My apologies, everyone. I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for this whole COVID-19 situation. I didn’t realize it until this week.
At the company Christmas party, I won tickets to the Texas Rangers’ home opener at the new ballpark. My brothers and I were planning to take Mama Scaia to Italy this spring, which, obviously, would have involved a layover at DFW. Because every flight involves a layover at DFW [Sure, we could have flown her on one of the many direct flights from Dayton, Ohio to Rome, but they were so expensive.]
We hatched a plan for her to fly to DFW, she’d get to see some of my associates [without one of them having to break into my house to find a way to notify her of a mysterious calamity], we’d go to opening day and then continue to Italy the next day.
So the Lord says, He says, “We’ll just see about that.” [Note from the Catholic Diocese of Fort Worth: The Lord did not say that.]
Friday, the Rangers announced they’d continue with Opening Day, just without fans. You are allowed to have your doppelganger [or “DoppelRanger“, if you will] in the stands, though. But a stadium full of cardboard cutouts seems creepy, even for the apocalypse.
Even if they had been allowed to have fans, MLB will have some very specific rules in place to try to stop the spread of COVID-19.
At the top of the list: no touching.
Players and coaches may not high five each other or mob someone at home plate after a big home run. In addition to that Associated Press link, the New York Times has published a compendium of the new rules. Apparently, players and coaches have received a 113-page manual. I’m sure that’ll be read thoroughly.
For instance, a manager, coach or player may now be ejected for touching an umpire. Loyal Scaiaholics will recall my tragically brief career as a professional umpire. Frankly, I would have preferred to be touched less then, too.
We actually were trained to avoid touching. During “situations,” we were taught to stand there, maintain eye contact with the person arguing with us, but don’t engage in the argument or start backing up. If we made it to the majors, they didn’t want to see video of managers and umpires hollerin’ and spraying spit on each other because their faces aren’t even an inch apart. Our instructions were to explain the rule or judgment. If the manager kept yelling, we’d tell him when it was time to wrap up. If he refused to wrap up or said something that went too far, he’d be ejected.
Pro-tip: Those of us who talk with our hands were gently encouraged to, when we saw the manager come runnin’ toward us, put our hands in our back pockets to prevent us from gesturing wildly and waving our arms around during a situation.
Pro-tip 2: If you’re a baseball manager, you may have better luck with “That call was [expletive]!” than “You’re [expletive]!”
The first workouts for all 30 @MLB Clubs are slated for this Friday with the launch of #SummerCamp presented by @CampingWorld! pic.twitter.com/PEFd8ul9uO
— MLB Communications (@MLB_PR) June 29, 2020
You’re also not allowed to spit. I can’t imagine how much damage that’ll do to the sunflower seed industry. Pitchers may carry a wet rag in their pocket “in lieu of licking their fingers,” which is something I can’t imagine Rob Dibble abiding.
Social distancing is also in the rules. If I’m the groundskeeper at one of the ballparks, I might spray six foot distances on the grass near the spots behind first base and home plate where the umpires set up, like you see in check-out lines. That would really help if the manager comes out to argue. I look forward to umpires and managers arguing and pointing at each other from six feet away from each other.
Bench players may also, to ensure social distancing, sit in the stands with the cardboard cutouts. Which also seems creepy. Listen, if I’m in right field and see what I believe to be a cardboard cutout get up and start wandering toward the dugout, I’m gettin’ off that doggone field. Maybe this whole COVID-19 situation is an elaborate scam by cardboard cutouts to rise up and take back what’s theirs.
I am not a crackpot.
