Berl Falbaum
“Kill the robot!”
Somehow that is not as satisfying as “Kill the umpire,” which I enjoyed shouting while sitting in the bleachers where the air is thin.
I knew the umpire was as blind as a bat even though I was 500 feet from home plate while he was right behind the batter.
But now I will have to vent my good-natured anger at a robot — yes, a robot — which the baseball major leagues will begin using this season to keep umpires honest. It is called the Automated Ball-Strike System (ABS).
And the robot doesn’t even have the courage to stand behind the batter, but is hidden in technology around the stadium.
As I understand it, three players — the batter, pitcher and catcher — can now ask for an instant replay to challenge calls of strikes and balls by umpires. The players do this by tapping their helmets but not by stomping their feet, kicking dirt, or calling umpires names I can’t print in this column.
Once a challenge is made, videos — a Hawk-eye camera system that captures the pitches with cameras around the stadium — will be replayed and shown, via animation, on the scoreboard and broadcast booths.
If I don’t like the decision, I guess I can scream at the scoreboard: “Who the hell programmed you?” Or: “Did your USB cord become entangled with the mouse?” Or: “Your motherboard obviously lost all memory.”
True, that’s enticing, but not as satisfactory as all the names I called umpires through the years, especially the ones who called the games when I played in neighborhood softball leagues.
I remember the time…nope, can’t tell that one. But it was a good one. The cops agreed with me.
The system has been tested in the minor leagues and the turnover rate is pretty high. One report says that in spring training this year, 53 percent of 1,844 challenges were successful.
That made me feel good because it “proves” I was right more than 50 percent of the time in the bleachers. Who needs robots?
If a team wins a challenge, it can keep challenging. As soon as a team loses two challenges, it won’t have the ability to challenge again.
The key statistic fed into computers is a player’s height. They can crouch all they want to, but it won’t make any difference. The computers know what the players are doing. Umpires do not have to order batters to stand up straight.
But it does create a new problem now suffered by computers in businesses: Hacking. I can envision teams hiring “designated hackers” to be used in serious situations. Let’s say it is the seventh game of a World Series, in the bottom of the ninth and the batter is facing a 3-2 count with the bases loaded.
I can hear managers in both dugouts ask, “Where’s the hacker? He’s up.” And I can see the umpires smile.
It also opens the doors to other questionable innovations, like programming computers to decode signals from third base coaches or steal signs from catchers to pitchers, a responsibility usually assigned to shortstops and second basemen.
The possibilities are endless and could put the 1951 baseball scandal involving the Giants and Dodgers to shame. Baseball lore has it that Giants Manager Leo Durocher had a system of stealing a catcher’s sign and had the Dodgers’ choice delivered to his batter, Bobby Thomson, who hit the “shot heard ‘round the world,” giving the Giants the pennant. It was, arguably, the most famous home run in baseball history.
No computers were involved.
Believer or not, one umpire, Bill Miller, actually rooted for the robot when he was challenged in a game between the Giants and Guardians in Scottsdale, Arizona. He called a ball on a batter who had a 0-2 count. On an open mic, Miller was heard saying,
“Please be a strike,” meaning the batter would be out. (The robot confirmed Miller’s call.)
But no one could understand why Miller wanted to be wrong. Some speculated it was hot and he wanted to end the game as quickly as possible. Maybe he had a hot date.
But a colleague of his, Richie Garcia, doesn’t like the new system at all, complaining that umpires would be embarrassed in front of thousands by some “computer geek who doesn’t know anything about baseball.”
As a fan, I don’t know what to do. Keeping quiet in the bleachers does not sound appealing to me. I’m confident the guy next to me, the one I have argued with for years, probably feels the same way.
What if the computer I decide to cuss out for what I believe is a bad decision is armed with a long-range laser? What if it calls a computer buddy and asks it to jam my printer?
I am also curious what baseball purists of all the yesterdays would think of this development. We could ask a neutral computer.
I guess the best thing to do is praise Hawk-eye for calling a good game and invite it out for a beer.
Somehow that is not as satisfying as “Kill the umpire,” which I enjoyed shouting while sitting in the bleachers where the air is thin.
I knew the umpire was as blind as a bat even though I was 500 feet from home plate while he was right behind the batter.
But now I will have to vent my good-natured anger at a robot — yes, a robot — which the baseball major leagues will begin using this season to keep umpires honest. It is called the Automated Ball-Strike System (ABS).
And the robot doesn’t even have the courage to stand behind the batter, but is hidden in technology around the stadium.
As I understand it, three players — the batter, pitcher and catcher — can now ask for an instant replay to challenge calls of strikes and balls by umpires. The players do this by tapping their helmets but not by stomping their feet, kicking dirt, or calling umpires names I can’t print in this column.
Once a challenge is made, videos — a Hawk-eye camera system that captures the pitches with cameras around the stadium — will be replayed and shown, via animation, on the scoreboard and broadcast booths.
If I don’t like the decision, I guess I can scream at the scoreboard: “Who the hell programmed you?” Or: “Did your USB cord become entangled with the mouse?” Or: “Your motherboard obviously lost all memory.”
True, that’s enticing, but not as satisfactory as all the names I called umpires through the years, especially the ones who called the games when I played in neighborhood softball leagues.
I remember the time…nope, can’t tell that one. But it was a good one. The cops agreed with me.
The system has been tested in the minor leagues and the turnover rate is pretty high. One report says that in spring training this year, 53 percent of 1,844 challenges were successful.
That made me feel good because it “proves” I was right more than 50 percent of the time in the bleachers. Who needs robots?
If a team wins a challenge, it can keep challenging. As soon as a team loses two challenges, it won’t have the ability to challenge again.
The key statistic fed into computers is a player’s height. They can crouch all they want to, but it won’t make any difference. The computers know what the players are doing. Umpires do not have to order batters to stand up straight.
But it does create a new problem now suffered by computers in businesses: Hacking. I can envision teams hiring “designated hackers” to be used in serious situations. Let’s say it is the seventh game of a World Series, in the bottom of the ninth and the batter is facing a 3-2 count with the bases loaded.
I can hear managers in both dugouts ask, “Where’s the hacker? He’s up.” And I can see the umpires smile.
It also opens the doors to other questionable innovations, like programming computers to decode signals from third base coaches or steal signs from catchers to pitchers, a responsibility usually assigned to shortstops and second basemen.
The possibilities are endless and could put the 1951 baseball scandal involving the Giants and Dodgers to shame. Baseball lore has it that Giants Manager Leo Durocher had a system of stealing a catcher’s sign and had the Dodgers’ choice delivered to his batter, Bobby Thomson, who hit the “shot heard ‘round the world,” giving the Giants the pennant. It was, arguably, the most famous home run in baseball history.
No computers were involved.
Believer or not, one umpire, Bill Miller, actually rooted for the robot when he was challenged in a game between the Giants and Guardians in Scottsdale, Arizona. He called a ball on a batter who had a 0-2 count. On an open mic, Miller was heard saying,
“Please be a strike,” meaning the batter would be out. (The robot confirmed Miller’s call.)
But no one could understand why Miller wanted to be wrong. Some speculated it was hot and he wanted to end the game as quickly as possible. Maybe he had a hot date.
But a colleague of his, Richie Garcia, doesn’t like the new system at all, complaining that umpires would be embarrassed in front of thousands by some “computer geek who doesn’t know anything about baseball.”
As a fan, I don’t know what to do. Keeping quiet in the bleachers does not sound appealing to me. I’m confident the guy next to me, the one I have argued with for years, probably feels the same way.
What if the computer I decide to cuss out for what I believe is a bad decision is armed with a long-range laser? What if it calls a computer buddy and asks it to jam my printer?
I am also curious what baseball purists of all the yesterdays would think of this development. We could ask a neutral computer.
I guess the best thing to do is praise Hawk-eye for calling a good game and invite it out for a beer.
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