Just a bit outside

In the fall of 1993, when today's seniors were freshmen,
a rare brain disorder took the life of a seven-year-old boy named Jon Hirschbeck.

Meanwhile, in another corner of the earth, two seniors sat in the Calhoun dining hall, enthusiastically chatting about the heated pennant race between the Atlanta Braves and San Francisco Giants. "My job," said one of the seniors, "better eventually be sports-related, because it's hard to imagine not getting sick of anything else."

"I don't know," replied the other. "Sometimes I think I'd never want to have a sports job, since it might not be so enjoyable anymore if it becomes my work."

It's true that only a naive observer of the world could consider rises to stardom the fairy tales that the media makes them out to be. Yet celebrities continue to appear ineffably heroic and larger-than-life, simply because they perform their jobs before the masses. We shouldn't need reminding that John Travolta is as much a cog in the capitalist machinery as the CEO at Intel. Both would be dropped on their asses if they stopped generating revenue. But both would be kept and condoned--regardless of any unethical, off-the-job behavior--if they continued to produce for their employees.

Today, Major League umpire John Hirschbeck survives the loss of his older son. Adrenoleukodystrophy, a rare brain disorder, also afflicts Hirschbeck's younger boy, now nine. Good luck finding many little boys--or college seniors--who dream about becoming professional umpires.

But Baltimore Oriole Roberto Alomar--he can make wide-eyed boys and disgruntled adults alike believe in miracles. About a week ago he was the toast of Baltimore, after hitting a game-winning home run that secured the Orioles a trip to the playoffs for the first time in 13 years.

Hirschbeck the elder should have been behind the plate for Alomar's home run. But an incident in the previous night's game precluded that possibility.

Down two strikes, Alomar waited for the next pitch. The ball came in about waist-high, but was easily outside the strike zone, a few inches wide of home plate. Nonetheless, Hirschbeck called Alomar out on strikes. An argument ensued, and Alomar proceeded to spit in Hirschbeck's face after he ejected Alomar for his unsportsmanlike protest of the call.

After the game, the media asked Alomar about the debacle. The all-star suggested the umpire had been "bitter" since his son's death, a bitterness that manifested itself in poor calls and a surly tone with players.

When Hirschbeck learned of Alomar's comments the next day, the fuming umpire marched into the Orioles' clubhouse on a mission to deck Alomar. No altercation took place, but Hirschbeck skipped the game once he learned that Alomar--because he had appealed his five-game suspension for spitting--would play.

How does a grown man get away with committing an ethical crime for which a five-year-old would be censured? Apparently, hitting an "important" home run in the following game was enough to redeem Alomar in the minds of some long-suffering Oriole fans, who'll now get to watch their savior in the playoffs.

But that's the what-have-you-done-for-me approach of sports fans. What's truly disillusioning is the failure of Alomar's employers--both the Orioles organization and Major League Baseball--to discipline Alomar at all.

What's the price of discipline for the Orioles? When you pay an employee $6 million per annum, you want him on the field. Alomar puts fans in the seats and ticket money in the owner's pocket. What's the price for baseball? Television ratings, and by extension, advertising bucks. The Orioles don't stand much of a chance against Cleveland as it is, let alone sans Alomar. A longer series means more games, which means more TV money for everyone.

So maybe Roberto Alomar is the lesser man in the eyes of God. But right now he and the suits that run baseball are laughing all the way to the bank, while a soon-to-be nameless umpire tosses in bed each night, lamenting how big money allows such disgraceful behavior to be forgiven and forgotten.

Hirschbeck, and every umpire in the game, won't rest well for a while. They know that had they spat in Alomar's face, they'd be out of jobs. It's a sad economy of admiration we're forced to reckon with in this country, where a buffoon like Alomar is always one hit away from being heroicized, and a courageous man like Hirschbeck can't get the justice he so rightly deserves.