Fantasy scenarios for athletes of all ages include making a long putt to win a golf tournament, making a buzzer-beater basket or delivering a game-winning hit (usually a home run) in the bottom of the last inning of a big game.
Sports officials are a different story, preferring to keep a largely invisible presence during matches, and especially at the end of them. It is paramount that they act quietly and efficiently and without any noticeable influence on the outcome.
The one exception, at least for me as an umpire, was my eagerness to make a dramatic call to end the game at home plate.
Well, one afternoon it finally happened to me and I screwed up.
It was a high school varsity game, and the winner was decided long before the final out was made.
The home team was on the brink of a one-sided defeat. In the seventh and final inning, with two outs and a runner on third base, the batter hit a routine two-bounce ball to the third baseman.
The normal play for him was a game-ending toss to first base; the runner on third and his potential run were equally meaningless.
With two outs, the moment the fielder turned his pivot foot to throw the ball across the infield as expected, the runner began to slowly run toward home plate.
Seeing this, someone on the defense, unaware of the situation, shouted. “He’s going home!”
This caused momentary confusion for the third baseman, who looked at the runner instead of making sure to get the final out.
Things got worse when he stopped pitching and dropped the ball.
Now he has just one play left: at home plate.
The runner noticed the fumble and sped up. It looked like I was going to make my best play at home plate.
I was practicing “Outside” and “safety” I made the same call over and over again, a call that mirrored other calls I’d seen made by other umpires in the major leagues.
I’ve looked up to guys like Doug Harvey for a long time. “God” And he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
And then there was the comical yet respected Ron Luciano, who finger-shotted runners on the bases and wrote five books, including the best-selling “The Umpire Strikes Back.”
Finally, there was Lou DiMuro, a Westfield umpire who was well known for his reputation. “Shoe shine” Cole helped the New York Mets win the 1969 World Series.
However, upon returning to the game, he realized the throw to the catcher was accurate and the runner couldn’t score, so he escaped with a hook slide to minimize contact.
After the catcher tagged him out, I started preparing an unnecessary, over-the-top highlight reel. “Outside” phone.
First, I pointed to the ball caught in the catcher’s glove, then pulled my right hand back and threw it toward home base. I shouted the sign. “He got it.” And then tragedy struck.
In fact, I was the one who punched him. It was a literal punch out.
After conceding the out, the agile runner thoughtfully reaches out to pick up the bat the batter had dropped, then manages to balance the end of the bat on the ground like a crutch and propels himself toward home plate.
It was an impressive athletic feat, but now it’s becoming incredibly dangerous.
He saw my fist aimed directly at his face, winced in horror, and turned away at the last moment before the impact.
It was too late to stop the phone call I had been practicing for so long.
Curiously, the last thing I noticed were his glasses, which had white tape down the middle – either they were a spare pair he was wearing at the game, or he’d broken them earlier that day and the repair was shaky.
Luckily, my fist only grazed the tip of his helmet brim, but chaos ensued: helmets, hats, various pieces of disassembled glasses, and even a bat, all went flying in different directions. I can still see it in slow motion.
The runner, uninjured and largely unscathed, laughed off my unexpected attack and began picking up his scattered belongings.
When I began apologizing profusely, the coach responded with a loud yell, giving my longtime friend and softball teammate the perfect riposte.
“Come on Bill, we all knew he was out. Did you have to break his glasses too?”
I was there and then. “Outside” Later in my career, I used more modest and ultimately much safer calls.
A word of advice to the wise: be careful what you wish for in your dreams, as they may turn into nightmares.
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In my August 24 column, I wrote about an offensive comment made to me by a basketball coach two seconds into a game. The coach claims he did not make such a comment, but I remember it differently.
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Bill Hammond is a former sports editor of the Evening Observer.
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