I’m ridin’ out on a Southbound train Just a Romeo in the pouring rain But hey baby, that’s the way it goes First your money, then your clothes Songwriters Jude Cole & George Michael Green
Baseball commissioner Rob Manfred’s pitch clock has arrived, and it’s already had an impact on an Atlanta Braves game.
With bases loaded and two outs in the bottom of the ninth, umpire John Libka decided in the first grapefruit league game of the season that Atlanta’s Cal Conley was not ready to hit in time and called an automatic strike – which resulted in the game ending with a tie.
For baseball purists like myself, this is tantamount to walking into church only to learn that Satan is the deity being worshipped by a congregation led by Vladimir Putin.
What in Tarnation?! Baseball should never end in a tie, and the umpire wandering out in front of the plate and pointing at a baffled hitter is about the least exciting way I can think of to end a game.
In case you are still crying over giving up 17 runs in the final two games against the Phillies in the NLDS last year, dry your eyes, and I’ll give you something to really cry about.
Baseball has moved on, and with a set of new rules. Beginning this year, pitchers will have to begin their pitching motion 15 seconds after getting the ball. The hurler will get an additional five seconds with runners on base. Failure to deliver a pitch on time will result in an automatically called ball.
Pitchers can make two disengagements per batter. Disengagements are defined as pickoff attempts or stepping off the rubber because you forgot what pitch you were supposed to throw.
On the other hand, if you’re the hitter, you must be in the batter’s box ready to hit when the timer reaches eight seconds. You get one timeout per plate appearance just in case you start thinking about Annie Savoy like Crash Davis did in the film “Bull Durham.”
The rule changes are being implemented to increase the pace of play and make the game more exciting so that young people will watch the moldy old sport and buy stuff advertisers pedal between innings.
I have always been against the pitch clock, but I’m resigned to it now. Shoot, I can accept new ideas. I might even like the pitch clock eventually.
Let me give you an example of just how open-minded I can be.
A few weeks ago, I bought a jar of apple jelly. I chose an unfamiliar brand primarily because the jar would serve as glass once the jelly was gone.
I made one PB&J and the next day, something bizarre seemed to have taken place in the jelly jar. After careful analysis, I decided that some hitherto unknown form of jelly bacteria had caused a molecular change in the jelly, leading to apple “sanctification.”
So, I scooped the gelatinous toxin out of the jar and into the trash. I put the jelly-jar-glass in the dishwasher.
The next day, my son paid me a visit and asked me what happened to the jelly. I told him the jelly looked weird after I opened the jar, so I threw it away. He told me he had stirred the jelly so it would be easier to spread on a slice of bread.
In all my born days, I had never heard of any such pre-stirring of jelly.
What in Tarnation?! So, I threw away a perfectly good $3 jar of jelly, either because I have no imagination or way too much imagination. When I thought about it, stirring apple jelly ahead of time makes perfect sense. Turns out I’ve been using an archaic and ineffective method for decades.
I would drag a chunk of jelly onto the bread slice and then chop it up to spread, sometimes tearing up the bread in the process.
I had to admit I learned something productive and new from a younger person, which was particularly galling since it was my son who is not allowed to supersede the way things have always been done just because he has a good idea.
Well, the young’uns always take over eventually. And people like me become greeters at Walmart, which at least comes with a store discount I suppose. You take it as it comes, brother.
You climb aboard that Southbound train Jude Cole sings about and take off on the trip that is your life.
And you can only hope that the engineer doesn’t lose his train of thought in Ohio or a deputy assistant secretary with the U.S. Office of Nuclear Energy doesn’t run off with all your clothes.
Selah.