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Upon Further Review Yer Not Out!

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By STEVE OTTO

The Tampa Tribune

Published: May 28, 2008

The trouble with Americans is they don't know when to leave well enough alone.

Remember the telephone and how simple it was? All you had to do was pick it up, dial the number and the person you wanted was on the other end. Now phones don't even ring. They make strange noises and go off in churches, in the middle of PTA meetings and just as you are about to make a move with your sweet patootie.

My sons don't even use them to make calls. They send pictures or text messages but seem to have an aversion to talking, especially if it involves calling home.

Most of the time, today's phones are lost under sofas or car seats unless you are one of the growing number of Americans who have gone with the android look and walk around with funny things stuck in their ears.

That's what happens when you mess around with something that's perfectly fine.

Tinkering isn't always such a bad thing, but you have to be careful you don't ruin something that was pretty near perfect, which gets us to baseball.

There was a time, almost 50 years ago, when baseball was the perfect game. I'm talking about the game before designated hitters and souped-up everything from baseballs to players.

The Perfect Game
Among the joys of the perfect game are its imperfections. For all its statistics and intricate rules, baseball is a game of guesses and gut feelings. Fans get to play manager, speculating on bunts, hit-and-run plays and whether or not a pitcher has run out of gas.

It is also a game of inches and judgment calls made by the men in blue. Oh yeah, that's the best part, the long throw from third to first and the call by the umpire that brings the manager steamrolling out of the dugout, foaming, spewing and kicking dirt on his way to the waiting ump.

Would baseball have been anywhere near the same without the likes of Leo Durocher or Billy Martin storming the field? Not even close. Those are the times when you get excited, stand up and start hollering for the umpire to toss him out of the game.

But wouldn't you know it, the fiddlers and tinkerers are at work.

Replacing Men With Machines

I mean they've already destroyed football, turning it into little more than challenges and further reviews while everyone sits around watching TV commercials.

Oh, I hear the promises and the disclaimers that they only want a little. But that is garbage.

A story this week in Mother Trib talked about coming possible changes and noted that last fall major league managers voted to study replay use on "boundary calls," careful to note they weren't talking about reviewing things like balls and strikes.

But the story did suggest possible uses of the replay, including whether hit balls were foul or fair, appeals on tagging and, worst of all, close calls on whether a base runner was tagged out or safe.

I don't know if Ralph Waldo Emerson was a baseball fan. Back in 1838 when he said, "America will never be destroyed from the outside," he was likely talking about something else.

He was right. The beginning of the end of America will be instant replay in baseball. I know these people. They might be saying, we'll just use these machines for a few things, but don't believe them. The machines are coming! The machines are coming!

Keyword: Ottographs, to read and comment on Steve Otto's blog.

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