Thursday, September 27, 2012

Empathy and a penalty flag

Posted by Rob Welch On 9/27/2012 03:12:00 AM
Now that the NFL and its officials have finally inked their deal, I find myself to have mixed feelings for the replacement officials who stepped in and tried to do a very difficult job.

I have, over the past 25 years, been a part-time official in multiple sports.  I have the most experience doing baseball games, ranging from coach pitch games to early high-school age.   I've been doing it a long time, and in all honesty, am pretty good at it.

But I would have absolutely NO business strapping on my gear and getting behind the plate at a Major League ballpark.  None whatsoever.  I just don't have the experience, the raw time under my belt, adjudging pitches at those speeds and with the movement that professional pitchers can apply to the ball.   I could do better out in the field, but even then I know I need more time and experience, and more knowledge on some aspects of the game.  I wouldn't want to be responsible for calling balks on a major league pitcher!


The game is just too fast, and the skills of the players makes the 'margin of judgement' on each and every play much tighter.  An official has to be at the top of their game... this is why umpires spend years in the minor leagues before advancing to The Show.  The players deserve this level of professionalism.  Yes, the fans deserve it as well, but the first responsibility of an official is to the game and the people who play it.

Thus, the replacement refs were in a nigh-impossible situation.  Many of them may be very good officials, but they had never plied their trade at such an advanced level, and it showed.   (Many of these officials "jumped" multiple levels when they took these jobs, because some of the best collegiate officials were unavailable because their conference bosses are NFL referees that were locked out.)

So, that then begs the question:  why did they agree to do it?   And thus we hit the source of my mixed feelings.

This isn't a discourse on the "scabs" vs. "union" worker debate.   That's not my focus today.  I can honestly say, that, if the same choice were to be offered to me, I would have turned them down.  I know I"m not qualified to officiate at that level, and I would do the game an injustice by attempting to do so.   And they had to know it could not possibly last- eventually the NFL would get their Dumb Hat off, reach into the spare change jar and make a deal to get the top-line officiating back.

Maybe they hoped that this would be their big break... that the time spent on this grandest of all American sports stages would highlight their skills, and perhaps open advancement possibilities for them.  Maybe they just wanted the money.  Obviously, I can't speak for their collective or individual thought processes when the NFL came calling.  But one hopes they knew they were wading off into the jungle without a machete.

Every week, I felt a heart-breaking empathy with them as fellow officials.  Officiating is hard enough as it is... it is not something that just anyone can do.   In a profession where one's goal should be to get it right and stay out of the spotlight- these guys were under a nationwide microscope for 2 months.  And they were doing it without the requisite experience and skills needed to do the job.  So I felt for them....

...and every week I wondered... "why did you put yourself in this situation"?

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Why you don't see me jogging on the roadside...

Posted by Rob Welch On 9/12/2012 05:21:00 AM
This delightful passage from "The Dreadful Lemon Sky", a Travis McGee novel by John D. MacDonald, illustrates perfectly why it's probably not a good idea for me to jog on the roadside.....   Thus I will stick to the machines at the gym, for the greater good!

The person speaking is Meyer, the best friend of Travis (who is quite athletic);  Meyer is a hairy economist whose physical gifts are of a more cerebral nature....

[Travis]:  "You ought to run a little," I told him.

[Meyer]:  "Would that I could.  When the beach people see you running, they know at a glance that it is exercise.  There you are, all sinew and brown hide, and you wear that earnest, dumb, strained expression of the old jock keeping in shape.  You have the style.  Knees high, arms swinging just right, head up.  But suppose I came running down this beach?  They would look at me, and then look again.  I look so little like a runner or a jock that the only possible guess as to what would make me run is terror.  So they look way down the beach to see what is chasing me.  They can't see anything, but to be on the safe side, they start walking swiftly in the same direction I'm running.  First just a few, then a dozen, then a score.  All going faster and faster.  Looking back.  Breaking into a run.  And soon you would have two or three thousand people thundering along the beach, eyes popping out of the sockets, cords in their necks standing out.  A huge stampede, stomping everything and everybody in their path into the sand.  You wouldn't want me to cause a catastrophe like that, would you?"

About a year ago, I came to terms with the fact that I probably will never be a "runner".  Oh, running will be part of my attempt to get in  shape, but only one form of exercise, and I have no delusions about becoming a runner of any serious skill or aptitude.  Burst speed and reactionary quickness are pretty good, but if you want to time me at general running, you will need to bring a calendar, not a stopwatch.

No matter how good a shape I obtain... I have always been and will always be the guy they look at and say "You!  You carry the big machine gun.  Let's go"  :D