It was a huge ballpark and the nuttiest game I had ever seen.
The first guy at bat hit a slow roller to shortstop and was thrown out at first. But he paid no attention and kept on running around the bases. There was a huge outcry from the defending team, but the player crossed home plate and jogged to the dugout, grinning all the way.
Then the next player struck out, but refused to leave home plate. He insisted that he have one more chance. I figured he’d get thrown out of the game. But no, the umpires (believe it not, there were 9 of them) voted 5-4 that he should get another swing because he had tried so hard.
The pitcher was so mad that he grooved a fast ball, which the batter blooped to short left field. It looked like an easy out. But then I noticed the left fielder had his back to the infield. He was waving at pretty girl in the bleachers. The other players screamed and shouted, so he strolled back and picked up the ball. The runner was rounding third. The throw to the plate would have nailed him, but the catcher had gone to the water cooler for a drink (it was a very hot day).
I expected the manager to charge out of the dugout and yank both of those knuckleheads right out of their cleats. You know what? He calmly took a lawn chair out to left field so the pretty girl could sit by her friend the left fielder. Then he set a thermos of cold water by the catcher so he wouldn’t have to go so far for a drink.
After all this, there was pretty much chaos in the stands, but the game (?) went on. The next batter popped a high foul behind the plate. The catcher went for it, but tripped over the thermos and broke his leg. He was carried off.
Because of the earlier ruling, all the batters now wanted at least four strikes. Also, they couldn’t seem to decide on a strike zone. The umps got together again and decided (5-4) it should be between the shoelaces and the neck. The pitcher was pleased, but the batters howled. Next, one of the umps was carried out. It appeared he was conked by a beer bottle thrown from the stands. A new ump was brought in and another vote was held.
The umps finally ruled (7-2) that anyone hitting under .230 would have a strike zone from the belt to the letters; those from .230 to .300 from the knees to shoulders, and those over .300 from the ankles to the chin.
This was not much help. The next batter sliced a liner to right and ran to third base; diagonally across the diamond to first and then back to home. The right fielder just threw the ball in the air and jumped up and down in rage.
Again, the umpires consulted. They finally ruled it to be an undue restriction of a batter’s rights to make him run to first first. If he wanted to run to third first, the defensive team would have to throw to third first or to first first to get him out, depending on which way he went. They figured this would add suspense to the game. Anyhow, it was a first!
By this time there was chaos on the field and a near riot in the stands. I thought maybe I had bought a ticket to a lunatic asylum instead of a ball park.
Then I noticed the only calm guy in the whole place. He was seated in a plush box in front of me, handsome, impeccably dressed, and wearing a sinister smirk, seeming to enjoy the increasing turmoil. I thought his ears looked a little pointed.
I leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder: “Hey, mister, what’s going on here? I don’t know what this is, but it sure ain’t baseball! What happened to the Rule Book?”
“Oh, we don’t have a Rule Book,” he said. We threw it out a long time ago. It’s inhibiting. We don’t want to restrict people. We’ve got a new game called Do Your Own Thing. Some people get fancy and call it Secular Humanism or maybe Existentialism, or New Ageism.”
He chuckled evilly and went on: “Everyone’s got a perfect right to do whatever he feels like doing. There’s no responsibility, no rules, just rights, rights, RIGHTS!” He was almost shouting at me.
I objected. “But this place has gone crazy. They’re going nuts exercising their rights. They need some rules. It looks like they’ll kill each other before this is over. ”
He just leaned back comfortably and smirked, “Yeah, sure too bad isn’t it?”
Well, you guessed it. I woke up. It was all a dream…or rather, a nightmare.
Or was it? It all seemed so real!
