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Twilight Zone Umpires decide to follow the rules regarding strike zone
We have had this unusual situation for years in which the baseball strike zone has not been real. It has, instead, been a fanciful whimsy. Oh, it was all spelled out in the rule book as carefully and as thoroughly as you would, say, be advised how to draw a map of Maryland. But umpires started monkeying around with absolutes. So sometimes the strike zone has resembled Maryland as Nova Scotia. Or sometimes Maryland as Uruguay -- all depending on an umpire's mood on a given day. The strike zone has became an athletic version of modern art, of free-form poetry, of situational ethics. Indeed, the upper part of the strike zone long ago simply disappeared altogether. It was as if the entire fifth act of Hamlet was just eliminated from all productions -- and furthermore, nobody thought it was strange. Also, the width of the strike zone morphed. Some pitchers -- notably, it seems, those playing for the Atlanta Braves -- were permitted to throw the ball to first base, and that was deemed within the strike zone. Umpires vamped, ad-libbed, mixed-and-matched, and generally turned the strike zone into a warm and elusive, metaphysical thing. And, incredibly, even though we could all see this quite clearly on slo-mo instant replay, everybody just sort of accepted this. "Oh, whither the strike zone?" occasionally a disgruntled player would cry out. Or pitchers would sometimes say they were "searching" for the strike zone, rather as Peter Pan did when he lost his shadow. But even the angriest of men, those who would spit tobacco juice and assault water coolers should a fair ball be deemed foul, would become very gentle and not at all judgmental when it came to the strike zone. It did not matter, you see, if the strike zone had any relationship to that rectangular domain described with such specificity in the sainted rule book. No, all that mattered was that the avatar behind the plate was "consistent." It was as if some football referees had chosen to play with eight-yard first-down markers, and others required you to go 15, only you wouldn't have known until after the game began. Never mind. As long as the arbiter was "consistent," baseball was happy. When we think about it now, it was all quite mad. Well, this year, baseball has suddenly decided that it is going to try something unique and play by the rules. This spring umpires in the Grapefruit League and in the Cactus League have met with the ballplayers regularly, rather like the lions lying down with the lambs. Listen now, guys: henceforth, a ball will be a ball and a strike will be a strike. But, oh my, suppose this subversivness moves outside of baseball and actually obeying the law spreads into the rest of the world. You will have to obey the speed limit. If it says 55, it doesn't mean it's OK to drive 70 as long as you do it consistently. There will be no more money-back guarantees, no more college ringers called "student athletes," no more mulligans in golf. And everyone really will have to turn their cell phones off in public places when they are told to. Because it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball game. Really now. Really. These commentaries, which appear each Wednesday on National Public Radio's Morning Edition, are posted weekly by CNNSI.com. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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