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Whistles Aren’t the Problem

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Here’s a book title you won’t be seeing soon: The Joy of Being a Referee.

These are not salad days for those who blow whistles, drop flags or wear chest protectors. Same for those policing other sports, even those sitting in tall chairs and getting suntans at tennis matches.

It isn’t just the Tim Donaghy saga.

Yes, he poisoned the pool and got us all thinking about the fragile line we walk by trusting the people in charge of our games. And yes, what he did, and his subsequent finger-pointing at others in the NBA, has punctured the core of officiating, no matter the sport.

Donaghy’s legacy includes new shorthand for officiating malfeasance. We hear “Game 6, Lakers-Kings,” and we know the subject. We don’t even know if it is true, or Donaghy’s wimpy attempt to look better in the face of his own sins by sniveling about how he wasn’t the only one.

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The problem is, we don’t seem to be willing to wait for proof of guilt or innocence these days. Our world moves too fast. We hear it, text-message our assumptions and move quickly to the next arena of instant gratification.

Which may be more the problem, or reason for the current low-status of officiating, than even the despicable Donaghy.

We want it quick and clear. Decisive and over. Something doesn’t look right? No matter. We have cameras, computers. Take a look. Get it right. Move along.

It is no longer of interest for us to watch John McEnroe approach the chair umpire after a questionable tennis line call and label the poor guy “The pits of the Earth.” That was entertainment. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t great sportsmanship, but it sure was McEnroe. And when it was over, the official always won.

Today, nobody argues with anybody in tennis. A camera with nice graphics shows us exactly where the ball bounced, we nod and the game goes on. Even the player who just lost match point accepts it as gospel. Interestingly, if you watch closely and talk to officials on the lines, you will conclude that even the almighty Hawk-Eye is wrong once in awhile.

We care only that it is neat and clean and fits perfectly into our current video game mind-set. Quick, visual and over.

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The retaining of the “human element” in sports officiating has long ago lost its appeal. The games, especially on the pro level, aren’t so much fun anymore as they are life and death.

If you watched the recent Lakers-Celtics series -- there are rumors that seven people in Greenland were the only ones who didn’t -- then you saw the nightly ecstasy of creating agony for the referees. Sure, they are now all blood brothers of Donaghy, whether they like it or not, but never have so few taken so much abuse from so many. At last count, by gauging their reaction and that of the fans, no player from either team committed a foul. Ever. Not once.

The truth be known, the men who had the most to gain or lose, coaches Phil Jackson and Doc Rivers, kept their poise better than anybody else in the buildings. The players? Never have so many suffered so much injustice at the hands of so few. At one point, there was genuine concern that Sasha Vujacic might blow his hair net.

Interestingly, one of the mandates in the NBA the last few years, to the point where referees were calling trigger-quick technicals in exhibition games, was for players and coaches to stop showing up the officials after calls. No throwing up hands in anguish, no yelling at them, getting in their face, stomping off in disgust.

That disappeared in the playoffs, where every foul call triggered Hamlet. If players could play as well as they can act, the basketball would be unbelievable. If the NBA is looking for a new slogan for next season, how about this: Shut Up and Play.

Still, don’t expect the NBA to go to much instant replay other than what it has now for shots at the buzzer, etc., because, if every foul were scrutinized, each game would last 20 hours.

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But baseball, where some of the games seem to last that long, is apparently leaning toward more Kodak moments, starting Aug. 1. It would be limited at first to checking on home runs -- fair or foul, etc. But once you sign onto a computer, it never quite lets you sign off. Coming soon: John Hirschbeck with a BlackBerry under his chest protector.

Commissioner Bud Selig, from the pre-iPod generation, loved the human element of umpiring, but he’ll be toast now if he stays that course.

For a while, life will go on in the usual ways. Olympic boxing judges will cheat. Figure skating judges will be homers. Hockey linesmen will train for their real job by working off-season as bar bouncers. And our image of NFL officials will be of men with heads under camera hoods.

There is, of course, golf, where players call violations on themselves, but even that is less redeeming than it once was, because cameras are everywhere, making sure.

Eventually, it will come to this.

A father will take a cellphone picture of his Little League son or daughter, being called out at home plate on a close call. He will sue, using his picture as evidence, win $2 million because of pain and suffering and get the 16-year-old umpire fired. His picture will, indeed, show that his child was safe at home.

We will read the story and ponder the phrase “careful what we wish for.”

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Bill Dwyre can be reached at bill.dwyre@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Dwyre, go to latimes.com/dwyre.

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