The Paradox

Baseball is a very unique sport. Many have written eloquently about its attributes.  There are routines and traditions. The games themselves ebb and flow at an easy and beautiful pace.  The ardent fan has this pace infused in his or her essence. You watch the game and if you are paying attention, the game nudges you along with it. The pace of play is controlled entirely by its participants. It is rarely frenzied or chaotic. These are attributes of baseball that give real baseball fans comfort.  Since baseball has no time clock, there are few frantic, spastic, or frenzied plays trying to beat the clock. And yet interspersed throughout, there are daring, acrobatic, graceful and sometimes violent plays that happen at unexpected times. In games that do come down to the wire the anticipation builds to a crescendo and the fans’ excitement is shared intimately with the players.  In big games, these plays become a part of baseball’s legends. There is a rule book. The umpires are the arbiters of the rules.

Rules have been created and amended throughout the history of baseball for many reasons: to keep the game moving along at its graceful pace, to keep players from cheating to gain an unfair advantage, to protect players from unnecessary injury, and finally, in general, to maintain the integrity of the game.

If you study the history of the game, you find that competitive baseball players have always sought a ‘competitive edge’ to help their teams win. Some might call them cheaters. I can’t argue with that assessment. It has happened in every era: sharpened spikes, emery boards to scuff baseballs, quick-pitches, spitballs, pine tar, hollowed bats, amphetamines, and more recently growth hormones and steroids, to name a few. The infield fly rule was created to keep players from intentionally dropping a pop-up to get a double play. There is even a rule that keeps you from stealing first base from second base. Yes, really. Apparently, a base runner in years past was doing this illogical activity to distract the pitcher, and they created the rule to stop it. Even with all of this history, the rule book still cannot address every crazy situation that happens on the field. Hence, the umpires interpret and enforce the rules as best they can.

Playing the Baylor Bears in Waco was always an adventure. The fans were noisy and mischievous. They really got a kick out of our SMU Coach Finley and he in turn would ham it up with them. When Finley walked out to the mound or to third base to coach, the fans would yell “HUP, HUP, HUP, HUP” on every step, until he came to a stop, at which time they would yell in unison “WHOOAAA”. Once, Coach Finley marched over to the third base coaching box to the chanting and instead of stopping he slowed a bit-then continued-then slowed-then continued until he finally stopped. The crowd stayed with him every step and when he finally stopped and doffed his cap and bowed, they gave him a standing ovation.

There was an old man with a prosthetic nose in Waco that started yelling at Coach Finley when he was a half-block away from the stadium. I wish I knew the story behind this, but for some odd reason he would yell “Finley-nose Finley! Finley has got a Finley-nose!” He alternately yelled that and “You aren’t Mustangs, you’re nothing but a bunch of sway-back mules!” That old guy was a hoot, and appeared old enough to have seen Finley play football in the 1930’s. Great stuff.

Waco was the site of the famous Jeff Sage “I’ll be back!” quote, long before Arnold Schwartzenegger ever read that from a script. In my senior year, 1976, Waco was the site of a man-made rainout using the sprinkler system a la the movie Bull Durham, resulting in a Saturday triple header. It was also the site of the infamous “That’s Landsmann’s beer, Coach” incident my senior year. All of these are stories for another time.

So, we played Baylor in Waco my sophomore year. As I recall it was a pretty good series. The Baylor Bears took 2 out of 3 from the Mustangs that year. While most of that series remains a bit hazy, one particular play will always be stuck in my memory:

We were in the field, and the bases were full of Bears. There were no outs, and Baylor was poised to break open the game. The Baylor hitter slashes a line drive over third base. The ball was really smoked, and it looked to everyone in the park like a bases-clearing double. The Baylor coach at third base was so sure the ball would rattle around in the corner, that he sent the runner on third home and was waving the runner on second around third base toward the plate.

Our fleet left fielder, Mark “Hambone” Hammond had a better idea. Hambone, originally recruited from Port Arthur to SMU as a wide receiver, was a good athlete, and not afraid to get his uniform dirty. He showed his good instincts by getting a tremendous jump on the ball. In motion with the crack of the bat, he sprinted hard toward the line. To the astonishment of everyone except likely Mark himself, he dove headlong and snatched the ball inches before it touched the grass, and deftly bounced up, ball in glove in a triumphant pose. The base ump, hustling on the play, sees the catch and holds his right fist up, still running toward Mark.

The Bears are stunned. The runners, as I recall, just stopped and stood where they were, staring at the ump and Mark Hammond. They knew it was futile to return to their bases—they had gone too far. Mark hustled the ball to Don Jarma at third, who then calmly tossed to second base to complete the triple play! Sweet!! Triple plays are rare in any league. We were ecstatic, jubilant even. The play was a momentum changer. We were on our way. High fives were shared all around from the players coming off the field, as we got ready to take our at-bats.

Their coach for some reason was in the home umpire’s face, waving his arms and arguing about something. It was comical to us. After a few moments, the home plate umpire waved the base umpire into the huddle. We look on, just enjoying the moment. Suckers! Ha! The Bears were starting to return to their positions and their pitcher was taking his warm-up throws.

Wait just a minute. Now the umpires wanted to talk to Coach Finley. “HUP, HUP, HUP, HUP…..WHOA!” Mere moments after he gets to the scrum, he starts waving his arms and yelling. Huh? This argument goes on for several minutes, and we on the bench are getting more and more curious about what in the world they could be arguing about. Finally, Finley kicks hard at the dirt, yelling something over his shoulder as he stomped back to the dugout. “Everybody back on the field, we are playing the game under protest!”

In a stunning and illogical compromise, the umps called the batter out on the catch, but also allowed the baserunners to return to their bases. What!? Their argument was that the base ump did not “clearly and emphatically call the play a catch”. Never mind that the runners had been off with the crack of the bat, and were not even looking at the umpire. Inexplicably, the bases would be still loaded with one out. If you are a baseball fan, and are prone to think in linear fashion, this does not make any sense. He either caught the ball or he didn’t. And, if he caught the ball, no one tagged up and we completed a triple play. If X, then Y. This unusual call is what my Introduction to Logic Professor at SMU would have called a paradox. We went on to lose the game, and no, our protest was not upheld. They rarely are. Welcome to Waco and its sometimes-bizarre world of baseball.