Life isn’t fair, not even for the perfect

What a shame for Detroit’s Armando Galarraga. Veteran umpire Jim Joyce missed a call and the 21st perfect game in major league history vanished into the mystical land of what might have been. Even worse, the errant call occurred on the game’s 27th out.

This could’ve been one of the worst moments in baseball’s storied history. Instead, it’s one of the finest. Joyce publicly accepted responsibility for his error and Galarraga was gracious to a fault. Both men dealt with the situation like, well, men. Joyce and Galarraga treated us to an epiphanous event that transcended sports to reflect positively upon the human soul. Predictably, there are calls to obliterate the moment by “fixing” the injustice.

On the Oakland Press website a respondent wrote, “I think that MLB should give Galarraga a 28-out perfect game.” That writer’s isn’t alone. However, there’s no such thing as a 28-out perfect game. Therefore, awarding a perfect game where one doesn’t exist is wholly unworkable.

Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig was absolutely correct not to reverse Jim Joyce’s call. What would become of the 28th batter? Would he be what George Orwell referred to as an “unperson?” That batter must go somewhere. And that isn’t the only reason to leave matters alone.

Suppose the bad call were made with one out in the fifth instead of two out in the ninth? Should the league office reverse that call? What if the 28th batter, Trevor Crowe, had homered and the Cleveland Indians had rallied to victory? Should that hypothetical outcome be reversed since the Tigers would’ve won without the blown call? There are many worms here that should be left in the can.

The way Armando Galarraga, Jim Joyce and the Detroit fans dealt with this matter is more historic than even a perfect game. Galarraga’s name is forever etched in baseball lore. Not only will he be remembered for the perfect game that wasn’t, but for the grace and dignity he displayed. Galarraga did everything right and yet something went wrong, leaving him without the due result of his effort. Let the play stand anyway. Players make errors, managers miscalculate and umpires blow calls. That’s baseball. In fact, that’s life and it’s time people faced it. Life is never fair in the Utopian sense of the word.

Yet there’s an insatiable human desire to correct injustice and grant everyone they allegedly deserve. This concept was evident at an NAIA golf championship. Grant Whybark and Seth Doran were locked in a playoff for their conference’s individual title. Whybark had qualified for the national tournament on the strength of his team’s performance. So, on the first playoff hole he intentionally drove his ball out of bounds. Why? Whybark decided Doran deserved a spot in the national tournament.

However, if Doran deserved the title he would’ve won without Whybark’s charity. Whybark actually demeaned his opponent. He assumed that Doran’s abilities were inadequate to the task. That attitude, even when well-meaning, is indicative of our cultural inclination toward an elusive sense of deservedness.

Society must escape the notion that reward is based on the perception of what’s deserved. Someone can do everything right and still not receive the desired result. Behold exhibit A, Armando Galarraga. Eliminating life’s basic unfairness is impossible, and such social engineering would be inadvisable even if attainable.

Doran’s trip to the NAIA National Golf Championship can’t be fully satisfying due to the circumstances. The same is true for Galarraga. Were he awarded a perfect game after the fact it wouldn’t carry equal significance to baseball’s other perfect games.

Grant Whybark manipulated the concept of due recompense. Achievement and success are cheapened when busybodies try to right all wrongs and cure all injustices. Character is built, refined and revealed in overcoming obstacles and adversity. Armando Galarraga and Jim Joyce have personified that character with dignity, class and sportsmanship. Leave it at that, and know that life is seldom, if ever, fair.

Jed Clampett: A Hero for the ages

Children can benefit from emulating the positive qualities found not only in their parents but in public role models. I had such boyhood heroes, too, one for each season.

During the winter months I idolized Tarheel point guard Phil Ford. Yes, I’m telling my age. But growing older beats the grave, so here goes.

Ford was the consummate floor general and a ball handler extraordinaire. I can still see him splitting the zone and dishing a quick backdoor pass to a cutting Walter Davis. I so wanted to be Phil Ford . . . until spring.

Beginning in April and throughout the summer months I wanted to be Yankees catcher Thurman Munson. Not only did Munson play for my favorite team, he was also the captain. He helped resurrect the Yankee mystique, which had been dormant during my childhood.

Munson led the Yankees to three American League pennants and two World Series championships. His name sounded cool and his moustache is the reason mine has been shaved only twice in 30 years.

When the summer surrendered to autumn baseball gave way to football. My hero worship turned to Oakland Raiders quarterback Ken Stabler. I thought “Snake” was as cool as they come. He had a scruffy beard and hair that curled from beneath a sinister silver helmet.

On the field Stabler was unflappable and appeared unconcerned with his surroundings. A blitzing linebacker? Hah! He’d stand defiantly in his face. A charging tackle? He never appeared to notice they were there. At the last possible instant Snake’s left hand would strike, delivering a perfectly placed pass to Fred Biletnikoff.

He would get hammered for his nonchalance. If the hits fazed Snake he never let on. In fact, He seemed to thrive on the punishment and the defender’s exasperation.
Those three athletes were at the top of their respective games and they provided me with memories that remain fresh even today. But they’re no longer my heroes.

Ford has battled some personal issues and I just don’t like basketball like I once did. Stabler was just too much of a partier. What else can you say about a guy who John Madden kept in line by making him responsible for keeping John Matuszak in line?

And Thurman Munson, God rest his soul. It’s not easy for a 14-year-old to learn that his favorite ballplayer has died in a plane crash. Thirty years have passed and it seems like yesterday.

It’s also plain that--at age 44--I’ll never be the athlete those men were or that millions of young boys dream of becoming. But I had another childhood hero, and I still look up to him. That hero is Uncle Jed.

Yes, that Uncle Jed; Jed Clampett. I know he was a fictional character, and my reasons for admiring him have changed over the years. For example, I know I can’t shoot flies on the wing or skeet with a rifle. It’s unimportant that Jed was a multi-millionaire, and I certainly don’t admire Jed because he “moved to Beverly.” Jed Clampett is my hero because of the type of character he was.

Despite his good fortune--somehow a man who could shoot flies missed a gopher--Jed never changed. Glitz, glamour and status didn’t interest Uncle Jed. He wasn’t afraid to be himself.

He wasn’t an educated man, but he possessed common sense, logic and wisdom that far-exceeded his wealth. He was honest, capable and dependable. Those virtues are in short supply these days.

Jed was the epitome of self-reliance and charitable to a fault. He sought peace whenever possible--no easy task with Granny for a mother-in-law--but never shied from a necessary confrontation.

Living up to Jed Clampett’s example is a tall order. However, it’s worthy of a man’s best effort. In fact, our world would benefit if more people wanted to be like Uncle Jed.