With the best umpires, you never know they are there. Some, however, make their presence known, loud and clear. Whether it is a big time blown call (or two… or more) or a fluctuating strike zone or some other kind of controversy, it is never a good thing to be known as “that” umpire.
And when “that” umpire was assigned to a doubleheader at Hinds in the spring of 2004, we knew there was going to be some drama. There always was.
On this particular day, we were playing host to Holmes Community College. Early in the second game of a doubleheader, there was a slide at second base by a Holmes baserunner that should have been ruled a double play because the runner slid directly into our second baseman and “took him out,” which was a clear violation of the sliding rules. The runner was called out at second and the other runner was called safe at first, although my second baseman was still laying on the ground with the baserunner on top of him.
In a two man crew, the home plate umpire is supposed to help the base umpire by watching the slide and making the ruling of interference on an illegal slide. It should have been called a double play; a no-brainer.
The home plate umpire, walked out in the direction of second base and I just knew he was going to make that call. But when he got about halfway and after the Holmes coach, Kenny Dupont, had a few choice words with him, the umpire turned around and came back to home plate and made no call. I went to the plate and we had a pretty good discussion about the play and I told him not to let the big guy scare him, lost the argument and returned to the dugout.
That’s baseball. I had lost a few arguments before, quite a few, as a matter of fact; no big deal.
Then some of my players and coaches started “giving him the business” (which he loved, by the way), not only for the no-call, but for the “fluctuating strike zone.” The Holmes side jumped in as well. Nothing new here. That’s baseball, too.
After a few minutes of noise, somebody said something “the ump” didn’t like and he called time, turned around and randomly pointed at and threw one of my players out of the game. He didn’t know who said it. He couldn’t have. Everybody was yelling stuff, even the fans, on both sides. I was too. Everybody was practicing their freedom of speech, a first amendment right guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution (and, but the way, telling the truth). 😁
So he just pointed to somebody and said, “Buddy, you’re gone.” The one he randomly chose was my closer. It was only the third inning of the game and he ejected my closer for “not saying anything.” I know it wasn’t him because he was the most soft-spoken and quiet players on the team.
I went back to plate and told him that he just couldn’t randomly throw just anybody out of the game. So I asked him what the player said and he didn’t know or wouldn’t say.
He didn’t know who said what and he didn’t know what “who” said. 😳
There’s something fishy going on here!
So I called the ejected player up to the plate and told to scream stuff at the umpire so he could determine if his was the voice he heard. He smiled and wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. So I gave him some instructions on what to say and how to say it. I told him he could call him “rabbit ears” or just tell him he “sucked” or call him “blind” or tell him to “call a freaking strike.” And I got to look right at the umpire and yell these things at him, but just as an example for my player to do, of course. 😁 I had fun with that. Those barbs were free (and true).
Then I pointed to the dugout at all the other players he could have thrown out, the ones that were most likely and probably did say some of those things. I said as I pointed, “Throw that one out or throw that one out, or throw them both out, I don’t care, but you can’t throw my closer out of the game in the third inning”…. when he hardly ever speaks!
So the ump… I kid you not, reinstated the closer. I repeat, he unejected the player he just ejected, my closer, and then pointed to one of my other recommendations and ejected him. He made a good choice on that one. Guilty on all counts.
When I was walking away from this circus, this travesty of the game, I told him the person who really said it was my pitching coach Andy Lee. I know what he said, but I didn’t tell him what he said and I can’t tell you. But, you can imagine what he said.
Andy was the master antagonist of umpires. I told him he could throw out Andy if he wanted to. In fact, I challenged him to do it. I said, “Put him (the second player he ejected) back in the game and throw Andy out.”
But Andy was his buddy and there was no way he was going to make that deal.
So I turned away and was headed back to the dugout and mumbled, “That’s ridiculous.”
That’s all I said. I said it to myself as I was walking away, because it was ridiculous!
And he said, “Now you gotta go too, Buddy.” And he ejected me… for saying “that’s ridiculous.” He ejected me from the game for telling the truth. It was ridiculous for an umpire to eject a coach for saying “ridiculous.” Not, “blanking” ridiculous! Not, screaming “blanking” ridiculous! Just saying the word “ridiculous.” I got ejected for talking to myself.
I turned around and told him two things: I didn’t do anything to get thrown out of the game and I’m not going anywhere. And I meant it. No more arguing. Let’s move on. Play ball.
I didn’t cuss him out (or any umpire ever, for that matter) and I wasn’t going to be thrown out of the game for the drama I didn’t start and continued to the dugout and sat down on the bench.
I’ve got be honest, over the years I had been ejected many times, mostly for just being loud and not shutting up fast enough, most of them were deserved, but I never got ejected unless I wanted to be ejected. And I never got ejected from a game we had a chance to win. I never really got mad and out of control, just performing a little baseball show business. That, too is baseball. Oh yeah, I wasn’t mad and out of control on this day either.
After a couple of minutes, he walked over to the dugout where I was sitting and said, “You gotta go, Buddy.” He had gotten himself into a jam he couldn’t get out of. I said, “I didn’t do anything to get thrown out of the game and I’m not going anywhere.” I told him to “throw Andy out,” (I gave him a way out of it). He still wouldn’t do it.
We repeated the same thing over and over for a couple of minutes and finally he said, “Buddy, you got one minute to leave the dugout.”
I didn’t budge. I thought he was bluffing. He had to be. And I thought I was safe, because he didn’t have a watch and I was pretty sure he couldn’t tell time if he did have one. 😁 I was going to call his bluff. I did call his bluff.
I knew he wouldn’t do it, but after about 30 seconds I could see the sweat on his brow and the panic in his eye and then I realized he wasn’t bluffing. This “fool” was actually going to do it!
He took the game balls out of his ball bag and I said, “Don’t do it!” and he dropped them on the floor and said, “Ballgame!” and walked out of the dugout along with his wimpy little base umpire friend.
The game was forfeited and the win was awarded to Holmes… giving them a sweep.
I looked out at Kenny who was still standing in the third base coaches box, and gestured with both hands thrown into the air, looking for a little help from my friend. Help never came. Without saying a word, not even a “thank-you,” he leaped into the air like Olympic gymnast, Shawn Johnson, and ran across the field and took his team to the right field corner to celebrate the “sweep.” Get ’em any way you can, I say.
I would have intervened and helped the poor umpire and my coaching buddy out of that mess. I had done it before.
Kenny knew it was all just foolishness and over a decade later he told my son Josh, “Ricky got #$%@&*.” Yes, Ricky did!
When the dust had cleared, I looked around and everybody was gone. My coaches, my players, the Dirtbags, the fans… all gone. My athletic director even left without either defending me or speaking to me, but nothing new there.
The only guy left in the dugout was my lifelong buddy, Richard Kelly. Richard always seemed to be present in all of the disasters of my coaching career.
There was never an investigation from either the Mississippi Collegiate Umpires Association or the Mississippi Association of Community/Junior Colleges (the Executive Director’s son played for Holmes; there would be no fair hearing if there was one). No inquiries. No sanctions. No phone calls. No discussion. No fines. No “nothing.”
It just went away. It was like it never happened.
When I met with Hinds President Dr. Clyde Muse on the following Monday, he said that I had a “good track record and a lot of success at Hinds for a very long time and had never done anything to embarrass the college.”
At least until now. 😁 He didn’t say that, but I know he thought it.
I’m not sure the umpire ever got his check for that doubleheader. I certainly hope not. I think I still have it in a box in my closet. If he did get it, he owes me for four innings; cash to my Venmo card, plus interest, for my pain and suffering. I have never received compensation. I should have called Richard Schwartz and Associates.
The ump joked with his friends that he had gotten me fired as baseball coach and I was now mowing the grass on campus. 🙂
Final thoughts: 1) Umpires should be seen and not heard. 2) Some umpires should neither be seen nor heard. 3) Kenny owes me a big steak for all the whippings he put me through, with and without that forfeit. 4) I really do like “that” umpire. He is a friend. One of the characters of the game. 5) As Kenny said, “Ricky got #$%@&*.”
At least I got a great baseball story out of it.
Rick Clarke's Diary of a Mad Baseball Coach 