Much like this play years ago in Brocton, my all-time worst umpire call came at home plate.
Fantasy scenarios for athletes of all ages include making long putts to win golf tournaments, sinking buzzer-beating baskets or delivering game-winning hits, usually home runs, in the bottom of the last inning of the big game.
It’s different for sports officials, who would prefer to be virtually invisible during and especially at the end of games. Being quietly efficient and having no discernible effect on the outcome is paramount.
One exception, at least for me as an umpire, was wistfully looking forward to making a dramatic call at home plate to end a game.
Well, it finally happened to me one afternoon and I blew it. Big time.
It was a high school varsity game and the winner had been established long before the final out.
Bill Hammond
The home team was looking at a lopsided defeat. In the seventh and final inning, they had a runner on third base with two outs when the batter bounced a routine two-hopper to the third baseman.
The normal play for him was a game-ending toss to first base. The runner on third and his potential run were equally meaningless.
Since there were two outs, the runner leisurely took off for home when the fielder pivoted for the anticipated cross-infield throw.
Spotting this, someone clueless on the defense yelled out, “He’s going home!”
This momentarily confused the third baseman and instead of taking the sure final out, he glanced at the runner.
It didn’t help things when he interrupted his throw and dropped the ball.
Now he had only one play. At home plate.
Noticing the fumble, the runner picked up his pace. Sure looked like we were going to have my ultimate play at the plate.
I had practiced my “out” and “safe” calls many times. They were patterned after other umpires I’d seen in the major leagues.
I’d long admired the likes of Doug Harvey, whom the players nicknamed “God” and was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Then there was the comical yet respected Ron Luciano, who would finger-shoot runners out on the bases and authored five books, including the best-selling “The Umpire Strikes Back.
Finally, there was the admirable Lou DiMuro, the Westfield umpire famed for his “shoeshine” call that helped the New York Mets win the 1969 World Series.
But back to the game. The throw home to the catcher was accurate and realizing he could not score, the runner bailed out with a hook slide to minimize contact.
After the catcher tagged him, I began loading up for my unnecessary, over-the-top, highlight reel “out” call.
Pointing first to the ball secured in the catcher’s glove, I then pulled back my dominant right hand and launched it toward home plate. I yelled my signature, “He got ’em” and then tragedy struck.
Actually it was me who struck. It was a punch out. Literally.
The agile base runner, after conceding the out, had thoughtfully reached over to pick up the bat dropped by the batter. He then somehow balanced the end of the bat on the ground like a crutch and propelled himself back toward home plate.
It was impressively athletic. But now it was going to be incredibly dangerous.
He spotted my fist aimed directly at his face, grimaced in terror and turned away in the final split-second before the impending impact.
It was far too late to halt my long-practiced call.
Curiously, the last thing I noticed were his glasses. They were held together in the middle by a wad of white tape. Either they were the spare pair he wore for games or he had broken them earlier that day and it was an unstable repair.
My fist thankfully just skimmed the tip of his helmet’s brim, but chaos reigned anyway. The helmet, his hat, various parts of his now-deconstructed glasses and even the bat went flying in different directions. I still see it in slow motion to this day.
Uninjured and virtually untouched, the runner laughed off my unintended attack and began picking up his scattered belongings.
As I began apologizing profusely, his coach reacted loudly. A longtime friend and softball teammate, he needled me perfectly.
“Geez, Bill, everybody already knew he was out. Did you have to break his glasses, too?”
I decided then and there to tone down my “out” routine. For the rest of my career I used a much more subdued and ultimately much safer call.
A word to the wise is warranted. Be careful what you wish for on the field of dreams. It just might turn into a nightmare.
——
In my Aug. 24 column, I spoke about a basketball coach’s remarks two seconds into the game and his insult toward me. That coach claims he never made that statement, but I remember it differently.
——
Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor