The thing that kills me about these unwritten rules, is the pitcher reaction.

Used to be, the pitcher wouldn't say shit. He'd just smolder, and tattoo either A) the next batter, or B) you on your next at bat, or C) all of the above.

I don't understand yelling about it, as a pitcher, you have the ability to regulate the amount of bullshit you're going to endure. Regulate it. BAM. Oops, that slipped sorry.

I think it is fair to plunk the next batter.  Now teammates will police themselfs because they dont want to get each other hurt.

"I didn't understand it when Braden went after A-Rod either, a shot in the ribs would have worked just as well."

I can understand Braden telling ARod to scram, but he overreacted. Not that ARod doesn't deserve all the shit he gets after trying to distract Toronto's third baseman when the poor guy was trying to catch a popup.
One of the reasons  Jason Varitek is so beloved in Boston is because of that brawl that started when Bronson Arroyo plunked ARod in 2004. ARod, who was hitting poorly at the time, started grousing and Varitek said "Shut up and take your base. We don't throw at .260 hitters."
Speaking of distracting the third baseman, one of the funniest things - well not entirely funny - I've ever seen on a baseball field was in an old fart league game. I wasn't even playing. It was a tournament up in Maine and we had the next game after the game that was in progress. Team A is getting killed by Team B. Team A batting in the top of the ninth with runners on first and second with two outs. The runner on second is Team A's catcher, a good player but he's got his red ass on because his team is about to lose. Batter hits a popup to the third baseman, who looks like Yosemite Sam from the old Loony Tunes cartoons and has the same demeanor. The third baseman camps out, directly in the baseline. So the runner, who is probably nine inches taller and out-weighs the third basemen by at least 75 pounds, doesn't change his route and just plows into the guy - he goes one way, his hat goes the other, the glove goes about 10 feet in the air, and there's a mushroom cloud of dust.
The runner reaches third and stands on top of the bag like he's just legged out a stand-up triple. When the umpire calls him out for interference, he puts up his hands palms-up like "What did I do?" By this time, Yosemite Sam has regained his bearings and charges the runner, and there's a bench-clearing situation. Both teams got kicked out of the tournament, which was good for us, because Yosemite's team was pretty good and we ended up winning the whole thing in pretty much a walkover.

Last edited by artie_fufkin (5/31/2011 1:20 pm)

We had almost the exact opposite situation in one of the last softball leagues I played in.  Our catcher was a guy I used to work with named Ed who is now a cop in Florissant.  Ed was a former Army Ranger who looks like he works out about 10 times per week.  If I had to guess, he's probably 6' and 240 pounds of solid muscle.  Ed also digs himself quite a bit and his appearance and looks are very important to him.

We're playing in a league in which the rules prohibit sliding at home.  If the throw beats you, you simply have to give yourself up.  The other team has a guy on 2nd who is about 5'8 and 150.  Batter hits a single and the runner and ball are headed home.  The throw beats this guy by at least 10 feet, so we all assume he's going to stop and let himself be tagged or maybe try to get in a run-down to allow the batter to reach second.  Instead he decides to lower a shoulder and throw a forearm at impact.  The forearm hits Ed in the nose and bloodies it.  Fortunately, I knew Ed well enough to know exactly what his reaction was going to be and I had raced home and grabbed hold of him.  Once the initial shock of the play wore off, Ed quickly realized that not only did the guy hit him, but also that the guy might have broke his nose.  At that point I got first hand experience as to what a bull rider in the rodeo goes through.  It was everything that I could do (along with subsequent help from the pitcher and third baseman) to hold Ed back long enough to give the runner the 15 seconds he needed to reach his truck, drop it into gear and get the fuck out of dodge.

"the catcher gets the ball and does a running leap into my path. He's 5 feet in front of the plate, and stanced like an NBA player who's trying to draw a charge"

Hey, you block the plate, you get what you get.
I barely remember this one because I was 9, but I've heard my dad tell it so often I felt like it happened yesterday. My team is playing on one of those back fields the town doesn't mow for a week, because really, what difference does it make at that age how high the grass is?
Bases loaded, and there must have been less than two outs, because there's a ground ball on the infield and the throw goes home. The ball dies in the high grass and by the time the throw gets to the plate, the runner is right there and he crashes the catcher. Everyone is safe, and now I'm on third. Next batter hits a ground ball and I break for the plate. The catcher is standing right on top of the plate, so I crash him. Everybody is safe again.
Now Bobby Flagg is on third. Every town has a Bobby Flagg - the kid who in the fourth grade is 5-feet tall and 5-feet wide. The kid who either hits the ball over the fence for a homer or hits one off the fence for a single because he can't run to second.
You know what happens next. Ground ball on the infield, and the grass slows it down just enough for Bobby to think he can score. The ball arrives at the same time as Bobby and there's a seismic collision. The poor catcher goes about five feet in the air and pieces of his equipment are flying everywhere.
Here comes the funny part. The catcher's mom comes out of the stands and starts yelling at our team for trying to hurt her son. I don't what made the kid feel worse - getting creamed three times or having his mommy come out and call everyone on our team "bad boys."
It's a damn shame you can't crash the catcher in Little League anymore.

Last edited by artie_fufkin (5/31/2011 5:10 pm)

"The throw beats this guy by at least 10 feet, so we all assume he's going to stop and let himself be tagged or maybe try to get in a run-down to allow the batter to reach second.  Instead he decides to lower a shoulder and throw a forearm at impact.  The forearm hits Ed in the nose and bloodies it. "

The sports editor at the paper has a phrase of his own invention: "Little League is a breeding ground for assholes." I usually correct him and say "Men's softball is the breeding ground. By the time their kids get to Little League, they're fully-developed."

Last edited by artie_fufkin (5/31/2011 5:28 pm)

forsberg_us wrote:

I have to admit, I had to look up Ernest T. Bass to know who you were talking about.

The Andy Griffith Show?

I seem to recall there was another comedian within the past 2 decades who had a similar character: short, skinny, wormy, rural guy in an upturned baseball hat.  Can't recall who, though.

That's how I am with The Honeymooners.  It's supposed to be a classic, and reruns were occasionally available when I was young, but I never got into them.  I could probably find that I enjoy it, if I invested the time, something I'm probably not gonna do.

forsberg_us wrote:

I have to admit, I had to look up Ernest T. Bass to know who you were talking about.  That's not a bad description, except the guy was a little younger.  One other thing I didn't mention about Ed is that he's African-American which probably made him a little scarier to a spindly white guy.  Picture a young Ernest T Bass running into and throwing a forearm at Apollo Creed and you have a pretty accurate picture.

Funny story.  Ed and I get a call of a burglary in progress--neighbor saw a guy climb into a window of the house next door.  We get there, search the main level and don't find anyone.  We go into the basement and it's a complete disaster--crap everywhere.  We're searching through all the crap and I see the guy lying on the floor, under a mattress with a couch turned over on top of it.  I call out to the guy and tell him to come out with his hands up, but he plays the "I'm not here, I can't hear you" game and doesn't move.  All of a sudden Ed goes over to the couch, jumps on top of it and begins jumping to every word, saying "WELL CHRIS, I GUESS HE'S NOT DOWN HERE." 

When the guy finally crawled out from under the mattress/couch, he looked like Wile E Coyote after the boulder had smashed him for the fifteenth time.  I was laughing so hard I almost couldn't put handcuffs on him.

I am sick of these stories(sarcasm).  It makes it sound like being a cop used to be fun.

Nevermind.  I looked it up.  Thanks.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Varney