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.

As a college professor, I find myself feverishly grading copious amounts of assignments and tests to meet the ever-looming deadline for final grades when the semester begins to wind down.  Around the same time, however, I reflect on the overall performance of my students and their contributions to the wider field of academia.
 
College is a different beast than high school (or at least it’s supposed to be).  Almost all college students are legal adults and are given sole responsibility for their work.  Qualities such as class participation, attitude, and punctuality fall solely on their shoulders, rather than connecting home to parents or guardians who may assist along the educational path at lower levels.  The communication required between students and professors is valued so differently in higher education that it can literally impact and influence grades.
 
However, it feels like more and more students are failing every semester.  Sure, a substantial part of this comes from changes in culture that make students lazy or entitled.  However, what’s concerning is that these students lack the skills and ability to be an effective member of a class.  In other words, they don’t know how to be a student, a role that requires the ability to listen, take notes, organize, adapt, think critically, and, perhaps most importantly, ask questions.
 
Liken the setting of a college course to any sports team and you’ll begin to see similarities.  It’s no surprise that the players on the team usually want to be part of the team!  They understand what it takes to participate, both as players and as teammates.  Players who don’t want to be there (or who lack the understanding of their role and responsibility) find themselves either not playing, losing, or removed from the team.
 
Good players also ask questions.  They seek to better understand the strategy so they can do their part.  They choose a tone that emits an innocent curiosity and desire to succeed, not to be the center of attention or question the authority of the coach.
 
Sound familiar?
 
Students in a college course need to do the same thing.  They need to want to be part of the class (or at least understand the responsibility of partaking in the class, even if they might disagree with the requirement to take the class).  They also need to hold up their end of the bargain by participating and completing assignments.  Students who don’t do these things end up failing.
 
Good students also ask questions.  They seek to better understand the material.  They have a genuine desire for information, not for being insubordinate or usurping the authority of a professor.
 
Curiosity, when supported by solid communication skills, has the power to foster a strong connection between students and professors, much like it can between players and coaches.  Is it surprising that the students and players who participate in this manner are more likely to succeed?  Is it a coincidence that those who succeed can then help other students or teammates succeed?
 
I like to end every class meeting by asking my students, “What kind of question might someone have regarding what we discussed today?”  At worst, it forces students to review and reflect on the material.  At best, it gives an outgoing student the chance to help someone who might be too timid.
 
In closing, to quote David S. Pumpkins, “Any questions?”

The attention span of sports fans has dwindled over the years, resulting in professional leagues making alterations to their games to force action and keep viewers intrigued through a consistent pace of play.  For example, gridiron football added the play clock; basketball added the shot clock; and tennis added the serve clock.  Baseball made the most recent and most drastic changes, adding a pitch clock that forces both the offense and defense to be ready for play (whereas most other clocks put the onus only on the offense).
 
One sport that doesn’t always come up when discussing pace of play at the professional level is golf.  Sure, there are rules that govern pace of play, but the chances of coming up against one with risk of penalty are slim.  A news story may pop up from time to time about the pace of play during a major tournament, but most professionals are conditioned to work at a pace that never truly results in an issue regarding the pace of a round.
 
However, as golf is an accessible and recreational sport played by so many people of so many ages, the pace of play at the amateur level (such as at your local public course) becomes more of a social issue than one that might result in a stroke penalty.  The traffic jams that result in slow play do more to affect customer service and business than the actual competition within the sport.  The resulting stories of aggravation tend to revolve around the group ahead or behind that skirt etiquette, resulting in golfers feeling things like anxiety, frustration, and/or anger.
 
Some pace of play issues simply cannot be avoided at your local course.  If it’s a beautiful day when most people don’t have to work, the number of golfers who flock to the course can be quite high, resulting in a natural backup that happens like the ones during rush hour on major highways.  However, even when these issues arise, golfers can take precautions to ensure they’re part of the solution, not part of the problem.
 
Most golf courses try to govern the pace of play so that everyone’s game can be more enjoyable.  Groups of golfers are capped at four, and golf carts can be required in high volume situations.  Some courses book better golfers earlier in the day and not-so-good golfers later in the day so that handicaps are more uniform and dictate a more proper pace of play.  Different colored tees and their placement can change the difficulty of each hole, allowing a golfer with a higher handicap to start closer to the green than a more experienced golfer.  Perhaps most importantly, many golfers have adopted the policies of “ready golf,” meaning the etiquette of waiting for golfers who are farther from the hole to go first is waived in the name of speeding up the game; in other words, if you’re ready to go, just go!
 
And yet, some golfers are still oblivious to these guidelines and their slow pace.  Some players believe it is their right to take as much time as needed since they are paying customers, and if that means taking an eternity to line up a putt, then so be it.  Others believe that the golf course is the perfect social opportunity to consume alcohol or smoke marijuana, altering their behavior and state of consciousness while ignoring the consequences this might have on others around them.  This behavior can be reflective of the same obliviousness towards people elsewhere in life, demonstrating a lack of general courtesy for their fellow man.
 
Acting this way, though, isn’t just reserved for the golfers.  Many courses employ rangers whose responsibility is to drive around the course and ensure that golfers are adhering to the rules, especially regarding pace of play.  There are many rangers who do a great job, but there are also plenty of rangers who align more with the oblivious golfers, believing it is their job to treat the course like sacred ground and reprimand every person who so happens to commit even a minor infraction.  Ultimately, both golfers and course employees have the power to do the same thing:  create undue conflict for the public because of a lack of common sense and the inability to choose the proper words to communicate.
 
Regardless of our role on the course, the sportsmanship involved with our words and actions can significantly alter our experience and the experience of others.  Walking the fine line between taking our time and keeping a good pace can take practice, but a simple awareness for others around us might be the catalyst to finding that balance.  Course rangers might see a better pace when they ask for help from golfers to assist with their desire to improve the pace, rather than demanding change to adhere to the rules.
 
Public and amateur golf has the potential to become a powder keg of pretentiousness and arrogance that breeds contempt rather than enjoyment.  The game of golf is already difficult, and yet everyone involved with the game can make it harder than it needs to be due to poor sportsmanship, poor communication, and a lack of awareness for others.  Imagine how much more enjoyable a day on the course could be if everyone embraced the personal responsibility to be conscious and empathetic of the others present.

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.

It was doubly late:  late on a Wednesday night in late August when I went to my favorite watering hole to relax before calling it a night.  The radio that was on throughout the restaurant caused the television sets above the liquor bottles to be muted, leaving me with only the away video feed (no audio) for the game between the visiting Arizona Diamondbacks and the host Los Angeles Dodgers.
 
Diamondbacks first baseman Christian Walker was at bat when home plate umpire Alex Tosi called a strike.  Using the inaccurate graphic box that simulates the strike zone for visual context, the pitch was outside; it was a two-seam fastball that purposefully started outside the zone and sunk back towards the plate, but it was probably two inches away from the outside corner as denoted by vertical line superimposed on the screen.  Tosi’s strike mechanic triggered displeasure from Walker.
 
Shortly thereafter, Walker grounded out.  When the camera panned back to Walker putting his batting helmet away in the dugout, he was still yelling at Tosi for that call.  Walker then slammed his batting gloves against the wall, shook his head again, and planted himself against the dugout railing overlooking the field.  His eyes were fixated solely on Tosi as anger and displeasure emanated from every orifice on his head.  The sweat that glistened on his bald white scalp wanted to turn into steam or smoke simply to escape the awkward tension, like a scared child that didn’t want to be around an inappropriately angry parent.
 
The camera would switch back to its normal angle in centerfield to televise each pitch, but the ten seconds of downtime in between each subsequent pitch would be filled with another shot of Walker.  Without hearing the audio, I began to wonder about the impetus that would require the camera to continue its intent focus on Walker following his routine groundout.  Was a director at the network controlling the broadcast and barking orders to keep focusing on Walker, encouraging the commentators to speak in favor of Walker and against Tosi?  Or were the Arizona broadcasters going on an anti-umpire tirade that led the director to simply follow their voices with the appropriate visual shots?  Regardless of whether control belonged to the director or the broadcasters, the schtick became saturated, causing me to silently beg the broadcast itself to focus on to the next batter and forget about Walker’s plate appearance.
 
The raging testosterone fueling Walker’s reaction became secondary to the fanning of the flames being done by the technicians controlling the video telecast.  Even without audio, I was being told by the moving pictures to focus on Walker’s frustration and empathize with him, which might then manifest into a detesting of Tosi and perhaps all umpires.  I wondered if there was a subconscious protocol being implemented by the director to truly influence the feelings and emotions of the viewers in a way that elevated one party on a pedestal and demoted another for the purpose of gaining ratings and revenue.
 
I considered myself lucky that I had the ability to abduct such information; the average viewer (especially with alcohol introduced into the equation) probably would never reach the same conclusion without being lectured.  But the entire ordeal points to the potential that the media wields to control the narrative of the public.  A simple repeated visual focus on an angry ballplayer yelling at an umpire, even without audio, can influence the way people feel, usually by invoking anger or a general uneasiness that points to conflict rather than resolution.
 
We may not be able to control what is put in front of us as we try to watch a game.  After all, the media truly can control the narrative, regardless of whether the context is sports, politics, business, or anything else.  But we do have the ability to consciously recognize these sleazy tactics.  Perhaps the path to peace requires the vulnerability needed to acknowledge this social engineering, relying instead on our freedom to formulate our own opinions without subscribing to a phony gospel.

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.

In August 2022 at Chase Field, the Arizona Diamondbacks hosted the St. Louis Cardinals.  The only thing hotter than the outside temperature were the tempers of Cardinals rookie manager Oliver Marmol and veteran home plate umpire C.B. Bucknor.
 
Marmol took exception to some of the calls made by Bucknor on balls and strikes, which led to Bucknor ejecting Marmol.  According to reports, the heated argument that resulted included Bucknor commenting on Marmol’s tenure in the league (Marmol being in his first year as a manager).  This led to Marmol’s reciprocal retort that demanded Bucknor finally retire from umpiring.
 
Fast forward to Spring Training 2023 on the east coast of Florida where Bucknor was stationed and assigned to be the home plate umpire for a game with the Cardinals.  According to reports, Bucknor refused to shake Marmol’s hand during the pregame plate meeting.  This led to postgame comments from Marmol that further questioned his ability to umpire in addition to his class as a man.
 
Major League Baseball investigated the incident and eventually came to believe everything was behind them, clearing the air and putting the entire soap opera to bed.  However, as media members and fans alike began to dissect the timeline of events, the same refrain of hating the umpire rang in the rafters.  The question these people asked was the same:  on behalf of his status representing the sport of baseball, why couldn’t Bucknor just be the “bigger man” and forget it?
 
Can you recall a time when you held a job in an industry such as retail, food service, or hospitality?  If so, can you think of an example during said tenure when a customer was nasty, either for no reason or provoked due to a minor mistake?  Was your window of tolerance ever so small or closed that it led to a confrontation with the customer that became more than it should have ever been?
 
That might be an accurate comparison of what occurred between Marmol and Bucknor that day.
 
Everyone who has or has held a job that involves customers, clients, or other people who are served or serviced by such work usually must encounter people who simply do not understand that the combination of unprovoked poor behavior, finger pointing, and catching people at the wrong time can lead to disastrous results.  Emotions and feelings begin to boil, calling upon defense mechanisms for support.  Words fly from mouths and through the air with the intent to attack, defend, and wage war without the use of rational thought.
 
For example, imagine a restaurant customer sitting at a table.  The customer is not thrilled with the service of the waitstaff and decides to complain in a belligerent and boisterous way to the manager, taking personal jabs at the waitress assigned to the table.  The manager explains to the customer that the restaurant is short staffed that day, as a few workers are sick, and the waitress in question came in on a day off to help.  Further, the waitress has been dealing with a terminally ill parent, causing her performance at work to suffer slightly.
 
The customer refuses to apologize and simply demands better service.
 
If that customer continued to come back to that restaurant while that waitress was working, what would be the probability that the waitress would refuse to serve this customer, let alone even acknowledge the customer, knowing that what was said prior was hurtful and inconsiderate of what was happening in her life at that time?
 
Oliver Marmol may have felt that his actions were justified that day for a myriad of reasons (like the “defense” of his players), but the fact of the matter is that his words clearly struck a chord that caused C.B. Bucknor to be quite offended.  Even if Marmol was provoked by Bucknor, there can be quite a difference in tenor between noting rookie status and the aging process.  Sure, that may not justify Bucknor’s comment, but there is a distinct difference between grotesque phrases that can boil down to not “earning one’s stripes yet” versus being put out to pasture, similar to the difference between verbal taunting and physically assaulting.  Further, being the “bigger man” doesn’t always mean to forget that someone treated you horribly; it can mean maturely standing up for one’s feelings.
 
Perhaps the real sin (or where the line was certainly crossed) was when Marmol decided to question the integrity of someone tasked with upholding the game of baseball.
 
Imagine a teacher disciplines a young student for bad behavior in school.  The student asks, “What did I do?  What could I have possibly done to deserve this?”
 
The teacher responds, “You’re ten years old in your first week of fifth grade and you’re talking back to me.  I’m not having that for this entire school year.”
 
The student responds, “Then you need to retire!  You’re terrible at your job and you’ve been doing it for too long!  If you won’t give me what I want or deserve, then I demand the school gives me a teacher who will!”
 
That is essentially what happened between Marmol and Bucknor.
 
Perhaps a better example would be to translate this to a situation where a police officer has pulled an adult over for a traffic stop.  The cop says to the driver, “I saw you driving dangerously, weaving in and out of traffic in a very unsafe way.”
 
The driver responds, “That’s preposterous.  There’s absolutely no way I could have done that.  You’re not seeing clearly and should have your eyes checked.”
 
Here’s an example of what the cop absolutely will not say:  “You know what?  You’re right.  I’m a terrible cop and need to get glasses.  Excuse me while I go home and rethink my life.”
 
Although positions of authority are held by fallible humans who are no better than any other human, the position of authority must be respected, especially if dealing with a comparatively inconsequential environment such as sports.  Teachers, police officers, and umpires demand respect when they are on duty or at work.  It’s certainly possible that the person holding that authority is not as honorable as we would like, but the uniform still requires the respect it deserves.
 
Therefore, can anyone blame Bucknor for feeling so insulted that he would refuse to shake Marmol’s hand the following year?  Such a personal attack really seemed to get under Bucknor’s skin.  We have no idea if Bucknor was experiencing something that day that might make him more sensitive, but that point is moot when we begin to consider that we should simply be treating others the way we would want to be treated, regardless of circumstances.