I was enjoying a University of Nevada baseball game this last Saturday. It was a typically wonderful game--the skies were blue; the grass was green; the umpires were heckled.
In the bottom of the first inning, the razzing began. Nevada player Joe Inglett checked his swing; the home plate umpire appealed down to third base to see if Inglett indeed swung. The third-base ump said he did.
Strike three. Yer out.
Let the razzing begin.
"AWWWWW."
"BOOOOOO."
"You must be the same (bad word) that was (really bad word) umping the plate YESTERDAY!"
And, of course, the classic. "Get your HEAD out of your (anatomical body part where it would be technically impossible to place one's head)."
Of course, did the fans stop after that inning? No, of course not. These fans had beer.
My favorite moment of heckling that day came when -- I swear this is the truth -- in the bottom of the second inning, the fans actually started booing before the umpire called a strike against Nevada's Matt Maguire. The man behind the plate hadn't moved a muscle or made a sound before the screams of "AWWWWW!" began. I am not sure, but I think the boos may have actually convinced the unsure umpire that the pitch was indeed a strike.
Baseball. Ya gotta love it.
But the story that day's of umpire heckling did not end there. In the top of the fourth inning, with the count being one ball, two strikes, Nevada's Darrell Rasner threw a ball. The umpire then signaled that the count was -- counter to every law of mathematics ever conceived -- still one ball, two strikes.
Of course, this really upset the opposing team's coach, Loyola Marymount's Frank Cruz. He, along with everyone else in the ballpark except for the umpires, knew that the home plate up had the count wrong. He pleaded his case to all three umps at the game; they all ignored him.
Let me make one thing clear: This game was being played in Reno, where fans aren't going to be very supportive of the opposing team's coach. Nevertheless, the fans were unanimously behind Cruz.
And then, the "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" reference, thanks to a heckler.
"Hey, blue, why don't you call a friend? That is if you HAVE one."
Baseball and game shows. Gotta love them.
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That game typified two points I want to make about umpires. My first point: Why in the HELL would anybody want to be an umpire?
The job of umpire ranks right up there with lawyer, congressman, journalist/columnist, and crack whore in terms of respect. No matter what you do, if you're a man in blue, you're gonna catch hell.
Please excuse me for a moment of seriousness: Umpires, at least on the city league, high school and college level, don't deserve this abuse.
Now, some of the heckling is just part of the game, and it's all in good fun. Baseball without giving the ump some flack would be like pro-wrestling without all of the man breasts -- something would be seriously missing.
But in some cases, the abuse goes to far. I have seen umpires, making a pittance calling city league softball games, put up with harsh words that would make a bouncer at a brothel blush. Then, there are the poor men and women working the Little League and high school games. Parents often direct hate and anger toward these umpires in volumes that make sane people wish these parents had not been allowed to reproduce.
It's a hard, respectless job, being an umpire.
Having said that, I will now make my second point: Umpires need to admit it when they're wrong.
Now, some umps will now feed me some lame line about not admitting minor errors for reasons of keeping respect or dignity. Please. The journalism biz is all about respect, and we (Reno Gazette-Journal upper management excepted) readily admit our errors. Could you imagine if we didn't?
"No, that police officer is a pubic information officer, not a public information officer. That wasn't a typo. He's, um, in charge of sexual education or something."
Give me a break. The Nevada-Loyola Marymount game was a prime example. Tip to umpires: When you're arguing with the visiting team's coach, and everybody in the freaking stadium is agreeing with the visiting team's coach, you're probably wrong.
Fess up to the obvious mistakes, and it will only help the game. And it will keep the angry fans off your butt the next time you make a lousy call.
OK, maybe it won't. But it's still the right thing to do, blue.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who is struggling to come up with some witty to say here this week. His column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.