least they can find peace in not being this guy...
In fairness, it's a rarity that you find a fan that's able to restrain himself from interfering with a play that's headed in his direction, but it would simply be disrespectful to the memory of the latest and greatest of fictional baseball Managers if we failed to mention his most notable piece of advice at a time like this... I mean, that "ole' bullshit" stunk to such a high heaven that the soul of Lou Brown probably caught an unmistakable whiff of it, swallowed down another pack of cigarettes, and started coarsely cursing from his cloud. I'm not saying that kid was totally complicit in letting some innocent lady take one off the chin, but how is Roger Dorn's protege expect to find himself anywhere but the stands if he doesn't instinctually get in front of the damn ball? 
ICYMI: This happened during the series between the Fargo-Moorhead RedHawks and Chicago Dogs on Monday...
Annnnnd Tuesday...
I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that this one-upmanship of prop-aided conniptions from grown men on opposing teams is one borderline-to-bad call away from carrying on into tonight's series finale. The bad news, of course, is that tonight is the series finale. Seriously, as anxious as the umpires must be for this three game set to end is exactly how much everyone that had no idea who these two teams were before it started wishes for it to continue on infinitely. After utilizing both a trash can and third base, I can't imagine where they'll turn next in their search for inanimate objects with which to project their anger, but I am already disappointed that it's hours away from reaching its conclusion. Maybe it's better this way, as it would have become very awkward if they were to run out of creative ways in which to use their surroundings to disrespect officials, but I'm going to need a little time before looking back on this with a "don't emasculate an umpire because it's over, smile because it happened" mindset. Part three might soften the blow if it fails to live up to a maniacal Manager giving away equipment that is vital to the playing of the game while said game is still taking place, but if there are two teams that can wrap this trilogy of tantrums up on a tumultuous note then it's the Fargo-Moorhead RedHawks and the Chicago Dogs. May their early August mutiny against underpaid authority figures and all things that could possibly inconvenience them live on in Independent Baseball League lore. Sidenote: With the small amount of fans these teams must draw, wouldn't they have been better off slapping down a parking cone at the hot corner as opposed to taking back the rarest of souvenirs from a lucky kid? 
There's a quite bit to be said about an umpire that clearly took offense to a child trusting his fully functioning eyeballs and overeagerly taking off down the line after the catcher caught what should have been ball four from a goddamn standing position. After all, as made evident by "strike two" (aka ball five), he's clearly an insecure, thin-skinned man with an authority complex. What he is not, however, is ready to let 10-13 year olds progress to the next stage of their baseball "careers" without knowing what to expect from the people officiating there. Simply put, the integrity of a Little League game is a small price to pay for a lesson that will last a lifetime. That lesson, of course, being that you shouldn't make an umpire feel like less than the most important person on the field or he's liable to prioritize calling you out ahead of calling the game. It might not be nearly as egregiously at any other level, but sometimes you have to really have to spell it out for kids so they understand that the game isn't about them, but rather the adult men in masks behind the plate. That clearly befuddled kid that was looking around in bewilderment as if he were waiting for someone to explain to him what the hell was going on will never forget having to stand through six insanely inaccurate pitches to take one base, and thus he won't go damaging the fragile egos of any obnoxiously overbearing umpires in the future. What a relief. |
Categories
All
Archives
August 2018
|
RSS Feed