“Your trivia questions are too hard.”
 
“I don’t agree with that answer.”
 
“I don’t like this prize.”
 
“I think the team over there is cheating.”
 
“What do you mean that you didn’t give us points for that answer?”
 
“I didn’t like your joke.”
 
“Why’d the restaurant change the menu?”
 
Guess how many times I’ve heard these sentences while hosting free trivia nights for OSIP.  (I don’t even have control over the last one!)
 
The overwhelming majority of the time, the regulars who attend OSIP’s free trivia nights are fantastic.  They’ve helped us build a community of people who understand our cause and why we fight for our mission.  I guess I just don’t understand the few times when people say the things they do (like the statements above).
 
Would you believe we’ve had to develop a rules sheet for trivia and distribute it to each team’s table?  Would you believe we’ve had to amend it a few times because the rules have to keep being updated due to new situations we encounter?  Free trivia sponsored by a sportsmanship charity shouldn’t be this difficult!  It’s amazing to me how seriously people take these free trivia nights. 
 
Here's a sample of what has been added to our rules sheet:
 
-Do not use electronic devices such as your phone to research answers.
 
-Don’t shout the answers out.
 
-Do not name your team with an inappropriate name that promotes bad sportsmanship.
 
-Do not approach the host with your phone claiming you have the correct answer.
 
-Be positive and supportive.  Cheer for your team, not against other teams (or boo people).
 
-Be supportive of the venue hosting trivia.  Purchase food and drinks.  Tip the staff 20%.
 
I’d like to believe that some of these items fall under the heading of common sense, but I’m sure not everyone would agree with me on this.

The part that gets me the most frustrated is the part that I will have to frequently quote directly from the rules sheet.  When a team violates one of the rules listed above, I must remind the entire room that every person present is here of their own volition.  Nobody forced them to attend, and it was free to play.  This usually gets people to relax and laugh at themselves, but every now and then, it’s the nail in the coffin to ensure that someone’s not coming back next week or next month.
 
Again, I love hosting trivia.  I love the regulars who come and play.  And I love championing our message through this gentle and simple application of good sportsmanship.  I guess I just wish more people were more cognizant of these things like I am.
 
I don’t understand the teams that don’t order food or drinks when they come to play.  People will nurse a glass of water for the evening, then they’ll depart without leaving gratuity for the server who kept refilling their water.  They treat the waitstaff like servants who are simply supposed to take care of them and shouldn’t expect to be tipped appropriately.
 
I don’t understand the teams that don’t come back because they think the questions are too hard.  They take pride in their ignorance and believe they aren’t having fun if they’re not getting the answers correct.  Rather than consider the option of inviting more friends to join them next time who might know the answers, they immediately succumb to defeat and decide it’s not worth their time to return.
 
I don’t understand the teams that treat the waitstaff like garbage, especially when the restaurant is overwhelmed.  I’ve witnessed some servers resort to tears because of the attitude of customers, and I wish that I never had witnessed the few times that guests were asked not to return to an establishment over that.  It makes me feel bad because it becomes a reflection on OSIP because people can’t separate the establishment hosting trivia from the nonprofit providing it.  (What could even be worse is when people don’t realize they’re treating people like garbage!)
 
I don’t understand the teams that cheat.  I had a team cheat once by sitting in two different locations in a restaurant so they could have one table pretending to not play trivia and look up the answers and then text it to the table that was playing.  Now, I purposefully include questions that are nearly impossible to ensure that people aren’t cheating.
 
And I don’t understand the venues that have discontinued trivia services and blamed us when we have so many success stories.  Some venues fail to advertise, then wonder why people don’t come out to play trivia.  Some venues have poor employee morale or just a terrible product, setting the event up for failure before it even starts.  Some venues are micromanagers, seeking to tweak the trivia product or rejecting it due to the slightest difference of opinion.
 
However, I still love doing it.  And I hope that the trivia regulars who read this understand how passionate I am about our cause, our mission, and our programs.
 
I hope you can make a resolution for 2025 to be a part of the solution as we redouble our efforts to treat others the way we would wish to be treated, especially in the arena of competition.

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.

My daughter started playing volleyball three years ago when she began high school; this year, she was fortunate enough to make the varsity team.  I always enjoy watching her play, and I go to her matches as often as possible.  Varsity tends to be a little more intense, as the stakes are seemingly supposed to be higher.  I find myself cheering for my daughter and her teammates in her varsity matches just as I had done in her first two years, encouraging them in a positive manner to do their best.  However, that changed halfway through her first varsity season.
 
A rival school was hosting my daughter's team for a match on a random weekday afternoon.  I attended the match and cheered for her and her teammates as I usually do.  Being that my daughter is one of the taller girls on the team, she plays on the front line quite a bit, making her responsible for defense near the net.  One of my usual utterances of encouragement for my daughter in this position is to shout, "Block, block, block, block, block!" which is what I did as the opposition prepared to set someone for a kill early in the match.  Such an exclamation would probably be akin to what a coach might shout in the same scenario.  It didn’t appear to be negative, intimidating, or threatening.  There was no reference to race, gender, ethnicity, disability, sexual orientation, or religion in anything muttered.  And my intent was certainly not to purposefully disconcert someone, like what basketball fans sitting behind a basket might do while free throws are being shot by the opposing team.  From what I can recall, I have been doing this for as long as my daughter has been playing volleyball, including during her club (non-scholastic) seasons, without any complaints or protests.  At this day's match, however, a player on the opposing team took great exception to my encouraging utterances to the point of tears.
 
The officials stopped the match, and the opposing coach insisted that my daughter's coach tell me to leave the gym.  My immediate reaction, and that of the parents sitting around me, was to ask, "For what?"  Out of respect for my daughter's coach and to avoid embarrassment of being asked to leave, I agreed not to make any further utterances in support of my daughter or her teammates, although I felt like I was being bullied for something that had been normalized over a two-and-a-half-year period.
 
To add insult to injury, the opposing team sent an administrator to stand near me to make sure I stayed in line for the remainder of the game.  I politely asked the administrator if he was sent to make sure I didn't hurt anyone else's feelings.  He gave no reply, perhaps out of embarrassment that he was forced to guard me.  However, one of the opposing players, overhearing my comment to the administrator, started shouting at me, yelling, "Shut up!  You're, like, fifty!"  (I took this as a compliment since I will turn fifty-five next month, so I'll take a five-year haircut off my age anytime.)
 
I admit that these student-athletes are technically children, which can invoke a new set of standards.  However, the lesson I took away from this experience is that the upcoming generations may not be properly prepared to handle the adversity that they will face in the real world.  I was told that my utterances, which I viewed as encouraging for my daughter, were "distracting" and "annoying," not rude or unsportsmanlike.  If that was truly how members of the other team felt, wouldn’t it be a smarter move for the coaches to quietly and politely conference about the situation and choose words properly?  I still may not have agreed with it, but I’m sure my defenses wouldn’t have gone up the same way if my daughter’s coach had approached me in the spirit of compromise after a civil conversation with the other coach and said, “Tom, for today, would you mind toning it down a bit?  That girl is apparently struggling with some personal stuff, and we’d like to show a little empathy as a team.”
 
If we attempt to remove every possible distraction and annoyance from interscholastic competition, how are these student-athletes being prepared for a future filled with those very things?  Yes, outstanding sportsmanship is paramount, but the pendulum can't swing too far in the other direction, or we risk raising a generation of individuals unprepared for the true obstacles one can (and probably will) face.
 

It is now widely accepted that sports, at least on the professional level (and collegiate level in the United States), is hyper-commercialized and considered to be big business.  Tune into any professional sporting event and you’ll get a glimpse of millionaire athletes who get their checks signed by billionaire owners.  You’ll also see advertisements galore, including the numerous television commercials, the large billboards around the stadiums, and, in some cases, advertisements on players’ uniforms.  As cynical as it might sound, the sports we love have turned into massive profit-making operations.
 
This monetization of sports on a massive level has opened the door for large sums of money to be poured into sportswashing, the term used to describe individuals, corporations, or governments using sports to rehabilitate their public image.  It is one of the most common forms of reputation laundering.  For example, the 1936 Olympic Games, held in Berlin, Germany, is considered an early example of sportswashing.  Among other reasons, the games were used to portray the image of Nazi Germany as a forward-thinking and orderly society.  Similarly, in the modern day, 2022 was branded “The Year of Sportswashing” after the Beijing Olympics, the emergence of the Saudi government-backed LIV Golf Tour, and the FIFA World Cup held in Qatar.
 
Ultimately, sportswashing is a gamble that claims one will overlook human rights abuses and conveniently forget about other larger issues in favor of the glory of sport.  Here’s the thing, though:  it works.
 
For example, soccer (or football, depending on where you live in the world) has become a juicy target for individuals and governments in need of a public relations campaign to clean up their image. The FIFA World Cup, soccer’s showcase event and the most watched sporting event in the world, has been hosted on numerous occasions by countries with repressive governments. These include the 1934 World Cup hosted by Mussolini’s Italy, the 1978 World Cup held in Argentina under a military dictatorship that was responsible for the disappearance of anywhere from 9,000 to 30,000 political opponents, and the 2022 World Cup held in Qatar, which was held in venues built by migrant workers forced to work in inhumane conditions, causing the deaths of an estimated 6,500 of said workers.  The intrinsic glory of a country’s athletic pursuit of excellence and the national pride associated with it can easily outweigh and overshadow other issues that might have more importance than entertainment.
 
State ownership of soccer teams is another sportswashing tool.  Once upon a time, Manchester City were a team that was average at best.  They were dwarfed in every conceivable way by their crosstown rival, Manchester United.  Since being taken over in 2008 by the royal family of the United Arab Emirates, an authoritarian theocracy which operates in a similar manner to Qatar, Man City have won six English Premier League titles and one European Champions’ League title.  The attention paid to what is happening on the pitch dwarfs the attention paid to what issues might be plaguing the people of the UAE.
 
The end goal of sportswashing is to get ordinary people to defend, excuse, or refuse to acknowledge the actions of individuals who crave nothing more than money and power, usually to the detriment of others.  (One might submit that it becomes a corollary of the “fanboy phenomenon” discussed previously in OSIP’s publications.)
           
What can one do to combat sportswashing?  Specific victories have come through the coordinated organization of larger groups of people.  Earlier this year, FIFA dropped Visit Saudi, the Saudi Arabian government’s official tourism board, as an official sponsor of the Women’s World Cup after an outcry from soccer players taking part in the tournament. 
 
However, such a victory may not give off the feeling that the fans have made a dent in this conflict.  The fact of the matter is that we must accept that sportswashing isn’t going away anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean that we need to boycott or refuse to watch our favorite sports.  Simply acknowledging that it exists can be the first step to a better understanding and consciousness as we lobby for a culture with better sportsmanship.  We can appreciate the glory of our favorite sports and root for our favorite teams while also acknowledging the shortcomings of those in power who cause this phenomenon to occur.
 
Further, we can use sporting events to shine a light on issues that some would like to be swept under the rug.  For example, in Germany, fans of the soccer club Bayern Munich have been particularly critical of their club’s relationship with Qatar due to the team’s annual midseason trips since 2011.  Because the fans spoke up, that relationship was not renewed earlier this year.
 
Although money and power will always talk, people can rise above it.  The intangibles of sports such as the pursuit of excellence and the association with winning do not have to direct the narrative away from facts; in fact, both can exist simultaneously.  The power to send a message exists even with the conscious awareness of the truth.

Watch any Major League Baseball game on television and there’s a chance you will hear an announcer use a phrase that is equal parts passive-aggressive, patronizing, and poor sportsmanship.
 
“It didn’t have to be.”
 
The phrase usually refers to an opinion regarding an umpire’s strike zone.  Television graphics have advanced to the point where many broadcasts overlay an opaque box from the centerfield camera that attempts to represent the strike zone, and the broadcasters believe that the graphic is gospel when helping determine whether the calls made by the home plate umpire are correct.  If a pitch lands outside of the box, yet is called a strike by the umpire, broadcasters take the opportunity take a snipe at the umpire for, in their opinion, being incorrect.
 
“The 1-0 pitch is called a strike, but it didn’t have to be.”
 
The use of this phrase furthers the narrative that authority figures do not have to be respected.  It is a snide way to take a cheap shot without repercussions at someone who may not have the same opportunity to respond to the remark.  Broadcasters are placing guised opinions into the dissemination of information, very much like the biased news casts that come from both sides of the political spectrum, which subconsciously sink into the psyche of viewers and are imitated by the public.
 
However, rather than attempt to edify against the use of this phrase with opinions, a better method to explain why this phrase should not be used is to explain why the graphic on the screen used by broadcasters is faulty and should be discontinued.  If the box is removed from the broadcast, perhaps the opportunities to use the phrase will disappear.
 
Let’s begin with the height of the box, which does not change from batter to batter.  The strike zone for each hitter is defined in the rules as the midpoint between the shoulders and the waist down to the hollow of the knee (the adage being “from the letters to the knees”).  As ballplayers are not robots designed with the same specifications, every hitter will naturally have a different strike zone.  For example, the strike zone for Aaron Judge will be much larger than the strike zone for Jose Altuve.  Yet, the box on the screen has not once changed in height to adjust for these differences.
 
Second, the strike zone is meant to be three dimensional.  A pitch needs only to catch any part of this three-dimensional zone to be deemed a strike by the umpire.  The box on the screen is two-dimensional, more like a windowpane with no depth that needs to be touched by the pitch.  Further, much like the lack of adjustments made for height, the position of the box in relation to the depth of the plate is never fully clear.  Sure, we can be told the box is placed at the front of the plate (or at least in the correct spot), but such a representation cannot truly be trusted, similarly to how the height of the box cannot be trusted.
 
Third, the statistical analysis of how human umpires view pitches based on their setup and mechanics behind the catcher has shown an exceptional number of trends that have been accepted via convention due to their consistency.  That’s not to say that convention is a reason to blindly accept something; rather, this convention allows us to positively use analytics to help us better understand what is happening.  Umpires are taught to set up in “the slot,” defined as the space between the batter and the catcher.  Their eyes are then meant to split the inside corner, giving them an exceptional look at the inside pitch, but possibly sacrificing the best look at the outside pitch.  On average, even the most consistent umpires tend to have a 2-inch margin of error on the outside corner that is widely accepted by all personnel.  However, the box on the screen does not incorporate this.  (Interestingly enough, this trend is most common for umpires who are right-eye dominant when right-handed hitters are at bat.  When right-eye dominant umpires set up for a left-handed batter, a small margin of error develops on the inside corner as well!)
 
Fourth, based on the fraction of moments an umpire is given to determine whether a pitch is a ball or a strike, an increased value is placed on the reception of a pitch by the catcher (sometimes colloquially known as “framing”).  If a “borderline” pitch is received by a catcher with significant movement on the catcher’s mitt, a subconscious message is sent to the umpire that the pitch was not a strike and the catcher tried to move it back into the strike zone to make it appear to be one.  In turn, it’s not uncommon to suggest that professional umpires might etch a picture of the strike zone into their vision to combat this, which does not account for all the minor nuances such as the changing height of the batter.  Players like Aaron Judge have suffered because of this:  Judge has had the most strikes below the strike zone called on him due to his immense height and the need for an umpire to visualize the strike zone to combat improper pitch framing.
 
Finally, the system used by Major League Baseball to evaluate umpires on their plate scores is completely different than what is presented on television with these graphics.  MLB adjusts the strike zone from batter to batter in a “postgame processing” protocol, then applies a two-inch margin of error around the entire zone before determining how many of the pitches were called correctly by the home plate umpire.  The graphics used on television in real time take none of this into account, creating a public persona to hate umpires while cultivating a private system that lauds them and proves they are still more accurate than any computer calling balls and strikes.
 
Thus, it appears that broadcasters who claim pitches “didn’t have to be” strikes may react in the moment without the educational knowledge of how the process truly operates.  These broadcasters choose to be “malignant homers” to appeal to their fanbase instead of objectively remaining true to journalistic integrity.  Rather than seek the approval of viewers, perhaps a better strategy might be to emulate the legendary broadcasters whose words painted pictures and truly enhanced a broadcast through genuine excitement, comfort, and familiarity.

"Both teams on the gridiron that night decided to stop playing.  Fans of both teams joined each other in prayer, putting aside rooting interests to comfort one another as they shed tears.  Humanity dug into their pockets and turned a fundraiser Hamlin had established for his charity into a remarkable story of its own:  what was once an attempt to raise a couple hundred dollars [has] approach[ed] $10,000,000 ... 


But why does the world need a situation like this to wake up?  Why does a man need to innocently brush against death for the population to see there is a problem with this entertainment cycle? ...
 
This is not a call for legislation that forces humanity to behave a certain way ... This is a request that individuals think deeply and critically about the decisions made each day in the name of entertainment.  At what point will we reach the determination that football is too violent? ... Will it require someone to perish in battle while millions watch in horror?  If football changes, will a less violent version of the game keep the same entertainment value and hold the attention of its audience?"

Answering these questions (from last month's post) in the wake of Damar Hamlin's injury at the Buffalo Bills-Cincinnati Bengals game would require at least a few changes:


1. Sports leagues need to regard their fans as more than consumers. 

While they hemmed and hawed over whether or not to postpone the game, it appeared the NFL's leadership (not the on-field officials) showed how out of touch they were, as they were forced into the right choice by backlash from their constituents.  Accounts claim they badly underestimated the character not only of the guys on the field, who refused to resume after a near-tragedy, but the fans around the world who were united in grief and support for Damar Hamlin.  And through the lens of a dim view of fans as reckless consumers who would demand another three quarters of football at all costs — rather than people capable of empathy and horror at what they had just witnessed in the middle of a game — the NFL provided one of the reasons that sportsmanship has been a tough sell:  professional sports leagues apparently do not believe the fans are ready for that.


The message has been sent from the big leagues to the little leagues:  the "normal" way of doing things is built on the assumption that empathy is impossible or too much to ask.  Just as politicians can choose to exploit fear and ignorance to gain power instead of appealing to the "better angels of our nature" (as Abraham Lincoln put that), leagues like the NFL have conditioned fans to tolerate a degree of violence, injury to the players, and bad behavior by fans that can seem inevitable.  Cynicism breeds cynicism. 


But in an instant, a public shocked by Hamlin's injury proved that a better way is within reach.

2. Fans need to regard themselves as more than just fans. 

One of the ways these leagues have seduced fans is by conning them into believing that rooting for a team is a noble pursuit or a bond of affection like a family.  But wanting a team to win at best is amoral:  unlike a family where love is shared freely and burdens are carried by everyone, the players usually have no clue who individual fans are, and the fans don't give an iota of effort relative to the players who make the game what it is. 


When these illusions are stripped away, fans can understand why the agreed-upon basic ethics in society should be no different in the realm of sports than anywhere else.  Imagine how outrageous that would be if a stranger confidently punched another stranger for wearing a different style of shirt or using a different brand of phone.  Or imagine how ridiculous that would seem as these strangers yelled at television commercials in a bar in the belief that somehow yelling would win them their preferred shirt or phone. 


Shedding childish beliefs won't destroy the mystique or the entertainment value of sports.


3. Societies need to regard and reward greatness beyond the realm of entertainment. 

If the kindness shown to Damar Hamlin by millions of people demonstrates anything, it's the need to put greater value in the ordinary good deeds of the majority of the public.  Giving "our better angels" a chance to thrive also requires greater respect for other areas of public life.  As strange as that may seem from an organization dedicated to sportsmanship, one of the surest ways to guarantee better sportsmanship is to de-escalate the societal obsession with sports, entertainment, and celebrity.


Aside from the responses of fans, my favorite Tweets in the aftermath of the Hamlin injury were from practicing doctors who have actually saved lives, like Megan Ranney, who's an ER doctor, the incoming dean of the Yale School of Public Health, and a Buffalo native and Bills fan.  For no money, Ranney offered her expertise to calmly suggest what might have happened to Hamlin while she joined everyone else in wishing him well.

And as she sent these Tweets from hundreds of miles away, many anonymous people in Cincinnati averted a tragedy as they administered CPR on the field and cared for Hamlin in the hospital.  Until we reward them with eight-figure contracts and ads for sneakers and cars, another rhetorical question seems appropriate:  why not just start by teaching kids to admire what they did with half the zeal that we train them to admire athletes?

Recently, I was fortunate enough to take a trip to see family in Arizona.  The trip coincided with the championship game for the Arizona Fall League, which was an affordable way to spend a few hours at the ballpark bonding with relatives in Scottsdale.
 
For the uninitiated, the Arizona Fall League (AFL) is a “graduate school” for the best prospects in Major League Baseball.  Held during October and November in the desert climate, six teams are stacked with an equal number of players from five parent clubs each.  For this championship game, the Surprise Saguaros (made up of the Houston Astros, Texas Rangers, Kansas City Royals, Philadelphia Phillies, and Pittsburgh Pirates) hosted the Glendale Desert Dogs (comprised of the Minnesota Twins, Chicago White Sox, Los Angeles Dodgers, Milwaukee Brewers, and Cincinnati Reds) at Scottsdale Stadium, Spring Training home of the San Francisco Giants.  I sat two rows behind home plate, feeling like I was part of the game.
 
The AFL doesn’t just develop players.  It gives MLB a chance to test new rules, such as the pitch timer, restrictions on defensive shifts, and larger bases.  Further, it’s a necessary stop for aspiring umpires as they approach the opportunity to be hired to the fulltime staff.  The umpires working this league usually fall into one of two categories:  they’re either call-up umpires who have cracked the big leagues to fill in for the fulltime staff, or they’re the minor league umpires who would probably be next to replace the call-ups if they get hired.
 
The opportunity to officiate these special games is a reward to umpires who have had great seasons, much like how officials selected to work postseason games for all professional sports are rewarded for the same reason.  It can also be a boost in confidence, demonstrating how the league values particular umpires with these assignments, rather than simply giving the assignments to the best umpires.  For example, when the AFL hosted its annual “Fall Stars Game” one week prior, three out of the four umpires selected to work that game all had worked in MLB earlier that season.  Thus, one might think this championship game would be officiated by umpires with similar experiences.  However, the three base umpires were all unknowns, as opposed to the familiar faces working a week ago.
 
Nate Tomlinson (#114) was assigned to work home plate that evening.  He was deputized during the 2020 shortened season as a triple-digit call-up and has been eligible to work games in the big leagues ever since.  The league thinks highly of him, as he worked the Futures Game in 2017, which is not an assignment taken lightly.  Being selected to work the plate for this championship game was no small feat, even for a guy who had a modicum of experience in the big leagues.
 
Nate had a great game.  It wasn’t until the middle of the game that I began to hear the sarcastic chirps of fans complaining about the strike zone.  “C’mon, Blue!” was the most common interjection.  The game was tied in the later innings when the comments coming from the fans escalated with every close pitch.
 
A coach in the first base dugout said something to Nate about a strike call.  Nate quickly turned to him (without removing his mask).  “I’m not having any of that tonight!” he barked back, putting an end to any dissent.
 
The crowd around me amplified their displeasure with the call (which was correct).  My blood began to boil as I witnessed the ignorance of the fans around me, leading them via peer pressure and convention to verbally berate a man simply doing his job.  The crowd noise died down just as my instincts took over.
 
“Atta boy, Nate,” I said in a normal volume, perhaps just loud enough for those around me to hear.
 
In the matter of a mere moment, I began to question why I had just responded the way I did.  My first thought was one of terror.  I wondered if I had crossed a line by using his first name.  I didn’t want to give the fans more ammunition in the form of his first name, even though it was announced over the public address system and was listed in the game’s box score.  Many officials wish to remain anonymous, citing the fact that the biggest compliment an official can receive is the knowledge that nobody even noticed them.  I thought Nate might turn around and have the stadium staff eject me for calling him by his name.
 
Then I thought of the respect I had just shown him.  Had Nate even heard me, maybe his thought was, “Did someone in the crowd just cheer for me?”  If I had been in his shoes, perhaps it would have been a welcome change from the vitriol that normally comes with the territory.  Ultimately, I responded because I felt like I was being attacked.  I projected myself onto Nate, as we shared a fraternal bond as keepers of the flame in the greatest game ever invented.  Every derogatory comment at Nate was a derogatory comment at me, an innocent fan trying to enjoy his vacation.
 
Another close pitch came in.  Regardless of the call, the fans of the Saguaros thought it was wrong.  I looked into the first base dugout, thinking the same coach was about to chirp again.  Instead, I saw something that was strangely comforting.
 
The coaching staff assembled on the side of the dugout nearest to me turned around and looked at something in the dugout, then turned back with a satisfied look on their collective faces.  Then it happened again, even with the crowd becoming worse.  It took me a few pitches of this same behavior to realize what was happening:  a television monitor on a delay was behind them, and the coaches looked to see if Nate called the questionable pitch properly.  Every time I watched the phenomenon, Nate got every call correct, leaving the coaches silent and content, but not the crowd.
 
A man one section over from me started making comments that increased on the scale of belligerence.  “That’s the fourth strike of that at-bat, Nate!” said the man.  I cocked my head to look at him while keeping Nate in the corner of my eye.  I wanted to slap this stranger for the verbal abuse he was hurling at a man who has dedicated his life to the craft of officiating, sacrificing so much to trudge from city to city, hotel to hotel, just to live the dream that only so few could live.
 
My girlfriend leaned towards me.  “Do you want to go over and say something to him?” she asked.
 
“No,” I said rather loudly, intent on having those around me hear what I was saying.  “I don’t know if he’s drunk or if he has a gun or a weapon.”
 
A man on the other side of me turned to me.  “Excuse me,” he asked, “but what are you talking about?”
 
“That man over there,” I replied while gesturing.  “He’s being completely inappropriate in his comments towards the home plate umpire.”
 
The man became intrigued.  “Do you know him?”
 
“I know some umpires,” I said.  “I’ve been umpiring for fifteen years.  I lead my local chapter of umpires.  And I can say with certainty that behavior such as what that man is exhibiting is why we have a global shortage of sports officials.”
 
The gentleman became interested.  He began to ask me about my background in the game, genuinely trying to learn more.  He was one of the few guys who had heckled Nate earlier; after speaking with me, that behavior ended.
 
As our conversation about umpire abuse continued, an older lady behind me, perhaps in her early 50’s, chimed in.  “That’s part of the game.”
 
At that moment, I refused to turn around and acknowledge such a ridiculous comment.
 
I began to wonder if most people around me felt the same way as her.  If they did, they lacked the courage and fortitude to speak their minds.  Most simply sunk in their chairs, choosing to focus on the game instead of the casual conversation I was having with a stranger.  Maybe I was being judged, maybe not.
 
Although I wasn’t surprised, I was equal parts offended and angered that someone consciously believed that abusing sports officials was a right held by others.  I was two time zones away from home, and I had encountered the behavior and opinions that I have sworn to change in others.  Do I dare turn around and ask this woman, “Would you like it if I came to where you work and verbally abused you for hours on end?”
 
Our society has accepted the convention of poor sportsmanship in the same way many of our ancestors accepted racism as a convention.  It is a learned behavior that is imprinted on our subconscious from our experiences.  If our experiences consist of watching our parents partake in these behaviors, then we begin to mimic them as a way of fitting in with the adult crowd, begging for acceptance into the clique of cool kids.  Whether it’s heckling umpires, booing players, hazing teammates, or any other accepted tradition, it’s time we stand up and speak the truth:
 
It's not part of the game.

There are many different forms of poor sportsmanship.  Most instances are fueled by negativity, an undesirable result, or uncontrolled criticism.  However, there are times when adults believe they are helping, only to truly be hurting the athletes, coaches, and team.

It’s tough for parents to avoid shouting out what they see and feel during a sporting event, but coaching from the sidelines or behind the fence is a form of poor sportsmanship.  This does not include reinforcing what the coaches are preaching, such as a helpful reminder to an athlete ("Keep boxing out!") or words of encouragement (“Shake that one off and get the next one!”).  What we’re addressing are adults who holler directives with no regard for the coaches, the athletes, and the consequences of their actions.

You’re undermining the coaching staff.  Whether you agree with them or not, the coaches are in charge of the team.  They decide who is playing when and where, what game strategy shall be used, and what style of play is best.  Yelling out instructions that conflict with what the staff is coaching is exceptionally damaging.  It puts the athlete in a difficult position – "Who should I listen to?  My coach or my parent?"  It can generate doubt amongst other parents who would otherwise not think to partake in the same behavior.  It can also cause strife between teammates.  If the quality of the coaching staff is in question, address it in a parent meeting or after the season is over.

You’re not allowing the athletes to think for themselves.  Telling an athlete what to do, when to do it, where to stand, and when to move is fastening shackles on their ability to develop instinct and creativity.  Yes, it is painful to watch young athletes make mistakes, but it’s how they learn.  Discuss teaching points with them before the game, after the game, or out in the backyard.  But during the game, it’s their time to play. We’ve had our time.

You’re sending a message that listening to the person in charge is optional.  This is a bad message to send on and off the field.  It basically says, “Respect authority, but only if you agree with them.  If not, don’t listen.”  That will not work out long-term in sports or in life.

Most don’t want to hear what you have to say.  Every parent who watches their sons and daughters compete have thoughts, opinions, and emotions.  It’s completely normal.  The need to verbalize those thoughts, opinions, and emotions becomes the issue.  When a spectator constantly complains, yells, or coaches throughout the contest, it’s downright irritating.  It takes away from spectator enjoyment.

If you’re a parent who has difficulty keeping your thoughts to yourself, remove yourself.  Stand down in the corner or in the outfield to give yourself the freedom to react (within reason).  If that’s too much to ask, you should ask yourself why.

It’s understood that not every coach in charge is the best.  Some have great personalities but lack knowledge.  Others can teach the sport but lack composure.  If you’re a parent that has a lot to offer to young athletes, take the appropriate steps to become a coach yourself.  But until then, enjoy the sporting event as a spectator.

There are moments in nearly every sporting event when a player, coach, or fan encounters a fork in the road.  Do I take the path that allows my emotions to get the best of me and fall victim to a display of poor sportsmanship?  Or do I take the path of discipline and show poise?

There are so many elements surrounding athletic events that we don’t control.  Demonstrating good sportsmanship is a component that lies 100 percent within our control.  When confronted with a situation riddled with turmoil, every coach, player, and parent gets to determine how they will handle their actions.

Let’s take a simple example of when an athlete encounters a fork in the road.  Consider a baseball game where a batter is at the plate with the bases loaded and one out.  It’s late in the game and the batter's team is down by one run.  With a 2-2 count, the batter takes a called strike three.  In that moment, the batter has a decision to make:

1. Walk back to the dugout, put the bat and helmet away, find a seat in the dugout, and look out towards the batter’s box, or,
2. Show bad body language that lets everyone know the batter thinks the umpire is at fault, like yelling something at the ump as the batter returns to the dugout, followed by slamming the bat and helmet in disgust while pacing the dugout and complaining about the call.

Decision 1 is clearly the showcase of good sportsmanship, but it’s also in the best interest of the athlete because it’s smart.  If the batter calmly walks back to the dugout, all eyes in the ballpark will shift to the next hitter.  Decision 2 extends the failed plate appearance, keeping the eyes in the ballpark on that batter.  It’s now not just a strikeout with the bases loaded:  it's also a moment that reflects poorly on the athlete’s character.

Listen, it’s not easy.  Competitive juices are flowing; an opportunity to have a big moment was missed, composed with failure in front of everyone in attendance.  But one must work at it, just like other aspects of the game.  Further, any successful athlete will tell you that the most important play is the next play.  If emotions can't be kept in check, the ability to focus on the next play will suffer.

Teammates will notice.  Opponents will notice.  Coaches will notice.  Game officials will notice.  Recruiters will notice.

Make the decision to become exceptional at sportsmanship.  You’ll not only choose the right path at each fork you encounter, but you’ll begin to take others with you.

Topics like this and more are discussed regularly on How You Play The Game, the official podcast of OSIP.  On January 1, OSIP founder Jack Furlong and chairperson Sean Ryan will produce their 100th episode of the program.  Dale Scott will join them on the podcast, and Furlong will announce the release of his highly anticipated book, On Sportsmanship: A Critical Reader and Handbook.  The mission of the book is to “reveal the steps to ensuring that each person does their best at treating others with respect in sports and competition.”

Tune in to listen to the podcast and also learn more about OSIP at osipfoundation.org.