One of the very first baseball games I ever umpired was played under protest.
It was the summer of 1967 and at 16, I had completed my three years of highly enjoyable Babe Ruth League play in Dunkirk.
I picked umpiring as an easy source of income and I still got to hang around baseball fields.
I had spent that spring playing first base for the Cardinal Mindszenty High School Monarchs as a light-hitting, good-fielding sophomore.
On the weekends I was a rookie substitute infielder for the Sheridan Pablos of the old Grape Belt League.
DAVE CRISCIONE
But I digress. Let’s go back in time to Veterans Field in Dunkirk behind the Babe Ruth League Field on Lucas Avenue.
Weather had forced the postponement of several Babe Ruth games that season and to remedy the situation, two regular season games were scheduled at the same time.
As a rookie ump, I was given the home plate assignment with the knowledge that if I screwed up, there was a fully certified umpire working on the adjacent field.
Things were going well until a batter swung at a pitch as a runner on first base tried to steal second base.
Catching for the defense this day was all-time Dunkirk great Dave Criscione. When the batter swung he tipped the ball into Dave’s glove.
Dave immediately whipped the ball to second base to easily erase the runner foolishly attempting to steal. The play wasn’t even close, that’s how good Dave’s right arm was.
Only problem was I had called “foul ball,” killing the play and sending the lucky runner back to first base.
I had rarely seen a catcher snag a foul-tipped ball, much less one with the skill to then react in time to gun down a would-be base stealer. Nobody else in town could have made the play.
My ignorance of the foul-tip rule was not lost on the baseball-savvy Criscione, who immediately confronted me about my foul ball call.
I defended my decision, but knowing the future Major League catcher for the Baltimore Orioles as well as I did, I was pretty sure he had a really good case against me.
Play stopped while the defense officially filed a protest. Word was quickly relayed to the umpire in charge on the Babe Ruth League field and he confirmed Dave’s version of the rule.
According to the rule book, the ball remains alive when a foul-tip settles into a catcher’s hand or glove and Dave was well within his rights to gun down the base runner.
All I could do was apologize for my regrettable decision, and promise to be better.
Consequently, the next spring I signed up for a junior umpires rules class. Studied hard. Passed it with flying colors.
Over the next 50-plus years, I didn’t lose a single protest in baseball or softball and, yes, there were a couple.
Embarrassment is a great motivator.
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DO YOU have a favorite, funny, weird, best or worst memory of amateur sports refereeing, playing or spectating? Drop me a line at mandpp@hotmail.com and let’s reminisce.
Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor