Baseball’s 15 minutes aren’t pretty

It was November of 1979 when artist Andy Warhol predicted, “in the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” He of course has come to violate his own words by the lasting fame generated for himself by the prediction, yet, he was still all too right, especially when it comes to sports.

Roberto Alomar is now gone from the headlines since he and the Orioles have been eliminated by the Yankees. His spitting in the umpire’s face was a media delight in this day of trash and flash. Who was more abysmally shameful? Was it Alomar for his act or Major League Baseball for the five-day suspension next spring, if there is a next baseball spring. But, hey, that was fifteen minutes ago, so who cares?

The league and umpires will meet at World Series end to discuss what acting Commissioner Bud Selig says are deeper problems. There are many.

Umpires have become holier than grail. One was spouting the other day about how they uphold the integrity of the game and always have. Excuse me? The best umpire is still the one that nobody notices. They are few and far between in this day of arrogance in blue as they search for the nearest camera and their 15 minutes.

Baiting of players by umpires is common. Players, managers and owners won’t talk about it on the record for obvious reasons. Since the Commissioner’s office is vacant for all intents and purposes, there is no one to hear the problem with an eye for the best interests of the game.

Umpires have lost their sense of humor. They think that calling balls and strikes somehow matters in this world. Please. Lighten up. Pride in one’s work is one thing, self-righteousness is something else again.

Was Roberto Alomar baited by the umpire he spit at? There were rumors of slurs and four letter provocations toward Alomar. They were vehamently denied. Some said it was just the Players Association floating a balloon to take some of the heat off of Alomar. Who knows. Baseball has no leadership and is paying the price again.

Jeffrey Maire, you remember him, the 12-year-old kid who reached out and pulled the Derek Jeter fly ball into the stands that went for a home run, he has had his 15 minutes. Where are we when talk show after talk show, newspaper after newspaper and TV show after TV show spent five days discussing whether this kid was vile and fiendish or cute and cuddly.

A fly ball within reach of a kid who brought his glove hoping for a ball. Of course he tried to catch it. He’s a kid, leave him alone.

The next day at Yankee Stadium, which is run more like a prison than Folsum anyway, security guards are seated six feet apart around the outfield railings facing the crowd where Jeffrey reached out for his 15 minutes. We really are going insane, aren’t we?

While baseball dies to get back its fans, no members of the media are allowed to enter either team’s clubhouse during the Championship Series or the World Series prior to the games. Wouldn’t want to interfere with the players’ card games while they’re stuffing their faces with free food.

No, the leagues bring players they select out to a press room, put them in front of a mike and invite questions. Well, not exactly any question. Like when Roberto Alomar came out, the press was told by the reprsentative of MLB there could be no questions about “the incident.” Members of the press worth their salt don’t even enter the room for these 15 minutes of spin.

Anyway, there is going to be a World Series and Jean Stottlemyre is a wreck. She is the wife of Yankee pitching coach Mel Stottlemyre and the mother of St. Louis pitcher Todd Stottlemyre. Says her husband, “She doesn’t know what to think. She asked me who she’s supposed to cheer for. She asked me where she is supposed to sit. I told her if it’s the Cardinals and the Yankees, that will be the least of your problems.” I feel 15 minutes of fame coming Jean’s way.