Nothing
Up My Sleeve
Jon
Gallagher
Strike
Three – Confessions of a Mediocre Umpire
Back in the early nineties, Gates Rubber
Company decided to lay off a bunch of employees until the economy
improved. I guess the economy has
yet to improve because they haven’t called me back to work yet.
No
problem. I hated that job. I worked second shift in a hot factory,
helping to make rubber hose for a bunch of corporate bigwigs who didn’t give a
crap about their employees. They
were concerned only about numbers and didn’t care that real lives were attached
to those numbers.
Getting
laid off from the factory was one of the best things that ever happened to
me. It allowed me to go back to
school and get my degree. It also
allowed me to go out and get five part time jobs that I could work around my
school schedule and family life.
One
of those jobs I took was umpiring softball games in the City of Galesburg. I love baseball, I’ve played both
baseball and softball, and I knew the rules. It was a natural fit.
Umpires
are special people. The go out on
the field and work the entire game.
There’s no sitting down between innings and they do a lot of running to
cover all the calls that need to be made.
Umpires make snap decisions based on what they see knowing that on any
given play, half of the people concerned are going to disagree.
Some
of those people will disagree loudly.
To
become an umpire, I had to take a test to make sure I knew the rules. Everyone knows that there are four
balls and three strikes per batter (whichever comes first), three outs per half
inning, and (in softball) seven innings per game.
There
are a bunch of other little rules as well concerning fair and foul balls, when
a runner can leave a base, how long a fielder has to have possession of a ball
to constitute an out, and about four million other rules that no one ever
thinks of, but that happen regularly in a game.
I
passed my test with 100%. But my
first night on the field, things started to go wrong almost from the start.
There
are two umpires who work most softball games. One handles the plate while the other one handles the
bases. The guy on the bases has to
make safe or out calls at first and has to make sure he’s in position to also
make calls at second and third, and on occasion, at home if the plate umpire
has left to make a call at third.
Confused? Welcome to my
world.
On
my first night, I was paired with a veteran umpire who told me I’d be working
the bases. That way, I could get a
feel for the game. Again, this was
not a problem.
I
went to my position along the first base line, turned and did what it says in
the rule book: I counted the
outfielders. There were four of
them.
TIME
OUT!
Everyone
on the field and in the stands looked at me as I threw both hands into the
air. I trotted in towards the
plate as my partner came halfway down the line. “What’s the problem?” he asked, removing his mask.
“There’s
four outfielders,” I pointed out.
“Yeah? So?”
“Every
baseball or softball game I’ve ever played in only has three,” I explained.
“City
League and the ASA (Amateur Softball Association) allows four,” my partner told
me. He was rolling his eyes as he
explained, knowing he was in for a long night.
We
went back to our positions and it was time for the first pitch. The pitcher lobbed it toward the plate
in a high arc. My partner called
it a strike. My eyes got wide as
the pitcher threw a second pitch the same way.
See,
I’d played softball in my teens and twenties. We played fast pitch softball where the pitcher had a
windmill windup and fired the ball at the plate on a straight line. If someone would have thrown a pitch
like I’d just seen, I’d have been heading back to the dugout in search of a
bigger bat.
The
third pitch was whacked into the outfield where the guy playing “short field”
caught it. I thought to my days
when I’d kept score and wondered what the notation for that was. F-10?
In
between innings, my partner checked with me to make sure everything was going
okay. I told him I hadn’t expected
there to be an arc in the pitch.
His mouth dropped open.
“Didn’t anyone tell you this is slow pitch?” he asked.
I
knew all the rules for slow pitch softball as well. I just didn’t know that’s what I’d be officiating that
night, or for that matter, the rest of the summer.
Umpiring
turned out to be one of the most fun jobs I ever had. It kept me in shape, it paid decently ($10 per game back
then), and it was hardly ever dull.
There
were some players that, for one reason or another, just didn’t get along with
umpires. When I played, I was one
of them, but I don’t think I was as bad as some of the players I came in
contact with during the four years that I officiated in Galesburg.
One
player in particular was the biggest whiner that I’d ever met. He wasn’t happy unless he was complaining
about a call. I can’t tell you how
many times I umpired games that he was in, but I know that he got to go home
early in a bunch of them.
One
night I’d had a particularly bad night.
I was hot and sweaty, I’d already done three games that night, and this
guy’s team was getting ready to play the fourth and final game of the
night. I was supposed to have the
plate for that game, but my partner asked if I wanted the bases so I didn’t
have to listen to this player every time I called a ball or strike. I thought that was a good idea.
It
didn’t matter. This player was an
outfielder and I could hear him jawing on every call. Finally, after a couple innings of listening to him, I
caught him as he ran off the field.
“If I hear one more word out of you tonight, you’re out of here,” I told
him. “I’m not in the mood to put
up with you.”
By
the end of the inning, he was gone.
I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I remember I called one of
his players out at second, heard his voice from the dugout, and tossed him out
of the game, pretty much in one smooth motion.
Sometimes,
being an umpire was dangerous. In
one game at Kiwanis Park, I had the plate and a player disagreed with one of my
ball-strike calls. He referred to
it as fertilizer that came from male cows.
That’s
usually enough for umpires to toss someone out of the game, and it’s a
justifiable ejection. I chose not
to run him at that moment because I can understand being frustrated with a call
and having something slip out. I
didn’t toss anyone (except the aforementioned player) unless they got
personal. That means they could
call a play BS, but if they said “You’re full of BS,” then they left early
because they’d gotten personal with me.
I
should have tossed the player when he said the call was BS. When I didn’t eject him, he must have
thought it was okay to use that kind of language because then he went off on
me, using a whole lot of words that George Carlin included in the seven you
can’t say on TV. When he finally
got to the word, “You,” I tossed him out.
This
left the team with just eight players.
They’d been a player short at the beginning, but now they only had
eight. The rules allowed the game
to continue with just eight, so we did.
The
next inning, one of their players hit a high pop up into right field. It was an easy out, but this was City
League softball, and nothing is guaranteed. Three quarters of the way down to first, the batter stopped
running. He turned and headed back
to the dugout. That made him “out”
as he had given up on the play. I
raised my hand and called him out.
You
guessed it. The outfielder dropped
the ball.
The
batter turned around and hightailed it to first and beat the throw by the
outfielder by a step or two. The
base umpire called him out as well because he had seen me raise my hand when
the batter gave up on the play.
Both of us explained it to the batter who seemed to take it well. I guess he knew that saying the wrong
words could get him tossed out of the game.
I
turned and headed back to the plate.
The next thing I knew, the bat was flying by my head and sticking in the
chain link fence behind the plate.
I looked up at the scorer’s box, threw both hands in the air and called
it a forfeit right there on the spot.
I
didn’t know who had thrown the bat.
I might have been the batter.
It might have been the first base coach. I did know it was one of them. Throwing the bat at me earned somebody an ejection, and, as
a matter of fact, earned an ejection for the manager of the team as well since
it was the team’s second ejection of the night. That left them with only six players, two short of what they
needed to continue, so the game was a forfeit.
The
team that lost had been winning prior to that.
Two
or three members of the team came up and told me to watch my back from here on
out. It’s hard to believe that
they would get that serious over a slow pitch softball game. But, I wasn’t worried. I’d seen their aim with a bat already.
I
also got to see great plays while umpiring. During my first season, I was working a game at Lake Storey
and one team had loaded the bases with a power hitter coming to the plate. The hitter hit one of those towering
fly balls that stay in the air longer than some Peoria to Chicago flights. The left fielder kept drifting back and
drifting back, and at the last minute reached up to make a catch.
Just
about the time the ball got to his glove, he jumped a little. The outfield fence caught him just
under the beltline which was exactly his center of gravity. He caught the ball, did a comple 360 degree flip and landed on his feet on the other
side of the outfield fence. It was
the most amazing catch I’ve ever seen, in person or on TV. He didn’t fall down on the other side
of the fence. He just stood there
and held up the ball.
Since
this is almost twenty years later, I think I can let you in on a secret. We missed the call and no one
noticed. Since he caught the ball,
the batter was out. Runners were
allowed to tag and advance after the catch, which they did. Later, when I read the rule book, I
found out that this particular situation is very specifically detailed. When a fielder catches a ball and flips
over a fence (or ends up out of play), base runners are allowed TWO bases. My partner that night didn’t realize that
and neither did I. That was okay
because none of the players did either.
Everyone was too busy congratulating this guy on his catch.
Next
week, a few more mistakes on the field….
PART
II
Last
week, I detailed some of my experiences as an umpire for the City Softball
Leagues in Galesburg.
I
don’t think I missed many calls on the field, but there was one in particular
that I might have gotten just a little tiny bit wrong.
I
was doing a women’s game and working the bases. The batter, one of the nicest players in the league, got a
base hit and headed for second when an outfielder bobbled the ball. She arrived standing up a good ten
seconds before the ball. I mean,
she was safe by such a long ways, Stevie Wonder could have gotten the call
right. He was having a cup of
coffee and chatting with the shortstop by the time the ball got there.
From
off in the distance, I hear some leatherlungs calling
her “OOOOOUUUUUTTTTTT!” I remember
thinking when I heard it that whoever was doing that was just plain blind. Then I saw a fist coming down in an
exaggerated motion and suddenly realized several things. First, the fist was attached to my
right arm. Second, the voice
calling her out was coming out of my throat.
We
stood there looking at each other for what seemed like a year and a half. While the second baseman (basewoman?)
held the ball on the runner’s thigh, the runner eased her foot off the bag,
then looked down at her feet. She
was standing off the bag with the fielder tagging her out. It made it look like I’d made the right
call.
I
must have had a guilty look on my face or something as she shuffled by me. “You’re welcome,” she said so that only
she and I could hear her.
She
came out to play first base the next inning and I had to stand there by her, knowing
full well that I’d blown the call.
She didn’t say a word; she just kept smiling at me.
Finally
when that half of the inning was over, she walked over to me and slapped me on
the shoulder with her glove.
“Cheer up,” she said, a smile still there. “I just wanted to make sure you got one call right tonight.”
Now
that’s the way to handle it! If
I’d have made that call with the male player I described last week, he’d still
be calling me every other weekend to remind me what an idiot I was.
Sometimes,
games can get a little out of hand.
I was working a girls’ fast pitch tournament at Lake Storey one weekend,
and teams from around the area had gathered. There was a team from Kewanee that was pretty decent, but
they’d had a lot of calls go against them during the weekend. I had the plate for the most memorable
of their games.
We
were using three umpires because this was a semi-final game in the
tournament. You may not realize
it, but umpires have set plays just the same as the ballplayers do. When there’s a play at second, the
third base umpire will rotate to second while the plate umpire will rotate
towards third in case of a play there.
The first base umpire, after making sure the play is over at first, will
then rotate to cover the plate in case there’s a play there.
Wouldn’t
you know it? We had a play where I
had to run down the third base line and make a snap call at third. The ball arrived before the Kewanee
runner and the third baseman tagged her out. As the third baseman was coming up with her glove and
starting to transfer the ball to her bare hand, the ball popped loose. Because I was on the run, I made the
call, then jogged to a halt a few feet beyond third base.
I
ruled that she had held the ball long enough for the out and that she dropped
it on the transfer. That would
probably have satisfied the Kewanee manager in and of itself.
But
when I turned around to go back to the plate, the umpire from first base was
standing behind me with his arms outstretched, signaling the girl was safe.
It
wasn’t his call to make. It was
mine. The proper protocol for this
is simple. If I didn’t feel I’d
had a good angle on the play or if for any other reason I thought I’d missed
it, I could ask another umpire for help. Then, and only then, can that umpire
overrule me.
This
umpire made his own call without anyone asking him. I knew I had already ruled that the fielder dropped the ball
on the transfer, so the out stood.
Meanwhile,
the Kewanee manager is having a cow.
He’s jumping up and down and carrying on like he was Billy Martin. I explained to the other umpire what my
call had been and then he hung me out to dry. He shook his head and walked away.
Now
the Kewanee manager is screaming and yelling obscenities in front of his 12 and
13 year old players. I tried to
explain the situation to him in a calm rational voice, but it was difficult to
do when he was working so hard on having a coronary.
Just
as I was about to give him the heave-ho, he surprised me and everyone else on
the field. He took a swing at me.
Yep. Pulled his fist back and let fly with a
good old fashioned haymaker.
He
must have realized what he was doing as soon as he started to throw the punch
because it was in ultra slow motion, and it missed me by at least two feet
(mainly because I stepped backwards).
I tossed him and two parents came on the field to physically remove him.
The
third base umpire, the most experienced of the three of us, had been watching
all this from second base where he had rotated during the previous play. He came up, told me that I’d made the
right call on the play, and then told me I’d handled the ejection very
well. He told me I had been very
professional.
I
thanked him, then excused myself because I had to go be very unprofessional.
I
marched over to the first base umpire and told him that if he ever overruled me
again without my asking, I would do some very creative things with the
softball, all of which would be very painful for him, and would probably
require surgery to remove.
The
rest of the game went without incident.
Thank goodness for small favors.
One
of the incident of which I’m most proud also occurred during a 12-13 girls’ fastpitch game.
In this one, I had the plate again and it pitted a very good team
against a team that looked like they’d rather have been anywhere else in the
world except a baseball field.
Those
games can get really long and boring.
There is a mercy rule which allows the umpire to call the game after it
gets just so far out of hand. This
particular game looked like it would only last a couple of innings.
There
was a play where a batter from the good team hit a popup on the infield. The poor team’s second baseman settled
under it and then proceeded to drop it right after it landed in her glove. I couldn’t call the batter out because
it was so obvious that the fielder had dropped the ball.
Before
the next batter could reach the plate, I heard some moron in the stands
directly behind the plate yelling, “That’s terrible! That’s awful!”
I thought he was talking about me not giving the poor team a break and
calling the girl out. If that was
the case, then I’d just have to listen to it because umpires aren’t supposed to
respond to people in the stands.
He
continued. “You’ve got to make
that play! You can’t drop the ball
like that! That was
embarrassing! You ought to be
ashamed of yourself!”
He
was yelling at the fielder!
I
went back to work as the pitcher threw the next pitch. I could still hear this idiot who was
still calling out the fielder for the bad play. Somebody must have said something to him about it because he
told them that he could say anything he wanted to because that was his kid out
there.
TIME
OUT!
I
broke one of the cardinal rules of umpiring. I stopped the game, went back to the screen, and told the
guy off. I don’t remember exactly
what I said, but I do remember telling him that I’d be ashamed to have him as a
father. And I remember
throwing him out of the game. I
don’t know to this day if an umpire can throw a fan out of a game, but I did.
And
I got a standing ovation from the rest of the crowd for doing it.
My
knees eventually told me that I should quit umpiring. There had been a lot of people who said that long before my
knees did.
There
was one player that came up to me one night before a game and said, “You know
Jon, you’re not a fast umpire.”
This
surprised me because I thought I was faster than most.
Then
he said, “But you’re not a slow umpire either.”
This
made sense. But I had no idea
where he was going, but I had a feeling I was being set up.
“I
guess everyone’s right. You’re
just a half fast umpire.”
I
would have tossed him out of the game except that I was laughing too hard.