I swear, this happened. I’m the leadoff hitter, and I like to hit the ball the other way, so I look for pitches on the outside corner. When the ball came toward the inside, I watched it. It was close, but the ump called it a ball.

The catcher jumped up to complain. "Ah, geez, blue!" On the first pitch. Of the game.

Maybe it’s our proximity to Napa Valley, but my men’s league has become quite the whine cellar. Any idea of civility toward our men in blue, or even strategic diplomacy, has gone right into the spit-cup.

Our opponents that night, let’s call them the No-Brainers, apparently stepped onto the field expecting to get every single call. A few close pitch calls, followed by a bang-bang safe call at first, set them to howling like a pack of wounded coyotes. By the time the ump really did blow a call, thanks to a bad angle on their catcher’s tag, they had already lost all credibility. They were the wounded coyotes who cried wolf.

The beneficiary of the bad call was my pal Doug, with whom I conducted a brief dugout interview.
"So he gotcha?"
"By a mile," said Doug.
"What the heck is with these guys, anyway?"
"I think they’re used to winning. When things don’t go their way, they blow up."

We passed word around the dugout: no complaints to the umpires. Let the No-Brainers sink further into their pit of paranoia.

The very next inning, our right fielder, Francisco, made a sliding attempt on a line drive and was just as surprised as anyone when the ball bounced off his glove, his knee, his chest, and back into his glove, without touching the ground. But the umpire ruled it a drop. Our third baseman, Jeff, began to complain, but I talked him down.

"Hey Jeff, don’t worry," I said, laughing. "I could barely follow it myself."

We stayed cool and got the next two batters to get out of the inning.

And that’s precisely the point. If you watch any major league hitter, they will step out of the box after a bad strike call and take a little walk. This is because what’s more important than the bad call is how the bad call can mess with your head.

The No-Brainers continued to bitch, and moan and play bad defense. But they were good hitters and had a two-run lead going into our last at-bat. That’s when karmic payback bit them in the butt.

On our small field, each team is allowed two over-the-fence home runs per game. After that, every ball over the fence is an out, and we had already used up our allotment. Doug hit a drive that struck the fence one foot from the top. Then Kevin, our left fielder, hit one that struck the top of the fence, popped high into the air, then came down two inches inside the field of play.

A few batters later, we had two outs, tying run on third, winning run on second. Francisco hit a hard grounder to the second baseman, Curly, the most obnoxious complainer on the field. Curly muffed the ball, allowing the tying run to score, then, trying to chase it down, kicked it all the way into foul territory, allowing the winning run to score.

But hey - it was a No-Brainer.
Rules for the Whine Connoisseur
Of course we expect you to complain. It’s a tough game, umpires make bad calls, and you’re only human. But follow these simple guidelines and you’ll maintain your equilibrium.
1. Complain only when you’re right. Bitch about enough calls that could realistically go either way, and you’ll never get a call again.
2. Limit yourself to five seconds. This allows you to air your grievance without getting into those creative comments about the umpire’s family history that’ll get you thrown out. It also allows you enough time to get ready for the next play.
3. Don’t argue with complainers from the other team. Hey Dummy! You already got the call - now shut up and let the other team dig themselves into a hole.
4. Do not argue balls and strikes from left field. Unless you work at the Daily Planet or have purloined Ted Williams’ eyeballs from the cryogenics lab.
5. A quiet catcher is a good catcher. The pitcher can get away with some grousing, but the last thing an umpire needs is the worst player on the team yapping at him. Try asking for clarification instead (Deep? Inside?), and help your pitcher find the zone.
6. Re-order your priorities. Are you only arguing balls and strikes because you’re looking for a walk? Consider hitting the ball. Walking is for wimps.
7. Crack jokes with the umpire. I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s human, and might enjoy a chat of the non-sultry variety. I like to approach the box with the tone of a friendly waiter: "Hi! I’ll be your leadoff hitter tonight. If you’d like something from the cocktail lounge, just let me know."
8. Support a good decision. And no, not that cheesy "Good call, blue," when the call just happens to go your way. An example: When the No-Brainers began tossing manly epithets at my teammates, the umpire stepped out and declared that the next person to argue with the opposition would be tossed from the game. After the game, I made a point of thanking him for lowering the testosterone level, and thereby making the rest of the game a much calmer affair.

And a final note to the Rulesmakers: Not to complain, but_ Why can’t ejections be easier? Tossing out a player usually leads to a forfeit by his team, which makes umpires extremely reluctant to pull the trigger. It’s amazing how many games are ruined by one bad apple, and how much abuse umpires are expected to take.