Braves Manager Bobby Cox argues with umpire Bill Miller in a game against the Milwaukee Brewers on Sept. 21, 2007.

By Kevin Forest Moreau

Way back in the early 1890s, an umpire named Bob Ferguson summed up his approach to refereeing the game of baseball thusly: “Never change a decision, never stop to talk to a man. Make ’em play ball and keep their mouths shut, and never fear but the people will be on your side and you’ll be called the king of umpires.”

Yeah, Ferguson was a bit on the stubborn side. And he was a former ballplayer and team manager, so you can only imagine how umps felt who hadn’t played the game.

To listen to today’s players, managers and broadcasters, umpires haven’t changed much in the last 11 decades and change. You don’t have to be Bobby Cox, who regularly gets ejected from games for the cardinal sin of marching onto the field to defend his players, or Skip Caray, who sometimes exhibits as much delight in disparaging officials as in announcing a Chipper Jones homer, to believe that umpires are a fallible species capable of a) making mistakes and b) being too prideful to admit those mistakes.

And you don’t have to be a fan of the St. Louis Cardinals—many of whom contend to this day that their team won the 1985 World Series, a blown call by umpire Don Denkinger notwithstanding—to argue that instituting instant replay into Major League Baseball could go a long way toward making sure refs get the facts straight in key situations.

But for decades, one of baseball’s chief joys has been that it’s nothing whatsoever like its more aggressive and more popular cousin, football. Professional football, as it’s played in the NFL, is like a heavy metal concert: Loud and brutal in short, sharp bursts.

If an NFL game stomps and clangs with the testosterone charge of a Slayer gig, your average baseball game moves to an entirely different set of rhythms. Baseball’s movements are slow, stately and impressively precise. Indeed, one of the main arguments against instant replay is that it will add to the game’s already languid pace, as umpires huddle together and watch the contested play from every conceivable angle. That’s a valid complaint against instant replay in football—those interminable examinations are the 20-minute drum solo of the sport, an invitation to check out.

Paradoxically, the real threat instant replay poses to baseball is that will speed things up—that it will inject a dash of impatience into the circadian rhythms of a game synonymous with lazy summer afternoons. Instant replay whispers “Let’s slow down for a minute and make sure we get this right.” But what it really says is, “We need to get this right, right now.” Football is all about dominating, crushing, winning. Don’t get me wrong: Winning is important in baseball, too. But in football, the plays are a means to an end: dismantling the opponent. Baseball, on the other hand, is an end in itself.

It’s entirely correct that football, which is played primarily in the fall and winter months, is played as if time is running out (which, in fact, it is). Football players should want to get the game over with, to either enjoy the cool fall air or get the heck out of the cold. But baseball is a summer game, and as such should take its own sweet time. If football is all about plowing through the moment, baseball is played—and lived—in the transcendent now. Instant replay would only serve as a reminder that there’s an ultimate goal in mind. But while the destination matters, the journey carries its own pleasures, not to be discounted or hurried. SP

Execution, not technology, wins football games

By Chris Renaldo

You have to love the progressive politics of the National Football league; embracing technology and eschewing the separate but equal discrimination in place since 1994, when the league permitted one offensive player, the quarterback, to wear a helmet with a radio receiver.

That’s right, after 14 years of inequality; NFL owners have decided to allow NFL defenses to join the 21st century by permitting one player on defense to wear a similarly equipped helmet. We all know “defense wins championships,” as the saying goes. I guess the NFL owners know that offense sells tickets. So beginning this fall defensive coordinators and coaches will be able to “reach out and touch” their on the field captains via the magic of wireless technology.

Isn’t it marvelous when an absolutely dumb rule, which is also lopsided, is replaced by a dumb rule that’s fair and equitable?

Radios in helmets? What is this world coming to? I believe such nonsense has NFL icons like Vince Lombardi and George Halas spinning in their respective graves. The idea of Slingin’ Sammy Baugh, Otto Graham or Johnny Unitas receiving a game plan via voicemail is nothing short of blasphemous. Can you imagine Dick Butkus or Ray Nitschke relying on a radio? Call me old-fashioned, but the “voice” in Mike Singletary’s head that made his motor run was not the snap, crackle and pop of Buddy Ryan. What’s next—text messaging?

We’re talking about football, right? It’s a primal game of blocking and tackling; a martial battle between offense and defense. Such highfalutin’ gizmos have no place on the gridiron. This is the performance-enhancing drug mess all over again. Are we to believe that cortisone (speed recovery) and xylocaine injections (pain) are OK, but HGH or testosterone injections are not? Are we to believe that communicating from bench to playing field via radio is OK, but monitoring the communications of one’s opponent is not? It brings a whole new meaning to the term “interception.”

Call me a conspiracy theorist, but my money says if you go to monster.com and search opportunities in the Foxboro, Mass., area, chances are you’ll find a posting for a SIGINT/ELINT specialist (CIA/NSA speak for signal/electronic intelligence—the techies who intercept radio/electronic communications). Send resumes to BB@newenglandpats.com.

Speaking of warrantless wiretaps and the federal government, I’m happy Senator Arlen “Single Bullet Theory” Specter has dropped plans for a “Spygate” dog and pony show on Capitol Hill. Then again, by this time next year, maybe he’ll be looking into the illegal “interception” of bench-to-field communications.

Can’t we just play football? SP