Machines and Sports Don’t Mix

I knew it was going to be a bummer of a weekend when I read where Otis Nixon, the Atlanta Braves’ outfielder, was going to use a computer as a batting aid.

Then I got blindsided by a reader, Ray Banks of Torrance, who is all shook up because I applauded the ditching of instant replay as an officiating aid in football.

“Ohmigod!” he wrote. “Jim Murray has gone back to the 19th Century! He revels in the abolition of instant replay.”

You bet I do.

But Banks is frothing at the mouth.

“Back to touchdowns that aren’t and non-touchdowns that are,” he groans. “Back to sidelines that waver like corkscrews, faceless renegade fumbles, quarterbacks whose arms are too far back or too far forward, wide receivers raped, cornerbacks conned, running backs bushwhacked and the whole sorry mess of officials who win or lose games because six against 22 is ridiculous.

“Goodby 21st Century! Back to wood stoves, outhouses and wash tubs with corrugated washboards.”

What I think Banks underestimates is my hatred for machines. They are the mechanized insects of our age. As soon as they figure out how to procreate, they’ll be taking over.

For instance, it is my thesis that the most terrible invention in the history of mankind was not gunpowder, it was the bulldozer. I mean, look at it: It chops the tops off mountains it took the forces of nature thousands of years to build. The bulldozers bring them down in an afternoon. I expect any day now, a developer will take a squad of them and level the Rocky Mountains to make pads for condos. Just remember the Japanese admiral who took one look at one of them obliterating a jungle in the South Pacific and said: “I wasn’t afraid of your warships, your B-29s, your submarines--but the minute I saw a bulldozer, I knew the war was over.”

The second-worst invention in the history of mankind was the music amplifier. I’m not too crazy about the car phone, either.

But my feelings for them are almost charitable compared to my loathing for the computer. It is the most diabolical invention of the century. It is wiping out thought. It has immobilized initiative. Its function is to remove all the spontaneity out of life. It is a monster.

My views on what they have done to elections are well known. Do you remember a time in this country when an election was a time of great fun, suspense? It had all the thrills of Dempsey-Tunney, Dodgers-Giants.

Now, what do you get? Three minutes after the polls close, some joker in a three-piece suit comes out and tells you: “On the basis of incomplete returns--three votes cast in the village of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, N.H.--CBS is able to tell you George Bush is a winner. He will get precisely 438 electoral votes. And now back to election central.”

That’s what machines do to you. Now, they want to inject them into the world of sport. Why? Do we want perfection?

We don’t get perfection in a game. Guys fumble, get passes intercepted, interfere, miss blocks, miss signals, hold, call the wrong plays.

Ideally, we should suit up two squads of machines that wouldn’t do any of those things. You think football coaches wouldn’t love that? You think they wouldn’t cheerfully line up teams they could put out there to do exactly what they were programmed to without any mistakes?

Think about it. A quarterback who wouldn’t be picked up for substance abuse, a linebacker who was never out of position, a running back who, if he does drop the ball out of his claws, his recorder says in a Darth Vader voice: “The ground caused the fumble. Ball stays in possession of home team.”

No, let’s keep the games human. The only computer we should be able to use is the one between the ears.

Take Otis Nixon. Why should he have an advantage Ted Williams didn’t have? Ty Cobb? Willie Mays?

What’s the computer going to tell him? “The first pitch will be a slider on the outside corner. Let it go. You’ll pop it up. Take the second pitch, which will be a fastball down the middle. You should hit this off the flagpole in right as it will only be 89 m.p.h., but you will swing late.”

Maybe it will note: “Gooden is pitching. Why don’t you take the night off? Fake a sore throat. Data shows you will go 0 for 4 with three strikeouts.”

Or, it might say on another occasion: “Stay in bed. Nolan Ryan will pitch his eighth no-hitter. You will have your career 500th no-hitter.”

Computers are killjoys. Sports are supposed to be spontaneous, a study in human fallibility. That’s their charm. Until or unless the quarterback is a robot, neither should the back judge be. If Ted Williams’ at-bats weren’t computer-aided, why should Otis Nixon’s?

None of this, of course, is going to mollify reader Banks. He wants Big Brother on the field. “What do we do now?” he demands. “Abolish airplanes for buses, buses for trains, trains for horses and buggies? Put an end to computers and bring back overworked clerks?

“How about crank telephones?”

Well, how about them? Do you consider it an improvement to get: “If you are calling from a push-button phone, push 1 for accounting, 2 for administration, 3 for employment, 4 for loan office, 5 for hours of operation, 6 for location of branch nearest you and, if none of these apply, wait on the line for 30 minutes or so and an operator will assist you. In the meantime, enjoy this musical interlude, which will consist of the entire second act of ‘Tristan Und Isolde’ for your listening pleasure.”

At least, with a crank phone, you got the pleasure of talking to a real live human being. Besides, how can Tom Lasorda argue with a microchip?

If you want machine-run games, try Nintendo.