When Alomar came to the Orioles, to play next to the then shortstop Cal Ripken, Tony La Russa said two of baseball’s smartest players were now side by side. But to most fans Alomar is just the man who spit in the face of umpire John Hirschbeck. Alomar has repeatedly apologized for that inexcusable act, which happened this way:
In the first inning of a crucial late-September game-if the Orioles won they would go on to postseason play- Alomar took a pitch that was at least six inches outside and Hirschbeck called it strike three. Alomar protested and continued to complain as he went back to the dugout. The umpire followed, glaring at Alomar. Alomar, according to a player standing next to him, said two words that caused the umpire to eject him from the game. The words were: “Just play!” Alomar went ballistic, charged the umpire, was pushed back by his manager Davey Johnson, but not before Hirschbeck called Alomar a “motherf—-r.” In response to that epithet Alomar spit. That word, common in movies and on cable television, is an ingredient of the background buzz of vulgarity in an America that has defined decency down. But as Alomar says, “I would advise everybody not to say that to Latin guys.”
No baseball person condones what Alomar did. But many baseball people believe that baseball’s biggest on-field problem is not the impulsive misbehavior of players in the heat of competition but the incompetence, confrontational surliness and premeditated misbehavior of some umpires, factors that threaten the integrity of the competition. Most players and managers are quick to affirm how good most umpires are. In today’s ESPNized world their work is increasingly scrutinized from many television camera angles, and on replays, and they get things right, most of the time. (The Orioles’ Brady Anderson recalls complaining about being called out on an attempted steal of second, then dashing up the tunnel behind the Camden Yards dugout to see the play on tape-players can check their at-bats during a game-and seeing that he was six inches from the bag when tagged.) But there are some bush-league umpires, and there is no procedure for sending them where bad players are sent-back to the bushes. Furthermore, some umpires seem to be spoiling for fights.
This spring, when Mariners manager Lou Piniella asked an umpire not to chat with Piniella’s rookie shortstop, the umpire ejected Piniella. And when a young shortstop asked an umpire to move a step or two left or right so the shortstop could see the batter better, the umpire glanced contemptuously over his shoulder at the shortstop and planted himself more squarely in front of him. Some broadcasters believe that some umpires, displeased by coverage of their work, will shorten a between-innings break to disrupt broadcasts.
Fearing retaliation from the men in blue, nobody in baseball will say a critical syllable on the record. Many players and managers believe that American and National League umpires are different and that the Nationals are generally better. They call a bigger strike zone (although not as big as the rule book defines it), hustle more to be in position and keep a better grip on the game. However, one veteran of many seasons says: “If you question a ball-and-strike call of a National League umpire, the next pitch, if it’s catchable, is a strike.” Sometimes in both leagues a punitive call is communicated to a player in advance: “If you think that last call was bad, wait till you see the next one.” And sometimes the punitive call is made with an emphasis clearly intended to provoke the player. Such behavior degrades a contest.
Part of the problem may be resentment arising from the widening disparities of players’ and umpires’ incomes. Another part is the declining professionalism of some players-arrogance, disrespect for the game and an inclination to blame their failures on umpires. Remember, it was a ballplayer to whom Ring Lardner gave the name Alibi Ike. Such a player, says one umpire, is a “chardonnay.” (Get it? A whiner.) And some teams (for example, the Orioles when managed by Earl Weaver) get a reputation for incessant complaining as a tactic for making umpires malleable by the late innings. Still, umpires are baseball’s designated grown-ups and, like air-traffic controllers, are paid to handle pressure.
Some umpires, when wrong, admit it. Brady Anderson remembers an at-bat late in a close game with the bases loaded, when the umpire called a low and outside pitch a strike. Even before Anderson could glance back at the umpire, the umpire said, “Yep, yep.” Anderson, looking back, said: “Outside?” Umpire: “Yep.”
What unites most players and umpires is affection for the game. Alomar talks with simple, unembarrassed love of “the smell of the ballpark-hot dogs, grass.” He says, “This is what God chose me to do. He sent me here to play baseball.” But Alomar is no stranger to the game’s hard edges and ups and downs. He got his first major-league hit in his first at-bat, off Nolan Ryan, who was not amused. On Alomar’s next at-bat Ryan knocked him down. Alomar got back up and dug in, as he will do until he can’t do it anymore.
