Previously I posted an example of a legal block situation where the runner was correctly called out.
In this situation, the block of the plate is LEGAL (the catcher has the ball), the slide is LEGAL (his buttocks and legs are on the ground), and the catcher drops the ball. The runner is correctly called safe.
I'm baffled at how difficult it is for major league managers (and sportswriters) to figure out this rule.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Jackie Robinson Day, 2014
I was asked to write this poem and read it at the Jackie Robinson, Race, Sport and the American Dream
conference, held at LIU Brooklyn in 1997 to commemorate the 50th
anniversary of Jackie Robinson's major league debut. (See my entry, You'll Play Better if You're Clean for more on that.)
It's archived in the library of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum
I publish this somewhere every April 15.
He was a man opening a door that could not be closed,
It's archived in the library of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum
I publish this somewhere every April 15.
A Railroad Stop in
Syracuse
Syracuse –
a stop on the Underground Railroad
for slaves of the mid 1800s South,
escapees from the plantations
that raised a white crop – the cotton they picked,
the symbol of slavery.
They sneaked off,
and on their way north to Canada, and freedom,
they might spend a night hidden in Syracuse.
Jackie Robinson arrived there in 1946
on the train from Montreal where he worked on
Mr. Branch Rickey’s farm,
a farm that also raised a white crop –
white ballplayers –
to send south to Brooklyn.
But Jackie was following the opposite route to escape his slavery,
the slavery of the mid 1900s that kept the black man
off the white man’s land,
off the green grass and rich dirt
of his athletic plantations.
When he left that train from Montreal,
on his ride from slavery,
that white man’s train with its
Syracuse –
a stop on the Underground Railroad
for slaves of the mid 1800s South,
escapees from the plantations
that raised a white crop – the cotton they picked,
the symbol of slavery.
They sneaked off,
and on their way north to Canada, and freedom,
they might spend a night hidden in Syracuse.
Jackie Robinson arrived there in 1946
on the train from Montreal where he worked on
Mr. Branch Rickey’s farm,
a farm that also raised a white crop –
white ballplayers –
to send south to Brooklyn.
But Jackie was following the opposite route to escape his slavery,
the slavery of the mid 1900s that kept the black man
off the white man’s land,
off the green grass and rich dirt
of his athletic plantations.
When he left that train from Montreal,
on his ride from slavery,
that white man’s train with its
black porters
and black conductors
and white engineer,
and stepped into the bright sunlight
and the harsh glare of the public eye
he was no longer just another black man
aspiring to a white man’s job.
and stepped into the bright sunlight
and the harsh glare of the public eye
he was no longer just another black man
aspiring to a white man’s job.
He was a man opening a door that could not be closed,
accompanied by every
man and woman and child
who had ever ridden
that other railroad –
fellow passengers to
freedom.
And he was anything but hidden
that first game in Syracuse,
a lone black man,
standing proudly,
against a white background.
And he was anything but hidden
that first game in Syracuse,
a lone black man,
standing proudly,
against a white background.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
The zen of rule 7.13
“The obstacle is the path.”
― Zen Proverb
― Zen Proverb
“The paths that lead to great treasures aren't void of
great dangers.”
― Constance Chuks Friday
― Constance Chuks Friday
The
Pathway Home
Zen
and OFFICIAL
BASEBALL RULE 7.13
A
runner attempting to score
may
not deviate from his direct pathway to the plate
in
order to initiate contact with the catcher
(or
other player covering home plate).
If,
in the judgment of the Umpire,
a
runner attempting to score
initiates
contact with the catcher
(or
other player covering home plate)
in
such a manner,
the
Umpire shall declare the runner out
(even
if the player covering home plate loses possession of the ball).
In
such circumstances,
the
Umpire shall call the ball dead,
and
all other base runners
shall
return to the last base
touched
at the time of the collision.
The
failure by the runner
to
make an effort to touch the plate,
the
runner's lowering of the shoulder,
or
the runner's pushing through
with
his hands, elbows or arms,
would
support a determination
that
the runner deviated from the pathway
in
order to initiate contact with the catcher in violation of Rule 7.13.
If
the runner slides into the plate in an appropriate manner,
he
shall not be adjudged to have violated Rule 7.13.
A
slide shall be deemed appropriate,
in
the case of a feet first slide,
if
the runner's buttocks and legs
should
hit the ground
before
contact with the catcher.
In
the case of a head first slide,
a
runner shall be deemed to have slid appropriately
if
his body should hit the ground
before
contact with the catcher.
Unless
the catcher is in possession of the ball,
the catcher cannot block the pathway of the
runner
as
he is attempting to score.
If,
in the judgment of the Umpire,
the
catcher without possession of the ball
blocks
the pathway of the runner,
the
Umpire shall call or signal the runner safe.
Notwithstanding
the above,
it
shall not be considered a violation of this Rule 7.13
if
the catcher blocks the pathway of the runner
in
order to field a throw,
and
the Umpire determines
that
the catcher could not have fielded the ball
without
blocking the pathway of the runner
and that contact with the runner was
unavoidable.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Errors – it’s how you handle ‘em
I was recently asked to write a piece on my life lessons from baseball, for THRIVEcny magazine, a classy and inspiring wellness oriented publication. The editor has graciously allowed me to post it here. Be sure to check out THRIVEcny online: http://www.thrivecny.com/
************************************************
Errors – it’s how you handle ‘em
A bit over 60
years ago, I asked my grandmother what the boys I saw in the distance were
doing. “They are playing baseball,” held no meaning for me then, but it is safe
to say that since that explanation, baseball has been a significant influence
in my life.
It would be
inaccurate to say that baseball has defined my life, but it is correct to say
that it has certainly lent definition to it. I have played, coached, umpired,
photographed and written about baseball – thousands of games – from Little
League through collegiate, international and professional levels.
And what has
come of it? What have I learned from this decades-long investment of time and
effort? One of the most important things I have learned is the ability to
understand, accept and deal with failure.
In essence, the degree to which
you succeed directly relates to how you respond to failure.
Baseball can
be a humbling game. In every game the action starts over with every pitch.
There are hundreds of opportunities to succeed or fail, usually interconnected.
If the batter misses a pitch, his failure is the pitcher’s success. If the
batter hits the ball hard, he is successful up until the ball is caught and he
is out. The batter’s success and the pitcher’s failure are typically inversely
related.
The inherent
frequent failure in baseball does not have to affect the overall quality of
performance. In the process of amassing 3316 hits, future Hall-of-Famer Derek
Jeter has also made some 7300 outs. That’s a lot of failure for one of the most
successful players in the history of the game.
Moment by
moment we face the opportunity to succeed or fail.
We make occasional errors, and how we respond is the key to eventually
succeeding.
When I
misplayed a ground ball as a college freshman, it was an error. Throwing my
glove to the ground in anger compounded it. My father explained rather
pointedly that I had allowed an error, a momentary failure, to unbalance me.
The mistake of becoming angry rather than accepting my error and getting back
to work created unnecessary stress -- stress that would likely manifest itself again
the next time a ball was hit to me.
Practice is
the key to minimizing errors in baseball and in our daily lives. The more we
prepare, the less prone to making errors we become, but practice does not, in
fact “make perfect.”
The more I was able
to accept that an occasional error was more occupational hazard than failure,
the more I was able to welcome the chance to succeed rather than be intimidated
by the possibility that I would not.
This
acceptance made me much more self-assured as a player and umpire, and definitely provided
confidence that carried over into my thirty-two year career as a teacher and beyond into all areas of my life.
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