--“Take Me Out to the
Ballgame”, alt., Albert Von Tilzer and Jack Norworth, 1908
The old ballgame is about to get very, very new. Beginning with
the 2014 season, Major League Baseball will use instant replay to settle disputed
plays on the field. That’s right—high
tech is coming to the dusty old diamond. The era of the umpire, that oft
maligned, all too human judge of fair or foul, out or safe, strike or ball, is
going, going, almost gone.
Picture this. Next May on a sweet and warm Saturday
afternoon, Boston Red Sox jack rabbit base stealer Jacoby Ellsbury bursts off
of first base, sprints for second. The
pitcher pitches, the catcher catches then stands tall, fires a rocket to the shortstop,
who gracefully snags the ball, sweeps his glove down in a blur, tags Ellsbury
as he slides, puffs of dust all around.
The crowd waits. The umpire finally raises his hand…“SAFE!” he barks.
But then the opposing manager protests. Action stops dead. The
call goes out to a windowless room in New York City where steely eyed
technicians rewind and watch the play four, five, six times. A perfect verdict, confirmed by colored
pixels that can’t ever be wrong, is rendered.
Ellsbury is out?!
Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio?
So let me lodge a protest at this acquiescence to the gods
of perfection. It’s not that there is something inherently bad about wanting to
get a call right, just right. I get that. It’s not
nostalgic whining at the sullying of the national pastime. Steroids, multi-million dollar contracts and
$200 nights at the ballpark have done that already. I protest because I mourn
the loss of imperfection and human judgment inherent in a very human umpire,
making his best call in the moment, most of the time getting it right,
sometimes getting it wrong.
Because that is all of life in a way: human life filled with
mystery and ambiguity and questions, blown calls, stumbles, flaws, and mistakes. I don’t always color inside the lines—do
you? The magic of life is found not in
perfection, in always getting it just right, down to the last decimal point,
but in playing, sometimes messing up, sometimes succeeding, always trying.
I know it is just umpiring in a game at stake here, but
imagine a life ruled by the need for ironclad answers. No wiggle room. No shades of grey. We’d never risk loving another because who
wants to take that chance at being wrong, getting hurt? We’d reject faith in God because who can
finally prove exactly, that the hand of a higher power is at work in our hearts
and world? We’d never have kids because who knows how they’ll turn out?! We’d never risk anything, scale a high
mountain, dream up an invention, write a novel, believe we can make a
difference, because who can finally know if these attempts will triumph?
Even God blew a call one time. A story. The world was wicked. God opened up the sky and it rained and rained
and rained, sparing none but Noah, his clan, the ark and the animals. But then realizing what that awful power had
done, God admits to making a divine mistake, makes a rainbow, says: “I…promise
to you and to everyone…every living creature that the earth will never again be
destroyed by a flood.” No instant replay
or do over. Just a promise to try again
and maybe this time get it right.
So in our time on earth, let’s just play. Allow the game to
unfold as it will. Sometimes, rarely, we
will get it perfectly right. Sometimes,
usually, we will get it awfully wrong.
But always have faith. Trust that being safe or out matters much less
than breaking for second base and then seeing what happens.
Play ball.
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