While reading Linda Flanagan’s book Take Back The Game, I had the idea of revisiting my coaching style from approximately 15 years prior to see if what I preach now aligns with what I did then (as well as to see if I may have adapted or improved).
 
From 2009 through 2012, I coached the local Senior Babe Ruth team in town.  Senior Babe Ruth is the highest division of Babe Ruth Baseball, which is one of the dominant recreational baseball programs in the world (along with Little League).  Normally, this division would act like all the other divisions within a town’s charter:  the kids would be split into equally numbered teams within the town and play each other for the spring season.  However, we only had enough kids for one team, so the local Babe Ruth Commissioner who oversaw all the charters within his district (about the size of our county) implemented an interleague program, allowing us to form the one team and play the teams from other town’s charters (most of whom had the same issue of only having enough players for one team).
 
Senior Babe Ruth was designed for kids ages 16-18 and had stipulations that would allow some kids aged 15 and 19 to also join.  Because most of these kids were teenagers and young adults with other responsibilities (such as school, jobs, and varsity sports), and with the implementation of the interleague program, the Commissioner gave us his blessing to hold our season in the summer.  This worked out quite well because the only other baseball opportunity in town at that time was American Legion Baseball, which was much more competitive, serving more like an extension of a varsity sport that required players to commit to baseball six days per week.  In short, Legion was viewed as the town’s summer varsity team, and Senior Babe Ruth was the JV.
 
One of the biggest advantages of Senior Babe Ruth was that it only required kids to dedicate two or three evenings to the team per week, none of which were Fridays and Saturdays (unless rain or another scenario forced a change to the schedule).  During my four years at the helm, I had a plethora of varsity kids defect from the Legion team because they saw Senior Babe Ruth as equally challenging and fun while lacking the intense commitment of the Legion team.  The advent of media made it possible for kids to be scouted by coaches based on skill, not based on team or reputation; thus, the need to play Legion ball for the resume padding dwindled so long as you were good.
 
I’ll spoil the ending of the story before I get to the real purpose of this post.  We won two championships in four years, both in years where our regular season record was garbage (but everybody makes the playoffs).  The final year was a disaster (that led to my voluntary departure) because our charter’s coordinator felt we had too many kids on our team and should split into two teams.  I vehemently argued against this because I learned something in my first three years coaching that team:  I might start with 20 kids, but I’d be lucky to have 9 for the final game.  Schedules, jobs, vacations, and all sorts of other things created a war of attrition.  Even if I started with 30 kids (like I almost did in that final year), I was confident not just in the pattern to continue, but I was also confident in my ability to be fair and just and make every kid feel appreciated on our team.
 
By the second season of my tenure, I was forcing all my kids and their parents to sign a contract prior to participating.  This was the crux of my reflection because it gave me the foundation of what I enforced while managing that team.  I went back to examine the highlights from the final contract from 2012.
 
I began the contract with an explanation of why I called it “competitive recreational baseball.”  It was recreational because anyone who paid the dues was on the team (while also not requiring the level of commitment as Legion).  But it was competitive because the league rules (which I did not create) stated that we use many high school rules, which meant a traditional starting lineup and specific substitution rules (as opposed to batting everybody and using free substitution).
 
I then gave a list of reasons why people should reconsider signing up for our team:
 
-If they played another sport at the same time (or were on a travel team) where their level of commitment to our team was going to be impacted…
-If they had a job and worked so many hours that they would either miss games or not be ready to play when present…
-If they scheduled a vacation during the season that would require them to miss more than one consecutive game…
-If they didn’t take their responsibility to the team seriously…
-If they had a bad or lethargic attitude…
 
I made this point because I wanted kids and parents to understand that they were making a commitment to a team where the coaches were all volunteering their time.  (During my entire tenure, only once did I have a coach who had a kid on the team.)  If we were going to be there, we expected the kids to be there as well.  It wasn’t about possessing the kids; it was about being respectful to the adults who were not being compensated for coaching a team when they basically had no kids of their own on said team.
 
In hindsight, I probably would have made that point a bit clearer and more vulnerable.  I also would have workshopped wording to note that I am not asking kids to specialize in baseball; I want kids playing multiple sports, but I don’t want them to do that to the detriment of our team.
 
I then discussed the lineup.  We were allowed to start a maximum of ten players per game:  the usual 9 plus either a Designated Hitter (DH) or an Extra Hitter (EH).  I told the players that I would do everything to get every kid in the game, and that the only real thing that would prevent me from doing that would be if the game ended early due to the mercy rule or due to weather.  I also told the kids to be ready to participate in many other ways, such as being a courtesy runner for the pitcher or catcher.
 
Next was a discussion on how attitude and attendance could trump ability.  I wanted to make it clear that the kids who were putting in the effort were going to be rewarded.  This is a principle I use to this day in many different walks of life, such as directing music.
 
The big point came next:  availability.  I wanted kids and parents to know that I understood that not every kid could make every game, but I wanted at least 24 hours’ notice if a kid would miss a game or practice, especially so that I could prepare my lineup!
 
I actually had one kid’s mom (who was an attorney) write in addendums to the contract saying she would only sign it if it was clearly understood that her son would be missing games due to vacations.  That kid did not last more than a season on the team.
 
It's not that I didn’t want the kids to take vacations and spend time with family and friends.  I understood that high school seniors would be going to prom and would be away for the weekend.  In fact, the league schedule was built around the prom schedule!  Once again, it was about the maturity to understand what a commitment truly was, especially when the coaches are not being reimbursed.  And once again, if there was a more vulnerable way to express it or word it, I would have used that.
 
The standard section on ethics and sportsmanship was next.  This was non-negotiable, and I feel like I would continue to enforce it to this day:  no ejections, no hazing, no fighting, no retaliating, etc.  I found myself drawing on this as I wrote the first draft of On Sportsmanship.
 
I discussed the playoffs next.  Because the playoffs were single elimination (until the final round), I made it a point to emphasize that I would manage those games differently.  Playing time would not be equal, as winning would mean advancing and continuing our season.  And yet, I still found ways to get everybody into each game:  in the final game of our championship series in 2011, one of my players forgot his contacts and couldn’t see.  I told him I didn’t feel comfortable letting him play if he couldn’t see the ball.  His response?  “I can run.”  Sure enough, he was used as a pinch runner and scored the winning run to secure the championship.
 
I told parents they had to stay out of the dugout during games and let the coaches do their job.  I told pitchers they needed to adhere to a strict conditioning schedule to protect their arms.  I mentioned that players could not wear spikes in the batting cages.  And I demanded no substance abuse:  none of my players would be allowed to drink, smoke, chew tobacco, etc.  (After all, most were minors.)
 
I took a step back after reviewing this contract to see what I could have done better.  I keep coming back to the same thing:  communication with vulnerability.  It was probably pretty difficult for a kid in his mid-to-late 20’s to manage adolescents and young adults with their parents hovering over them.  I wish I could go back and express my thoughts differently.  But the content of my thoughts and intentions were good, and if my age and inexperience in life were the only things that prevented me from being better (in aggregate), I can sleep at night knowing my moral compass was pointing in the right direction.

I was sitting at the bar at a golf club recently while a golf tournament for kids was being held.  Through innocent eavesdropping, I learned that the company hosting the tournament has held various tournaments for kids of all ages for years, and this course was one of the courses the company constantly used for their tournaments.
 
Further, this company had stepped up their game in how they attracted new kids to play in these tournaments.  Plenty of kids signed up to play on their own, but they were also inviting kids from around the country to play in these tournaments as well.  As I surveyed the kids and their families who were participating, I learned that most families had traveled from different parts of the east coast just to come to my hometown for a few days for a youth golf tournament.
 
The lady who was representing the company made an innocent comment that struck me, though.  She noted that in all the years of these tournaments, not one of their participating kids had ever turned pro.  I looked around again at these kids and their families.  At first, I was a little shocked that not a single kid had found their way to the top of their game.  However, after a moment, that shock was gone.
 
There are plenty of trends and statistics that could be used to examine why this has occurred.  Demographics of ethnicity might be at the top of the list as I noted most of the room was filled with people of Asian and Indian descent.  I could sense that all the parents were overbearing, placing their kids on a pedestal to the point of believing the kids could do no wrong (which was not far from the truth based on the way they treated the waitstaff at the restaurant).  Yet, no matter the reason or the evidence, there was just a simple feeling that transcended this microcosm.
 
When I was young, I firmly believed that I was destined to play Major League Baseball, even if my parents were not as subscribed to that belief as I was.  In hindsight, though, I preferred it that way:  they never pressured me.  They supported me, and they wanted me to shoot for the stars (so long as I had a backup plan).  Not that this statement is meant to be persuasive testimony, but it is through my faith that I reconcile the fact that I was meant to do something more than ascend to the big leagues in baseball.
 
When I look back at that dream now, I might still believe that I could have achieved that goal, but it would have taken some luck solely due to the number of factors that were out of my control.  Reaching the pinnacle of any major sport takes more than just talent.  It also takes more than just being at the right place at the right time.  The way each sport evolves within the values of society is rather unpredictable, and how the sports seek to make a profit will usually stay one step ahead of the evolution of the talent and the next crop of athletes and potential stars.
 
As I digested this, not only did I feel a little better about my life path, but I started to pray that the families at this tournament saw this as well.  Not a single kid in all the years of this tournament had become a professional golfer, and we had no idea if that would change anytime soon.  I wanted these kids to dream that it was possible (if they wanted to dream that), but I really hoped that the parents were simply nothing more than supportive of giving these kids a positive experience, rather than setting a demand for what they must eventually become.

The word “divorce” always evokes some unfortunate memories.  However, let’s take a moment to look at a time when divorce is good for sportsmanship.
 
I have been a fan of the New York Yankees as long as I can remember.  (For reference, I’m 42 years of age while writing this.)  My adolescence occurred while the Yanks were creating their dynasty at the end of the 20th century.  As I became more aware of what was happening, I found myself more attuned to rosters, batting orders, and even jersey numbers.
 
My budding adulthood after college aligned with an expansion in my cable package, allowing me to watch more games.  Spending more time in the car, I listened to them on the radio just as much.  In doing so, the team became a divine idol:  they could do no wrong.
 
Part of the mindset of idolizing a team (or an athlete in general) includes a black-and-white understanding that everyone not wearing that uniform is the enemy, and that includes umpires.  Mind you, this all occurred before I had joined the ranks of the world of officials.  But there were certainly times that I would be yelling at the television much in the same way that players, coaches, fans, and broadcasters would complain about calls.
 
Looking for any sort of income, I wasn’t out of college two years before I had the idea of becoming an umpire.  Now, as I approach my 20th year in the profession, I look back on how my opinions evolved.  The results are astounding:  the umpires are not the enemy, and they never were.
 
Thanks to my career in umpiring, I was able to divorce myself from blind fandom.  Sure, I still watch every Yankees game (or listen to them on the radio or follow them on my phone while working).  Yes, I still listen to sports talk radio and discuss every bad game with my friends.  But I do so without the fanboy mindset that might make me believe the Yankees are infallible.
 
When I watch a game now, I find I’m able to root for the team while also seeing the game from the objective eyes of the umpires.  It’s a peaceful experience because it gives me the best of both worlds:  I can enjoy fandom while also enjoying the pleasure of a simple baseball game, regardless of who is playing!  Does it reduce some of the emotional highs and lows of being a Yankee fan?  Perhaps, but I would argue that said reduction can be a good thing because it allows me to be a rational fan instead of a blind lemming.
 
Here's another benefit:  by eliminating the unhealthy part of my fandom, I have room to be a student of the game, which, in my opinion, is immensely more valuable than being a blind fan.  When the Yanks are done by 10pm in the east, it’s time to switch over to the west coast games!  I’m now glued to baseball of any kind, yet I still have the desire to be a fan of my childhood team.
 
I’m quite thankful for the divorce that removed me from what might be classified as unhealthy fandom.  The simple choice of learning to officiate gave me a deeper appreciation for the game, allowing me to expand my horizons and be entertained by it for more of the calendar year.  The season doesn’t end with the World Series; rather, the conclusion of the World Series allows me to turn my attention to the Arizona Fall League, the Dominican Winter League, the Caribbean World Series, and even the World Baseball Classic when applicable.  I owe all of this to my decision to become an umpire.  And I am still a Yankees fan!

A mother of two was asking me about our organization while attending one of our trivia nights.  She was intrigued by the mission, notably because both of her sons were consistently playing soccer in a multitude of leagues and on a plethora of teams.  Part of my explanation involved the admission that I was a veteran baseball umpire.  And that’s when the tenor changed.
 
This mother was all about sportsmanship, but apparently, her concern was instead about how she didn’t like the officials.  She claimed it was the officials who were the problem with sportsmanship.  Believe me when I say it took another beer to be able to get her to fully explain in a thorough manner why she felt this way.
 
According to her, the issue stemmed from the safety of the children.  In the soccer games she witnessed, her complaint was due to the inconsistency of fouls called based on the dangerous nature of various plays.  She didn’t like the fact that a dangerous slide tackle would result in no call from a referee, but a flop going against the other team would.  In fact, at one point, she accused officials of purposefully favoring one team over another, as if a hidden agenda would dictate which calls would be made.  She felt uncertain in each soccer match about whether her children were safe and if the game would be officiated equally.
 
As I heard her relay these thoughts, my memory took me to a baseball game I had officiated less than a week prior.  A state baseball tournament for 11-year-olds was being held, and I was asked to cover one game on the bases for an official who had a last-minute conflict.  It was an easy and quick game, but I took note of one very important thing during the game:  my partner behind the plate was terrible.
 
I’m sure it could be a shock to some to hear an umpire being critical of another umpire.  Frankly, I prefer to be supportive, even in my critiques, because I want my brethren (as I want myself) to constantly look to improve.  Yet, there are certainly times when I stop and wonder what the hell is happening in the mind of one of my partners.
 
To be clear, my partner wasn’t bad at calling balls and strikes.  His judgments were actually pretty good!  His mechanics were the issue.  He was verbalizing swinging strikes.  He didn’t rotate up to third base (let alone come out from behind the plate for any call he had to make in the outfield).  He even made up his own mechanic consisting of a raised right fist that I eventually determined was a way to signal a foul ball.
 
I felt embarrassed to be on the field with this official, not because he didn’t have the opportunity to improve, but because he was considered a veteran official who was assigned to a game with some level of importance, and he was doing things reserved for inexperienced officials within their first two or three years officiating.
 
Back in the present moment with the soccer mom, I had to think quickly about a response.  On the one hand, I had to convince her that her assessment of officials was wrong.  On the other hand, I knew there were bad officials in the ranks.  What’s the compromise?
 
In short, I split the baby.
 
“Look,” I said.  “In any profession, there are always going to be some who fall short of the mark.  After all, someone had to finish last in a graduating class of medical students!  However, I can assure you that, in general, officials do not aim to be anything other than impartial.  We’re not there to settle a score or to root for one team over another.  We’re there to do a job.  We’re not going to be perfect.  We can’t see everything, and we’re going to miss some calls.  But no official wakes up the morning of a game and is looking forward to the opportunity to blow a call and get in an argument.”
 
The mom’s paused look told me she was looking for a rebuttal.  She gave off a vibe that I was dealing in absolutes, as if I was absolving my fellow officials of all sin.
 
“That being said,” I added, “I would submit that some of the officials you are seeing that have helped you formulate this opinion could have one thing in common.  I would bet that you see a lot of officials who are not properly trained or do not have enough experience, most notably due to the shortage of officials we have.  They are simply given a uniform and thrown on the field so that a warm body can officiate and a game doesn’t have to be canceled.  Perhaps your perception is that these officials are clueless because you expect them to be perfect.  Yet, the fact of the matter is that if you don’t have that person there, you don’t have an official, and you don’t have a game.”
 
She remained silent as she considered my point.
 
“Consider this, too,” I said.  “Out of all the assignments on a given day that must be filled with as many officials as possible, the assignor usually has a good idea of which official should be put on which game based on degree of difficulty, importance, personalities, location, travel, etc.  Again, it’s not absolute…there are plenty of imperfect solutions and situations that arise in this jungle.  I certainly understand that, as you stand on the sidelines watching one of your sons play, you might view your son’s game as incredibly important, but in the context of all the games that day that require coverage, is it not possible that your son’s game might be lower on the totem pole?”
 
She looked like she wanted to finally say something to me.
 
“I’m not saying you haven’t seen some bad officials,” I concluded.  “That would be like saying you’ve never seen a bad doctor, or you’ve never been to a bad restaurant.  But take yourself out of the role of mother for a moment and put yourself in the role of the official or the assignor.  I bet you’d start to see a different perspective that can make you a better parent and a better fan.”
 
The woman finally made a movement as she gulped down the remainder of her beer.
 
“Can I get you another drink?”  I offered.

Every season, the New York Yankees celebrate HOPE Week.  HOPE, which stands for Helping Others Persevere and Excel, was the brainchild of media relations director Jason Zillo; since its inception in 2009, the Yankees have honored plenty of people and organizations for their work while also donating money to various causes.  Players and coaches alike flock to the opportunity to participate in these events so much that other teams have asked the Yankees if they can hold their own HOPE Week.
 
I’ve always wondered if the Yankees would consider OSIP as a charitable organization that could be worthy of recognition in this program.  However, I’m at peace with the fact that our mission of good sportsmanship is probably not one that any professional sports team would honor because of how easy it might be to fall short of the standards and expectations set.  In other words, the Yankees might support our cause one day, but the next day might find a player ejected over an argument that is the complete antithesis of their recent pledge.  On the surface and without a deep dive into the intricacies of the potential relationship, it could be a public relations nightmare.
 
During HOPE Week in 2025, the Yankees had a day game on Thursday against the Angels.  I began to daydream about the possibility that the Yankees might hop on a bus after the game and travel from the Bronx to central New Jersey to come hang out at one of OSIP’s trivia nights.  In doing so, I began to ask myself one question:  what would I say to the Yankees if they actually came?
 
Well, beyond the wide-eyed awe of being in the presence of these athletes, and aside from the immense gratitude and desire to talk about hitting mechanics with someone like Aaron Judge, I allowed myself to follow through with this dream.  I wagered that the exercise would be therapeutic, like an opportunity to codify random thoughts that swirl in one’s head at the strangest times.  And I’m glad I did:  through this exercise, I was able to simply explain how to compete with good sportsmanship.
 
I imagine I would say the following:
 
-Part of good sportsmanship is always remembering how lucky you are to put on the uniform.  Every professional athlete has been given an opportunity that millions of people would kill to have.  Never forget that there is someone out there who wishes to be where you are now.
 
-Remember how to properly balance the elements of athletic competition with entertainment.  Also remember how to properly balance the elements of dedication, drive, and desire with fun.  Keep a smile on your face.  There is no bad break or tough call that cannot be overcome with a short memory and a jump right back into the game.
 
-There are always young and impressionable minds watching you, either in the stands or on television.  Lead by example.  Even if you disagree with something, there are appropriate ways to handle those disagreements in public so as not to set a bad precedent.
 
-When you act inappropriately, you are essentially telling anyone watching that it’s permissible to act that way.  There are kids and parents alike who think they can treat umpires like garbage because they see you do it.  There are teams who think that plunking hitters and causing benches to empty is just “part of the game.”  Do you have the courage to stand up to that and believe that it’s not?
 
-Play hard.  Leave it all out on the field.  Don’t settle for participation trophies.  But none of this should come at the expense of respect, especially of your opponents or officials.
 
-Every human on that field shares one common bond:  you are all in the same game of life together.
 
I have no idea if the Yankees (or if any professional sports team) would actually adopt my words.  They could easily fall on deaf ears.  But that doesn’t eliminate the need to say them.  OSIP will persevere and excel the more these words are spoken.

Recently, I was having a conversation with an umpire colleague on the subject of “chirping,” defined as the snarky complaints that come from players, coaches, parents, and fans when they don’t agree with a call made by an umpire.  For example, if an umpire calls a pitch a strike that might be borderline outside, the batter may react by looking back at the umpire and saying something akin to, “Come on, that’s off the plate.”
 
The body language and reaction from the player might cue the coach to mimic him.  “Let’s go, Blue!  Tighten that zone up!”  Additional boos and similar comments may then follow from the crowd.  It’s a silly game of mimicry that attempts to send a message of displeasure while also bonding a team and its fanbase.
 
My colleague was making the point that he expects chirping, not just on close calls like the scenario mentioned, but also when he knows he makes a bad call.  This left me puzzled.  “You expect to be berated when you know you make a bad call?”
 
He answered in the affirmative.  This led me into a wild thought process.
 
(As a side note, I should note that I make a conscious choice to try to keep topics such as religion and politics away from the arena of our organization’s mission unless it’s necessary.  In this instance, I determined that there could be validity in making a connection that warrants this introduction.)
 
When I was in seminary, there was a discussion held at one point about topics surrounding atonement theology and the concepts of sin, repentance, guilt, and shame.  Essentially, the question being posed asked why it was accepted and expected that people were supposed to dwell on their mistakes and sinful nature, begging for absolution from the repetitive nature and infinite cycle of sin.  By contrast, we asked why people would not instead try to focus on love and the corresponding happiness and joy.  Granted, this was never an endorsement to abandon introspection and responsibility for mistakes and errors; rather, it was a shift in focus and mindset.  The entire experience was a very enlightening conversation that sparked something of a revolution in my thinking of religion and spirituality, mainly because I was taught that the doctrine of sin was paramount to our understanding of humanity.  After a prolonged dialogue over time within our liturgical team, we all began to naturally seek to uplift ourselves and each other (not to mention our congregation) instead of reminding everyone of their fallen nature.  We found ourselves believing that the joy and love we could emanate might be the panacea for this perpetual depression; tangible instances of what was defined as sin could be reduced thanks to happiness.
 
Could that same revolution happen in our thinking regarding chirping?
 
When I give clinics on sportsmanship to players, coaches, parents, and fans, one of the questions I ask is, “When an umpire makes an incorrect call, who is the first person to know it was an incorrect call?”  A period of silence usually follows until I reveal the answer:
 
The umpire who made the incorrect call!
 
Every umpire worth his/her salt knows in this situation that the call he/she made is not correct.  Inside the mind of that umpire, a showdown is already beginning where the umpire is berating himself/herself for not making the correct call.  When the expectation is that each umpire begins perfectly and then improves, there will always be a natural internal dialogue where the umpire is already upset when he/she cannot live up to the perfect standard.
 
Thus, what is the point of the chirping that comes from the others who disagree with the call?  Is it a human outlet of stress and frustration?  Is it the demand for restitution when one feels wronged?  Or could it be an attempt to reinforce the penalty that an umpire must receive for not being perfect, like receiving penance for sin?  Whatever the reason, one thing is for sure:  it doesn’t help the umpire.
 
Personally, when I know that I had to make a difficult call, or when I realize I made an incorrect call, the last thing I want to hear is anything coming from the dugout or the stands regarding the opinion of others.  It’s certainly not going to change the call (unless it was a misapplication of the rules that can easily be fixed).  Any judgement on ball vs. strike, fair vs. foul, and safe vs. out that I make simply cannot be changed unless something absurd happens (like if I accidentally get blocked out from properly seeing a tag call and another umpire on the field saw something such as the fielder dropping the ball while making the tag).
 
In fact, I remind those in my clinics of something very important:  chirping over a call can make things worse because the umpire may divert attention from the next call due to the obsession and overthinking of the previous call.  It creates a snowball effect that perpetuates missed calls.
 
Granted, the solution may not be to always be positive.  It doesn’t seem fitting that a coach who just suffered an incorrect call would have the ability to shout, “That’s okay, Blue!  We understand, and we’ll support you and help you.  Let’s be positive and try to focus on the next call!”  However, maybe the compromise is just silence.  Maybe the solution is for those who were wronged to bite their tongue and trust that the umpire is going to try to get better.
 
In short, maybe the thinking of humans needs a little revolution.  Maybe a deviation from putting people down and harping on displeasure can be replaced with something positive, or at least neutral.

During the 2025 baseball scrimmage season, I began a new task for my chapter of evaluating my umpire colleagues from the stands.  My job consisted of going to games, sitting in the bleachers, observing the umpires, taking notes, and then submitting reports.  It’s not that bad of a gig to make a little money to watch baseball!
 
On the first day of this new gig, I was sitting in the stands at a local varsity game watching a scrimmage between two parochial schools.  After about fifteen minutes, a father sitting near me (who had been conversing with some other parents near him) turned to me to ask if I was scouting one of the teams.
 
“I’m scouting umpires,” I replied with a smile.
 
“I thought you looked familiar,” he said.  “You’re an umpire, too, right?”
 
“Yes,” I said.
 
“You know where I remember you from?” he asked as I cringed at his poor grammar.
 
“Perhaps an optometrist’s office?” I joked.
 
“Two years ago,” he replied.  “Remember that call you blew against us?”
 
The smile that was on my face from just a simple exchange and my silly joke was gone.
 
I remembered the game in question well.  However, I was not about to go down that road.  I was technically “on the clock” and had a responsibility to represent my organization in public while I did my job.
 
About fifteen minutes later, I had thankfully seen enough of the varsity game and wanted to go watch the junior varsity game.  I wished the fans well and went on my way.  My walk to the other field, though, was not without deep thought.
 
Why would the parent of a teenager still remember one specific play and one specific call in one specific game from two seasons prior?  I’m sure it’s possible the gentleman could have simply had a memory like an encyclopedia and the social skills of a toddler, which explains why he thought it was a good idea to mention it to me in public.  The more likely reason, however, is that this parent was exhibiting something that points to why our mission at OSIP is terribly important.
 
Parents and fans can frequently live so vicariously through their children and their favorite sports teams.  They project themselves onto another person or another entity so strongly that they physically become part of them.  Much like how a fan of a professional sports team might get personally insulted by a call made by an official during a game, a parent can get personally insulted if the same thing occurs in a situation involving their child.
 
In both scenarios, however, the parents and fans neglect one thing:  the sun will still rise tomorrow.  The call made against your kid or your team is not the end of the world.  No official wakes up in the morning with the desire to make a bad call that upsets parents or fans.  There are an infinite number of other things in life that are more important than that one moment in time and that one experience.
 
Why, then, did this parent feel so strongly about this that he had to mention it to me that day?  The possibilities are endless.  Perhaps the pain of that moment was viciously imprinted on his soul.  Perhaps he sought that one opportunity to claim a pound of flesh for something he considered to be an injustice.  Or perhaps the father wanted to demonstrate his status as a wealthy person (since he was probably paying a large sum of money to send his kid to a parochial school) that he felt it was important to let me know that I was a peon compared to him.
 
Regardless of the true reason, the moral of the story remains the same:  sometimes, maybe we should move beyond these moments and see the forest for the trees.

Beginning with the 2024-2025 scholastic athletic year, the New Jersey State Interscholastic Athletic Association (NJSIAA), in conjunction with the state’s Department of Education who oversees them, will require all sports officials working high school sporting events to complete a one-time implicit bias course to be eligible to officiate.
 
The requirement is the result of a memorandum of understanding following an incident in late 2018 when Andrew Johnson, a teenage wrestler from New Jersey, was informed during a high school state tournament by referee Alan Maloney that he would be ineligible to wrestle with his dreadlocks intact.  The incident and resulting fallout have gained significant momentum in the public eye for various reasons.
 
For the unattuned, implicit bias (in layman’s terms reflective of this discussion) is the assumption that humans can have subconscious prejudices against certain groups of people which may dictate their actions.  The training in question is supposed to serve the purpose of educating people about this fact, which would cause said prejudices to surface from the subconscious and allow evolved thought to attempt to prevent stereotypical bias from occurring in the future.
 
It is important to note that the purpose of this post is not to argue in favor of or against the validity of the science supporting implicit bias.  Further, the purpose of this post is not to offer commentary on the Johnson-Maloney incident pertaining directly to the motives of the involved parties and the resulting fallout.
 
Rather, the purpose of this post is to examine two explicit arguments that pertain to the incident that are not being addressed because the loudest voices in society have not reported on them.
 
First, the interpretation and the application of rules of NFHS (National Federation of State High School Associations) wrestling as they applied during the season in question were never dissected by the public in a manner that allows any exposition to show up on the first few pages of an Internet search.  High school wrestling rules explain what is legally allowed on the head of a wrestler in terms of hair; at the time, the interpretation of this rule noted that hair should not come down to the length of a normal collared shirt, nor should it have any adornments that could be hard or sharp.  A wrestler could wear an approved hair cover or net that was attached to the wrestler’s headgear if the hair was too long.  (These rules have since been updated as the landscape of wrestling evolved.)
 
Many high school sports have (or had) similar rules due to safety, an equal playing field, and the desire to avoid any potentially litigious situations.  For example, NFHS baseball and softball had jewelry rules that prohibited players from wearing any jewelry unless it was a medical or religious adornment (and those adornments must be taped down to the body and cannot otherwise be a safety issue).  These rules were in stark contrast to the rules that governed Major League Baseball, where any jewelry was permitted unless it was found to be a distraction (such as a diamond earring in the ear of a pitcher that would glisten in the sun as a pitch was being delivered).  As kids are apt to emulate their idols, student-athletes would wear jewelry on the diamond (no pun intended) that ranged from plastic wristbands to the most expensive gold chains, and umpires were informed they had to be the “bad cop” in these situations.  (These rules have since been rescinded and only pertain to whether the jewelry poses a safety risk or contain messages directed negatively towards others.)
 
Regardless of the sport, NFHS rules interpretations (and those further adopted by each state association) would instruct sports officials to enforce these rules.  Officials would simply do their job by adhering to the rules prescribed for their sport(s), but the other parties involved (players, coaches, parents, fans, media) would use this as ammunition to criticize the officials.  The governing bodies rightly assumed that they were protecting players from dangerous situations while also protecting themselves from the throngs of people with itchy trigger fingers waiting to slap a lawsuit on anything that moves the wrong way.  However, they did not foresee these results where an overly sensitive society would react with aggression and vitriol instead of a reasonable request to revisit the subject.
 
One of the biggest evolutions of these interpretations stemmed from the procedure that officials were instructed to use when these situations arose.  When an athlete wore something that would classify as a violation of these rules, the common refrain coming from the official would be, “I’m not saying you have to take it out/off, but you can’t play with it in/on.”  This was a legally approved way to place the responsibility of making the decision on someone other than the official, protecting officials from cases of bias like the one in question.
 
Officials have been conditioned to apply these blanket statements for years.  Prior to most high school athletic contests, officials are required to ask coaches if all participants are “legally and properly equipped and will remain so throughout the duration of the contest.”  This covers items ranging from bats and sticks to protective cups, and it legally releases the officials from liability because the coaches have certified that the players will play by the rules.  Specific to the state of New Jersey (although it is mirrored in many other states), officials must also read a sportsmanship statement to the teams that states “there will be no tolerance” for any unsporting acts related to “race, gender, ethnicity, disability, sexual orientation, or religion.”
 
However, consider the method in which interpretations and protocols are relayed to the officials who are to enforce them.  If we use Major League Baseball as an example, MLB will directly teach changes and updates to the 76 full-time umpires without any middleman.  These umpires (whose livelihood and employment revolve around officiating) have bountiful resources to constantly study and as well as failsafe methods to get the call right (such as being able to call the replay review center for a check of the rules in unique situations).  A lack of execution to follow these rules may result in disciplinary actions or umpires not receiving playoff assignments.  By contrast, if the NFHS has changes and updates, they must teach it to the states; the states then teach it to the chapters; and the chapters teach it to the officials.  (States may also have the option to adopt rules specific to their state, which means that officials must learn both national rules and state rules.)  A lack of execution to follow these rules for high school umpires (who do not umpire full-time) holds nowhere near the consequences that professionals hold.  If it sounds like a giant game of “telephone” where something could go wrong, that’s because it is.
 
A common rebuttal to the realization that these “middlemen” could create the problem is to eliminate them and require the officials to report directly to the state (or other governing body).  The problem is that these officials are not invested in their jobs to the same extent as full-time officials who make their living officiating.  The average local high school umpire who is lucky to make $100 per game is more likely to leave the chapter (and the craft of officiating) and find something else to do than to adhere to the changes.  Eliminating the unnecessary vessels of information and overhauling the system doesn’t present an advantageous cost/benefit ratio yet when the world is already lacking sports officials in all capacities.
 
This predicament begs the question of determining which is more important:  having able bodied humans present to officiate sports (because without officials, it’s just an exhibition or scrimmage) or doing whatever it takes to prevent any potential litigation that stems from a misstep, intended or not?  In other words, in the worst-case scenario, would you rather have an official who doesn’t meet expected standards, or would you rather have no official at all?
 
Circling back to the Johnson-Maloney incident, and considering the above thoughts, it is entirely possible (due to the lack of public information) that Maloney’s response to Johnson’s hair was akin to, “I’m not saying you have to cut your hair, but you can’t wrestle with it as is if you don’t have a legal covering.”  When asked what would happen if Johnson didn’t wrestle, perhaps Maloney cited the rule that the match would be a forfeit, and perhaps he did it in a way that came across as amateur or crass instead of professional or courteous.  It is also entirely possible that Maloney was properly enforcing this interpretation without prejudice, but in doing so, he may have inadvertently highlighted the possibility that every other official assigned to Johnson’s contests throughout the season did not enforce this rule properly for whatever reason.
 
But if that’s the case, then why would all the other officials not enforce this rule on hair length?  Does that mean that the wrestling officials in the state of New Jersey are collectively ignoring a rule?  Did they unionize and band together to protest injustice?  The more likely answer might be one of the following:  that the officials simply didn’t know the interpretation; they were taught incorrectly; or the officials didn’t deem the issue to be as egregious as Maloney did.  In these state tournaments (where the Johnson-Maloney incident occurred), officials from other chapters within the state are frequently used to ensure balance and fairness and eliminate any potential bias.  An official who has never officiated a contest between two schools that season and comes from a different part of the state probably has no bias to see one team defeat another.
 
If it turns out that an entire chapter of officials (a chapter to which Maloney did not belong) were simply unaware of the rule or were incorrectly taught about it, then Maloney was wrongly vilified in a situation where miscommunication is to blame, not bias.  Instead of immediately concluding that Maloney is racist, why wasn’t an investigation launched into why it is so difficult to get rules enforced, regardless of whether they are good or bad?  Or why wasn’t an investigation launched into what other officials had done at Johnson’s prior matches?  Granted, as we may never truly know Maloney’s intentions, we cannot say that these viewpoints are mutually exclusive.  Instead, perhaps we are simply noting that countless possibilities and reasonable doubt exist as to what truly occurred, why it occurred the way it did, and what can be controlled in the future.  If that’s the case, then punishing Maloney and imposing new training on all officials is a gross overreaction and should be replaced with something more appropriate.  (And don’t forget that the most readily available information to the public does not easily provide pertinent information that might be classified as objective; the immediate results of searches for information contain articles and posts, opinionated or not, that either state little or immediately vilify Maloney.)
 
And what of the other people who play the roles in sportsmanship?  If this rule was “on the books” and the interpretation was in fact correct, then why is it that the wrestler, the coach, the parents, the fans, and the media had never heard of this prior?  At the very least, it is the full responsibility of the coach to know this rule and have his wrestler prepare accordingly.  To knowingly ignore this rule is irresponsible, and to not know the rule is ignorant.  When the coach affirms that his wrestlers are legally and properly equipped and will remain so throughout the remainder of the contest, he is stating that the wrestlers will adhere to the rule on hair and releasing the officials from liability.  In fact, many coaches have weaponized the threat of, “No other official has ever enforced that!” to try to gain an advantage, even though officials have enforced rules in question constantly.
 
To mandate implicit bias training because an official applied a rule in a sport when reasonable doubt pertaining to his motive is evident and that ambiguity and/or inconsistency within the confines of the spirit of a rule may exist seems to be a knee-jerk overreaction that forces conformity and “covers the ass” of governing bodies who wish to avoid litigation.  It’s a bandage, not a remedy.
 
The second argument that needs examining is that the demand for officials to take implicit bias training suggests that the NJSIAA (and the powers that oversee them) want to ensure a fair playing field so that no prejudice can affect the outcome of an athletic contest.  (It also doubles down on the fact that they don’t want to be sued.)  However, prioritizing implicit bias in this manner shows that the state does not prioritize a more common bias:  general decency.
 
It is widely (and wrongly) accepted that sports officials are the common enemy among all parties.  The stereotype implies that they are to be equally despised by all competitors, coaches, parents, fans, and media members, regardless of rooting interest or affiliation.  (Just look to social media during televised games to watch the names of the officials start to trend when calls don’t favor one team or appear to be consistently incorrect in the eyes of the unattuned.)  This attitude manifests itself in arguments and other conflicts that create bias, yet has nothing to do with race, gender, ethnicity, disability, sexual orientation, or religion.  In other words, how many times does an official have to be berated by a coach or a fanbase before the official thinks, “I don’t want to do this anymore?”
 
Amateur officials go into contests all the time with implicit biases because of this treatment.  It is a psychological defense mechanism that warns of potential danger.  The little voice in the mind of the official is whispering, “Last time you were here, the coach treated you like garbage.  Be careful.”  But rather than seek to educate players, coaches, parents, fans, and the media on this, the NJSIAA and the State of New Jersey has chosen to prioritize other biases.  It’s like they’re saying the officials don’t matter.
 
Once again, this is learned behavior that emanates from watching idols.  When a Major League Baseball manager gets ejected and gets nose-to-nose with an umpire while seething with heated anger (think the late Earl Weaver of the Baltimore Orioles), it sends a message that this petulant behavior is accepted and expected.  No thought is given as to whether normal mature commoners should act this way; it becomes part of the rote cycle that dictates human behavior.
 
In most cases at the professional level, officials and coaches are taught to put those situations behind them after the game and start anew the next day.  No apologies are warranted, even if the coach, after being ejected, calls the umpire the dirtiest and most insulting names known to man.  The next time they see each other, it’s like it never even happened.
 
Except for one thing:  that’s not normal.
 
What healthy relationship thrives when the parties continue to skirt an issue?  Instead, those relationships deteriorate and can result in situations that were avoidable if vulnerable communication was used.
 
The same applies to the humans who officiate when others treat them so poorly.  It’s no wonder that the number of sports officials in the world is exponentially decreasing:  they’re finally realizing they don’t have to be treated in a particular way and remove themselves from those bad situations and relationships.
 
However, the NJSIAA has determined that keeping lawsuits to a minimum is more important than preserving the number of sports officials actively working.  Mandating implicit bias training has the potential to drive more officials away, especially when the average age of these officials is quite old and correlates to people of a different time and generation who may disagree with the tenets of implicit bias.  That’s not an endorsement of anything:  it’s just reality.
 
There’s an old saying in officiating:  “Do what’s right, not what’s easy.”  Officials are keepers of the flame, charged with the mission of upholding the rules that govern their contests.  They will undoubtedly face conflict when disagreements or unfavorable judgments occur.  They wage moral battles big and small when faced with making the correct call even though it may cause outrage worthy of coverage on the evening news.  They are vilified in the same way that martyrs are:  think of how unpopular Jesus, Ghandi, and Jackie Robinson were when they were on the scene.  But Jesus, Ghandi, and Jackie Robinson are lauded, whereas sports officials are on the receiving end of prejudice.  Maybe the world needs implicit bias training to learn about the proper way to treat officials.

Our connected world makes it a wonderful time to be a sports fan.  Information at our fingertips allows us to follow nearly whichever sport we like from the comfort of wherever we might have an internet connection for our smartphone.  Accordingly, fanbases can be developed anywhere in the world, not just in the communities in which sports teams operate.  Under the circumstances where a team can theoretically be financially sustained by outsiders, what moral duty do franchises owe the surrounding community? 
 
Fans are observing a case study in real time as the Oakland Athletics face backlash with their intent to leave the Bay Area for Las Vegas.  This is not to say that the citizens of Nevada do not deserve the highest level of baseball:  the Vegas fanbase is one of the most passionate as witnessed by teams such as the NHL’s Vegas Golden Knights, the WNBA’s Las Vegas Aces, and the NFL’s Las Vegas Raiders (the latter of which also came from Oakland).  But the A’s seem to be almost treating Bay Area residents with contempt, serving up a horribly noncompetitive squad and dismissing fans’ attempts at “reverse boycotting,” defined as filling stands with fans to make their displeasure with ownership (and their support for the franchise) known. 
 
At the same time, while sports can be accessed worldwide with the help of apps, the live product seems anecdotally more inaccessible to the average fan in the United States.  Tickets to games are outrageously expensive, and price-gouging is running amuck with the food and beverage choices.  Taking the entire family to a game is a once-per-season event at most.  Promotions for inexpensive tickets to weeknight games have been relegated to last-minute ticket resale platforms in recent years. 
 
While recognizing that professional sports are businesses run for profit, is there a point at which this pursuit becomes counterproductive because local fans become alienated?  Does this also cause new fans (like young people or families) to not be created?  If we agree that sports have the power to shape young lives for the better by imparting concepts like sportsmanship and fair play, is it good for professional sports to become ever more inaccessible or for franchises to pull up stakes and move at the expense of long-suffering but loyal fans?  Expecting corporations to cut profit margins voluntarily in the name of accessibility is perhaps naïve at best, but it may behoove them to do more to make their product accessible to the local community of fans from which they draw their goodwill and, ultimately, their value.

It was around 2011 when I was in my third year of managing a summer baseball team for kids aged 15 to 19.  After completing a difficult regular season, we had reached the playoffs and were about to start an early-round single-elimination game that would send the losing team home for the summer.
 
After the exchange of lineup cards with the other manager and the umpires, I noticed something that seemed incorrect.  Some of the names of the players listed on the lineup card for the other team were unfamiliar.  The league had provided teams with finalized rosters, so I decided to crosscheck.  Sure enough, there were names in our opponent’s starting lineup that were not listed on their roster provided by the league.
 
I asked the umpires for a moment to confer with my coaches before starting the game.  We wondered if this oddity was a clerical error by the league or an illegal attempt to use better players to win.  While debating with my coaches, the umpires came over and asked about the concern.  We looped them in and explained the situation.  After a few moments of questioning and debating, I informed the umpires that I felt the correct thing for me to do was to play the game under protest, which invokes a baseball rule that forces league officials to examine the situation and adjudicate if the game was played properly or not.  I justified it by saying that if it was a simple clerical error on the part of the league, then there would be no issue; however, if something nefarious was afoot, I wanted to put a stop to it.
 
The umpires understood and went to discuss the situation by themselves.  While my staff and I remained outside our dugout wondering if this was the correct decision, I verbalized my concern with a feeling of guilt.
 
“You know,” I said, “I really don’t want to come across as someone who wants to win at all costs.  But I’m afraid that’s what they’re trying to do, and I don’t want to put our kids at a disadvantage.”
 
“Don’t worry,” said Dan, the first base coach and bullpen coach.  “It is your fiduciary duty and responsibility to make this determination.  You did the right thing.”
 
Dan was right.  If the other team was truly trying to cheat, I would be doing my own team a disservice if I didn’t defend my players from a blatant violation of the rules.  Further, I could relax knowing I had chosen to address the situation calmly, coolly, and collectively.  I wasn’t throwing a tantrum or embarrassing anyone, nor was I arguing with an umpire over a judgement call that would likely not result in anything positive; I was merely fulfilling my duty to put my kids in the best possible position to win.  If we were going to lose that day, we should lose fairly, not because our opponent had an illegal advantage over us.
 
The umpires came back to our side and agreed that we could play the game under protest.  Their rationale was the same as mine:  if it was a clerical error by the league, then none of this would matter.  However, if the other team was cheating, the league would be required to step in.  I thanked them again while restating that I didn’t want to come across as the bad guy.  They understood and went to the other team to tell them of their decision.
 
It wasn’t a few moments into their discussion with the other team that one of the opposing coaches started yelling at us from across the field.  “You think we’re cheaters?!?  You don’t have the guts to come over here and say that to our face!!!”  Immediately, I felt like I had made a mistake.  I became ridden with guilt and embarrassment because I had caused a conflict primed with bad behavior and poor sportsmanship, and yet, I was the one questioning whether our opponents were cheating.  I wanted to run and hide.
 
My players began to ask why the opposing coach was yelling at us.  I gathered them around into a tightly packed group so they could hear me over the shouts from across the field.  “Guys,” I said quietly, “I need you to listen to me carefully so I can explain what just happened.”  A serious tenor came across the faces of these young men.  “I crosschecked their lineup card with the roster provided by the league, and I saw names in their lineup that were not listed on the roster, so I asked the umpires to play the game under protest in the event that the other team is trying to cheat.”
 
A tense silence grew among the kids.  They were already nervous because of the weight of this game.  Now, I couldn’t tell if it was worse.
 
“I didn’t want to make that decision,” I continued, “But I wanted the playing field to be level.  You have all worked so hard to get to this point.  If you don’t win today, I want it to be because the other team was better, not because they cheated.”
 
Some of the parents of my kids were gathering near the dugout and could hear what I was saying.  I let them stay purely because I didn’t want to have to explain myself a second time.  It was difficult enough to verbalize it once.
 
“You guys have what it takes to go out there and win, regardless of who is on the other side,” I said.  “The most important thing right now is that you have fun, play hard, and leave everything you’ve got out there today.  I’ll be proud of you no matter what happens, and all I ask is that you win and lose with grace, dignity, and respect.”
 
A new determination was beginning to set in among the kids.  Maybe they were motivated by the fact that someone thought we would be easy to fool.  Perhaps they were strengthened by the idea that another team thought the only way they could defeat us was to cheat.  Regardless, they broke from the huddle with a confidence and a unity I hadn’t seen in them that season.  I sat down and didn’t leave the dugout all game, scared that someone from the opposing side would hurl more hurtful comments my way.
 
We demolished the other team that day, advancing to the next round and eventually to our second consecutive championship.  When the teams shook hands after the game, the same coach who had been yelling prior to the game refused to shake my hand; I still felt horrible that I had to do what I did, but I took some solace in the fact that it was time to go congratulate my team.  The protest no longer mattered since we had won, so it was much ado about nothing.
 
The league president called me the next day to inform me that the situation was, in fact, a clerical error on his part:  he had forgotten to publish the last version of their roster when it was submitted a month prior.  On the one hand, I felt better knowing that nothing nefarious was afoot.  However, on the other hand, I felt bad that I had to make a decision that was interpreted as an accusation of cheating.  I didn’t have the courage to reach out to the other coach because I was afraid that he would misinterpret me again, so I asked the league president to please pass along my apologies if he spoke with him.
 
To this day, I continue to feel bad about having to make that decision and upset the other coach.  But the competitive climate is ripe with people who subscribe to a categorical philosophy:  Win-At-All-Costs (or WAAC).  To the WAAC mentality, no competition is too big or too small:  anything that’s not a victory of the highest caliber is a failure, no matter the cost.  Morality is easily sacrificed for success, and yet, the definition of what is moral is easily distorted.
 
But here’s what’s so crazy about this example:  I felt like I was the WAAC coach, a feeling that didn’t sit well with me.  Obviously, I didn’t know at the time that the situation was just a clerical error, but I genuinely wondered if winning at all costs included my responsibility to ensure the game was played correctly and within the rules.  What would I have sacrificed or ignored if I had kept my mouth shut?  Even stranger is the question of wondering how I would have reacted if I was the coach who was being accused of cheating.  I suppose it worked out in the end, but not without consternation.
 
The WAAC mentality has become so problematic in competition that there is no longer a consistency to who blatantly subscribes to it.  Yes, there are people who stick out like a sore thumb as WAAC competitors, and there are situations where it is obvious that something must be done to combat this.  But there are also people who only dip their toes into the water of this pool to test it out and utilize what they can before succumbing to the dark side of this mentality, perhaps armed with the counter mechanism that the best defense against this is a formidable offense.
 
A similar conflict would arise just prior to the following season when some of the parents of kids on my team saw an opportunity to live vicariously through the victories of their children and demanded they start their own team in the league.  When I opposed the plan because of how it wouldn’t be fair to the other kids on the team, the parents formulated a mob mentality that resulted in one mantra being thrown at me:  they accused me of only caring about winning championships (essentially being a WAAC coach), not the experiences of the kids.  In less than twelve months from the first incident with the opposing coach in the playoff game, the parents who had witnessed my plea for fairness had forgotten what had happened and decided instead to feed off their own WAAC mentality, leaving me to feel like the bad guy in both situations.  They had succumbed to Achievement-By-Proxy Syndrome, a corollary to WAAC where parents experience success as their own when it, in fact, belongs to another person (usually a child).
 
The pain felt by this mentality goes beyond whether a trophy gets raised at the end of the day.  It leaves a deeply psychological stain that damages the desires and outlook of the innocent.  Following the season where the select parents broke away from my team, I stepped down as the manager of my own team because I saw the writing on the wall:  the WAAC coaches would fight harder because of their desire to win, and I didn’t have the energy to oppose them.  It was time to move on and take my talents elsewhere.