The Bigger They Are, the Harder They Fall

The umpire sees a pitch one way. The pitcher sees a pitch another way.

The pitcher says a bunch of nasty stuff to the umpire.

The umpire says nothing.

The pitcher says to the umpire: “You’re a gutless !%*!$!”

The umpire says nothing.

The pitcher says to the umpire: “Get back behind the plate, you !%*!$&!”

The umpire says nothing. He has been called a dollar sign and an exclamation point before, but nobody has ever called him an ampersand, not in front of this many people.

The pitcher says to the umpire: “You dirty word! You’re nothing but a big fat dirty word!”

The umpire says nothing. He has heard enough. He’d have to plug his ears with chewing tobacco not to hear any of this. Players can hear it. Fans in box seats can hear it. The pitcher is so shrill, dogs down the street can hear it. It is the worst sound coming from a ballpark since Roseanne Barr.

I am an umpire, says the umpire. I don’t have to stand here and take this. I have power. I have authority. Nobody calls me an ampersand and gets away with it.

The pitcher says to the umpire: “You’re blind as a baseball bat, you eggplant, and your mother wears go-go boots.”

The pitcher has gone too far.

I have here a thumb, says the umpire. It’s a nice little thumb. It doesn’t do much, my thumb, except maybe twiddle. But at times my thumb comes in handy. At times like these, I need my thumb. My thumb is my friend.

The umpire thumbs the pitcher out of the game.

The wild pitcher nearly goes to the screen. He is livid. He is vivid. Roger Clemens calls umpire Terry Cooney many colorful things, none of which is “man in blue.” He throws a fit at 95 m.p.h. He bumps a couple of umps. On a tantrum scale, 10 being Billy Martin, we give “Roger and Me” a 9.

The pitcher’s teammates do their part. They throw Gatorade containers onto the field. If they had any, they’d throw gators onto the field. They want the umpire’s hide. How dare he eject our only good pitcher? It’s OK to eject one of our many rotten pitchers, but Roger is our good pitcher. He can’t eject Roger!

I am the featured attraction, says Roger. Nobody came to see the umpire, says Roger. I can behave any immature way I want because these people paid to see me, says Roger. Haven’t you ever been to a tennis match?

Besides, I never said nothing to nobody, says Roger. I am a nice boy, says Roger. I never called anybody an ampersand. I wasn’t even talking to you. I wasn’t even talking to anybody. I wasn’t even talking. I wasn’t even there.

The umpire says: Nobody stands out there and says stuff to me that way. This diamond ain’t a-big enough for the both of us.

The pitcher says: I don’t want to pitch if any umpires are going to be out there. I want to be alone. I am a rock. I am an island.

The umpire says: Rule 1916-BS of my handbook specifically states that: “No baseball player can say anything bad to an umpire’s face, never ever ever, especially a player for the Boston Red Sox, who haven’t won a World Series in so long that they shouldn’t be taken seriously.”

The pitcher says: I think special dispensation should be made for a pitcher pitching in a big playoff game to be able to call an umpire names and to go out into the parking lot and smash the headlights and windshields on his car if we feel like it, because I am the pitcher and therefore I am the game.

The umpire says: Sticks and stones can break my bones, but if he calls me one more name I’ll beat him with a bat until he’s as limp as that rosin bag.

The commissioner says: Whoa, there, boys. The important thing here is that the Red Sox lost anyway, just like we all knew they would anyway, so let’s just let bygones be bygones and go talk things over with all the women in the locker room.

The media say: Hey, we think umpires are basically good people, but this was a playoff game so it’s OK by us if a pitcher treats an umpire like dirt because I didn’t come all this way to watch some nobody named Tom Bolton pitch.

The public says: This was just a typical case of an umpire abusing his authority, because all Terry Cooney had to do was walk out there and warn Roger Clemens that if he didn’t clean up his language in the next 30 seconds he was going to walk back out there and whisk-broom his lips.

The Oakland players say: Roger Clemens got what he deserved.

The Boston players say: Roger Clemens did not deserve what he got.

Little Leaguers say: I want to be just like Roger Clemens when I grow up.

Big Leaguers say: I want to be just like Roger Clemens when he grows up.