SCOTT JACOBS

I was at a bar with a buddy of mine, sipping on an ice cold water, when out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the giant projecter screen tv in the corner.  Odd, I thought, why are they showing the Indians-Tigers game?  Moments earlier I was surprised to learn that Ken Griffey Jr. had announced his retirement.  What happened next stunned the hell out of me, and the rest of the sports world.

The bar turned on the volume and all of a sudden I realized that we were in the midsts of another perfect game.  Austin Jackson’s back had dashed into view, and as he corraled an incredible catch, it seemed inevitable that we would see the third perfect game this season.  A groundout.  Two outs.

One out from a stunning turkey for the season.

And then I muttered those magic words, “I don’t want to see another perfect game.  It’s rare for a reason.”

Moments later, Umpire Jim Joyce preserved that statement, in a missed call for the ages. 

Miguel Cabrera scooped up Jason Donald’s ground ball, tossed it over to  Armando Galarraga who stepped on first, and the third perfect game since this 2010 season began had been etched.

“Safe.”

A groan of boo’s and “what’s?” errupted from the half empty bar.

O my goodness, I blarred out loud.  That ump just made the guttsiest call imaginable. A career killer.  And as the replay clearly showed,  the wrong one.  A horrible one.  A mistake of mammoth proportions.  The 22 year vet only wanted to get the call right.  His gaffe couldn’t have been more wrong.

A blind-sided Jim Leyland raced out of the dugout (as fast Jim Leyland can race out of a dugout) to dispute the call, but it was to no avail.  Donald was ruled safe.  Galarraga’s perfect game was ruined.  Baseball history greatly disturbed.

And this is where baseball needs to save this poor ump’s well-being.  Reverse the call: make a damn exception.  Give Galarrage the first overturned perfect game.  Bite the bullet, and save a man who before tonight was just another unknown, just doing his thankless job.

In baseball, and sports for that matter, refereeing is a thankless job.  Unlike the athletes they basically govern, the last thing an official wants to do is become a household name.  The more obscure, the better.  People only know you in this profession when you royally screw up.  Tonight Joyce royally screwed up.  A royal flush down of an improbable feat.  His giant screw up needs to change baseball as we know it.

Let’s get him off the hook, immediately.  One mistake in crunch time shouldn’t define this man.  Now granted, we shouldn’t be expecting Joyce to be umpiring the post-season anytime soon, but just because he made a major goof, doesn’t mean his life should get ruined. 

This won’t soon go away, nor should it.  A perfect game is not just another game.  How many other times do you see a pitcher walk off the field looking like he lost, after he just threw a one hitter?  The Tigers were established in 1901, and almost 110 years later still have nary a perfect game to their franchise’s rich history. 

6 No hitters
3 Cy Young award winners
9 MVP’s
20 Hall of Famers
4 World Series titles
0 Perfect games

So to call this just another game, goes against all the individual accomplishments that make baseball the most statistically driven sport.  Galarraga will probably never have a game like this again.  Only 20 ever have.

Bite your tongue Major League Baseball.  Make a stand.  Utilize the instant replay system that you have to dispute and over-turn epic failed calls like this one.  Home runs get all the glory, and chicks love the long ball, but it’s the little things that usually make or break your typical game.

At least allow a challenge in the ninth inning on a call that alter’s the history books as we know it.

“It was the biggest call of my career, and I kicked the [stuff] out of it,” Joyce said.  “I just cost that kid a perfect game.”

You, and a flawed system.  One that refuses to intrude on the integrity of fundamental calls, even when they’re dead wrong, and even the ump knows it.

Photo: AP

SCOTT JACOBS

It’s over.

What else can you say about the Sonics 41 year run in Seattle.

O sure. They’ve still got their colors, and their logo, and the unique team name. But last time I checked, it doesn’t matter if you don’t have a team.

The moving trucks have arrived, and overnight the Seattle Supersonics will go from Seattle’s Sonics to Oklahoma City’s whatevers.

You know what, it doesn’t matter.

The details, and the stadium leases and the “Save Our Sonics” signs are now history. A lost cause to save a beloved franchise.

When the Sonics played what turned out to be their final home game, April 13 against Dallas, you could feel the desperation and sense of betrayal their fans felt. 41 years. For this?

I understand the whole business element of pro sports. I totally do. But there’s also the emotional attachment that comes with it. It’s one thing to take the Hornets out of Charlotte, or the Grizzlies out of Vancouver. Those teams had short histories in their city anyways.

The Sonics didn’t.

They called Seattle home for 41 years. They were a fabric in the community.

Now they’re gone.

Sure the history stays in Seattle. But the team goes to Oklahoma.

You can’t move a team that has won a championship Seattle argued. Apparently, things change. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been to the NBA Finals three times. What matters is they’re not hip and cool anymore. If you don’t have a shiny new toy of an arena, loyalty no longer matters. Seattle renovated Key Arena 14 years ago. The NBA couldn’t care less.

How about Seattle’s 21 playoff appearances? That’s a moot point now.

The Sonics played in five different arenas. But it was the sixth arena (the one they couldn’t get) that ultimately cost them their team. Because it doesn’t matter if your team wins six division titles or has six retired numbers that will now hang in the dark of an arena that was no longer good enough for pro hoops. It matters if you shell out the cash.

The team that’s had 19 different head coaches is bolting for the midwest. Faster then you can saw Mocha latte, they’ll be gone.

“We made it,” said Clay Bennett. Yup, Clay you did it. You took basketball out of a big market and put it in a little one. You destroyed 41 years of memories, with $45 million dollars. You officially found the pitchfork to pile drive into Sonics’ fans hearts. You made Seattle’s next election a whole lot more interesting.

Now you’re off to Oklahoma City, to a college sports town with the ambitions to go pro. Well, now they have their chance. And thanks to the epic mess this became, the whole nation will be watching.

That is, if they don’t tune the NBA out forever, for robbing a good city of a beloved team.

There’s only one good thing that can come of this:

An expansion team in Seattle. Because I’d much rather see the two cities fight it out on a court then in court.

There’s simply nothing to dispute about that.

It’s funny too. Because a few years ago the Sonics lucked out in the NBA lottery and got the number two pick. Fans were calling into a sports talk show that I was listening to, and saying how great it was to have bright prospects and a promising future.

I bet those people didn’t think that future would be in Oklahoma.

So RIP Seattle SuperSonics. We lay you down gently, in hopes of a later return.

OKC apparently knows nothing about such a thing.