Sports Q&A: MLB Replay?

Anthony from Stark City, MO writes, "Major League Baseball has instituted instant replay and will allow umpires to check video on disputed home run calls only. Is this good for the game of baseball?"

It will be great for the game, especially for the idiotic umpires who can't seem to make the right call on plays that happen right in front of them, much less correctly distinguish a legitimate home run balls some 300 to 400 feet away. Correctly calling home runs should be the least of MLB's worries; they should be more concerned with correctly calling balls and strikes and calls on the bases. These are the calls that, quantitatively, impact the game more. That's why I suggest MLB should not stop at home run replays. They should do away with umpires and their unreasonable egos entirely and turn the objective part of the game over to the only sensible parties — robotics and lasers.

Would a robot have missed the out call at first base that practically handed the 1985 World Series title to the Kansas City Royals? No. Why? Because robots don't make mistakes. Besides, what robot wants the hot, stinking, tobacco-tainted breath of Whitey Herzog in their face, arguing a call? Even machines with no emotions or senses would want to avoid that. Don't worry. There would still be arguments from managers who refuse to believe that any being, even a robot, could be right all of the time. You think manager-umpire confrontations are entertaining now? Robots could be programmed for any number of argument scenarios, from a calm, educated disagreement with Tony LaRussa, to a full-blown psycho meltdown in a tiff with Ozzie Guillen. Of course, all robot umpires would be equipped to speak in the voice of Gilbert Gottfried, adding further to the entertainment value of an argument.

As for judgment calls, from the not-so-obvious, like whether a pitcher was throwing at a batter, to the obvious, like whether Roger Clemens was throwing a piece of broken bat at Mike Piazza, robot umpires would be able to read minds. Of course, therein lies a glaring weakness with robot umpiring — reading the minds of players who tell themselves they're telling the truth, but inevitably tell a lie. If the brain of a Clemens, or a Barry Bonds, call fool his mouth into saying something he knows isn't true, then how will a robot detect what is in fact the truth? It's a problem that would have to be addressed, with experimentation in spring training games, or during the latest round of Congressional steroid hearings.

And speaking of steroids, robot umpires could give drug tests on the spot. Let's say, for example, that Jason Giambi blasts a 600-foot home run, something clearly beyond the capabilities of a human. The robot umpire would stop him briefly as he rounded second, take a blood sample, analyze it in the in-house robotic lab, and have an answer before Giambi crossed home plate. Giambi would be called out, ejected, and, in a nice touch of the human element, the robot would ridicule Giambi for admitting to wearing gold thong underwear during a game. Of course, in today's drugs in baseball climate, this kind of leeway with testing could result in some seven-hour games, and robots testifying before Congress.

As for line calls and fence calls, they could all be monitored by laser. Foul calls would never be missed, and, as an added bonus, invisible fences could be installed to deter fan interference. That way, baseball would be rid, for better or worse, of all the Jeffrey Maier's, Steve Bartman's, and other long-armed fans who feel it's their right to impact the outcome of a game. Of course, that would require that all fans wear shock collars, and they may at first balk at having to pay for one. But teams could just slap a "New Era" or "Logo Athletic" sticker on it, and fans would eat them up, and the shock collar would become just another purposeless accessory, just like the bicep sweat band, or Derek Jeter's glove.

As far-fetched as it may seem, artificial monitoring of sports is a workable solution in baseball, and it can be done without upsetting the tradition of the sport. It was done by those stodgy Brits at Wimbledon, so why can't it be done with the old geezers in baseball who use the word "tradition" as a reason to halt progress? Heck, there are robots flying military aircraft and dropping bombs on innocent civilians; robots should be able to call a baseball game with less drastic ramifications.

Jerome from Brownsville, NY writes, "With Brett Favre now a Jet, are overly optimistic New York sports fans setting their sights too high with visions of Super Bowl glory?"

Is it even possible for New York sports fans to set their sights too high? What New York Jets fan hasn't called a talk radio show and heartily defended Chad Pennington's ability to take the Jets to the promised land? At least until Week 1's result proved otherwise?

Now that Favre is a Jet and Pennington has been jettisoned to Miami, Jets fans can update their football shrines with images of Favre, the savior for whom they've been waiting for what seems like an eternity. There's no telling how many Jets fans have prayed for Pennington to up and disappear. Now that he has, and Favre is the reason, Jets faithful can begin in earnest to worship Favre for what he truly is — a messiah.

Not that Pennington was a bad guy or anything, but, like Satan, he was always interfering with goodness. And what happened to Satan? He was cast to Hell? Pennington? He got truly shafted — he's in Miami, where it's hotter, and where Bill Parcell's wears the horns, as well as the large-waisted pants. Let's face it. Jets fans were in love with Favre before he even threw his first shovel pass, which traveled faster than anything Pennington ever tossed.

Will Favre be able to handle the pressure of playing in New York? Of course. Everyone says Green Bay is an easy place to play, without the added pressure of huge media markets and high fan expectations. Wrong! In Green Bay, the fans own the team. In New York, the fans just think they do. But this should be no problem for Favre. Sure, he's got the high expectations of all Jets fans on his shoulders, but this time, those expectations aren't unreasonable. Favre knows the Jets faithful have the Super Bowl on their minds, but so does he. Otherwise, he wouldn't be there.

Even before he signed with New York, it was apparent the Jets organization had committed to a major effort to return to the playoffs. While addressing defensive issues through the draft, New York upgraded offensively on the free agent market, inking guards Allen Faneca and Damien Woody. Favre recognized a good thing in New York, and since the Packer regime was done recognizing their own good thing, Favre himself, he took off to become the Big Cheese in the Big Apple.

Maybe a better question to ask is this: will Favre be able to handle living in New York City? He's a Wrangler kind of guy in a Gucci kind of town. New Yorkers can't go anywhere without a bottle of water; Favre doesn't leave home without a spit cup. In Favre's world, "Times Square" is a math expression, not an iconic and cultural landmark in New York City. You can buy drugs on any corner in the City; you can't do that in Green Bay, or Kiln, Mississippi. But Favre can acclimate himself to life in New York City by distributing free samples of Prilosec, and wiping out heartburn in the City just as former Mayor Rudy Guliani wiped out pornography. Damn that Guliani.

But seriously, New Yorkers will stop at nothing to make Favre feel at home. Come Thanksgiving, I wouldn't be surprised to see the Favre float right between Rocky and Bullwinkle in the Macy's Parade. Is there a deer stand in Central Park? There will be. It may be a cumbersome alternative, but subway tokens shaped like cans of Copenhagen smokeless tobacco would certainly ease Favre's adjustment. And the Naked Cowboy? He'd have to go, to be replaced by a harp-playing, chocolate-loving transvestite in green and gold known as the "Fudge Packer," which would offer Favre fond memories of Green Bay, should homesickness strike.

So, is a slot in the Super Bowl too much to ask of Favre? First of all, obviously, the Jets would have to make the playoffs, which is a reasonable outcome. A deep playoff run would likely entail beating the Patriots or Colts, or both, in the AFC playoffs. No worries. Favre has already guaranteed a win over the Colts in the AFC Championship, and has promised that should he decide to wear pantyhose this year, he'll do so tastefully. Shoot, maybe the Jets will meet the Packers in Tampa in February 2009. It could happen, especially if both teams in their entirety travel there to watch the Patriots and Cowboys play.

In any case, Jets fans will get their money's worth. Whatever happens, win or lose, Favre will be loved by all. If he gets a kiss from Suzy Kolber on the sidelines, it will be because she asked for it. Who knows? This season might go so well for the Jets that we'll see Bill Parcells return to the franchise next year.

Ethel from Asoria, NY writes, "Can you explain the nerve of the French 400 meter relay team predicting a win over the United States, then losing?"

Do you mean the "French Boast" becoming the "French Toast?" Then I'll gladly explain. But first, let me say that nothing can top a tension-filled, historic, three-minute plus swimming relay for a gold medal for sheer, unadulterated excitement. Except for seeing world-class male swimmers in fashionable one-piece swimsuits stroking side-by-side. That's hot.

Now for the Frenchies. There's nothing wrong with confidence. Of this, the French are certainly not lacking. But French superstar Alain Bernard's overconfidence, with stated intentions of "smashing" the Americans, was the downfall of the French team. I can't state with certainty, but I doubt the Americans would have won that race had Bernard not spoken so confidently. If he really felt that the French could have "smashed" the Americans, then he should have kept his mouth shut and done it. I'm not sure if this is done in swimming events, but in NASCAR, a white flag is displayed to signify one lap remaining. Maybe Bernard saw the white flag and decided to do what the French normally do when they see a white flag — wait for the Americans and coast in behind them.

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