Athletes as Role Models

With an NBA referee facing game-fixing accusations, pro quarterback Michael Vick accused of dog-fighting, and Barry Bonds' home-run chase reminding fans daily of baseball's perduring problem with steroids (which I've written about in the essays collected here), now seems as bad a time as any to gather some thoughts on the bromide about superstar athletes serving as role models for youngsters. Should parents point to these law-breaking, drug-ingesting, bet-placing, fan-despising, spoiled, pampered rich athletes and tell our children to be like them? Are athletes role models? Are they good ones?

Yes, on all counts.

1. First let's define "role model." It's not just "model," it's a model of a specific "role." This is an important limitation. None of us are models for children in an unlimited sense; even we parents should be humble enough to hope that our children do not mirror our behaviors completely. I'd like my children to have my work ethic, which is impeccable (yes, my dean reads the blog); I'd not like them to have my over-intense commitment to my job, which is so important to me that it overrides any cost to my personal health or well-being (I'm going for a raise this year). We all want our kids to share in our good qualities, not the bad.

2. Athletes are role models for children, but only for the role of "athlete." Athletes display the athletic virtues: diligence, perseverance, the value of training, fair play and sportsmanship, grace under pressure, the pursuit of excellence. The best of our athletes exhibit these virtues abundantly, in full public display. How familiar is the story of the gifted athlete whose rise to stardom is fueled by endless practice, peak performance on notable college teams, and diligent perfecting of his professional game? How common is the athlete who has overcome a deeply difficult upbringing in single- or no-parent homes amidst neighborhood poverty and crime? This time of year I daily help my young children organize themselves to arrive on time, fed and properly dressed for baseball practice. What chance would my kids have were a parent not available to make sports participation easy? It amazes me that many of our accomplished professional athletes were able to put it all together and excel. One can watch any professional game in any sport and see role models at every position.

3. Yet some fans and commentators apparently want more. They want athletes to be more than a model of a role; they want athletes to be a model of all personal and public virtues. Why should we expect athletes to exhibit non-athletic virtues to any greater degree than we or others model such qualities? Virtues such as honesty, integrity, self-control, humility, kindness, generosity and the like are immensely important, but they are no more important to the athlete than they are to the rest of us. Why should I expect to point to an athlete or other celebrity to show my children an example of humility or generosity, more than I should live a life where I can point to myself? But when the lesson is about the pursuit of excellence and the need to practice or the possibility of overcoming obstacles or the determination needed to succeed, well, professional sports players are exemplars. What more can we ask of them? That a person pursuing his own life's goals can unintentionally be a paragon of excellence for others is the best role model possible.

4. Of course some athletes fail to model the role that they have assumed and that we can rightfully expect from them. We can't fairly ask our sports stars to be especially kind or honest, but we can ask them to exhibit good sportsmanship and a commitment to fair play. I am personally dubious about the logic behind the ban on performance enhancements, for example, but rules is rules, and players who flout the rules cheat the game, much as talented players who squander their innate gifts cheat the duty they owe to their employers and, by extension, their fans. Athletes are models for their roles, and like any role model they can succeed or fail at that role. But it is on that singular and limited dimension, as an example or model of the specific role of the athlete, that we should judge our professional athletes, and no more.

5. Children understand my point implicitly. I can point to Kobe Bryant's wonderful form on a jump shot as worthy of emulation without my children taking my comment as an implicit endorsement of Bryant's broken adherence to his marital vow. I can (one day perhaps) mention Michael Vick's success as an NFL quarterback to evidence the possibility for a person to overcome certain physical limitations (in his case, inferior height for the position) and perform athletic tasks competently, and do so without endorsing mistreatment of helpless animals. And so on. I suspect strongly that the claimed worry about kids ("What can we tell our children?") that one hears when the foibles and errors of star athletes are once again brought to public light is nothing more than an invention, something we say because we can't bring ourselves to speak the truth.

6. The truth is this: we're not really worried about our children. We fans should worry about ourselves. We have it in mind that we have a right to spy, pry and obsess about the private lives of people who "choose" certain occupations, such as athlete or movie star. And then we think that our decision to watch them (and spy and pry) justifies our holding them to a standard that we ourselves do not always meet. And that if they, the stars, don't like our spying and prying, then they (we say) should not have chosen to be in the public arena. Wrong. We watchers made the choice to watch, and it's a new decision each time we buy a ticket to the game or turn on the television. The basketball player will play (if that's his best occupation) whether it's in front of a small crowd or an international television audience. The player chooses to expose that much of his life (his playing of the game) to our scrutiny. The rest of the prying and spying is clearly not the athlete's choice; it's ours. Should we be surprised when that part of the athlete's life that the athlete did not choose to be held open to public scrutiny fails to measure up to the virtuous excellence we want to see (and very often do see) on the playing field or court? Should we be ashamed of ourselves for our constant, envious nosiness into what is often not our business? All of us "go public" with certain aspects of our lives, if only to advertise our businesses, apply for a job, or write a blog. Should that limited act of consent mean that all aspects of our life are now fair game for the prying eye? If not, then why should this be the case for the athlete?

7. Of course it's news and newsworthy when a high-profile athlete is accused of a serious crime or of cheating the game, much as would be the case for any other citizen. But our legitimate interest in the private lives of our celebrity athletes does not go much further. We need to allow these young men and women to try and fail at the "non-athletic" human virtues as much as we permit everybody else. We ask enough of these athletes to achieve perfection in the athletic virtues. That they accomplish these athletic virtues so often and under such pressure is testament not to the demise of professional sports in this country, but to their success. Long gone are the days of baseball players drinking beer during games or basketball players using cocaine before the tipoff. Few today are the gifted athletes who negligently or lazily squander away their talent. Our professional athletes are more virtuous and yes, better role models than they have ever been. That we fans and observers fail to recognize this, and instead demand even more of them, creates a vision of a "role model" that is unrealistic and unreasonable.

In Defense of Michael Vick

Before you throw down your mouse and storm off the internet in anger, hear me out on this one. I’m not going to make any technical legal arguments about search and seizure law: that’s for lawyers getting paid by the hour. Instead I’m going to try to address Vick’s alleged conduct on a more moral plane, considering the practice or “sport” of dogfighting in a slightly broader context. I’m probably going to fail, as this whole activity is pretty gruesome. Still, deep down I believe the instant hatred directed toward Vick is a little undeserved and overdone.

Click on the jump to consider a few thoughts.

1. I used to litigate in the Eastern District of Virginia, which, as everyone now knows, the local lawyers have long called the "Rocket Docket." The nickname is well-deserved. Michael's lawyers, here's some advice. Double knot your wing tips and cinch up your neckties: when the judge schedules a major pre-trial conference for a date three weeks' hence, the conference will happen in three weeks. Don't bother telling the judge about your vacation plans, Vick's training camp, or the needs of your other clients. Just draw a line through your daughter's birthday party and fill in your hearing. And I might add: the judges in this district as a rule are strict, by the book, and do not much abide pleas for leniency. And this: God help Michael Vick if the Commonwealth of Virginia brings state charges. Virginia sentencing law does not view felons charitably. And more: ask for a jury trial. Despite the reputation of the judges, Virginia juries (especially in Richmond) tend to be pro-plaintiff on the civil side and pro-defendant on the criminal side. Finally: ask the Falcons to trade Vick immediately to the Redskins, the much beloved "local" Richmond team. You need all the help you can on something like this.

2. Let me make this clear at the outset. I love dogs (have owned several, and just got a new one two weeks ago), never strike them or hurt them, and couldn't for a minute stand the sight of one dog ripping into another, especially at the instigation of the dog's master, whom the dog is bred to trust and whom most dogs want nothing more than to please. I would never for an instant allow my dog to be hurt in any way. Dog fighting is deeply wrong and not to be countenanced.

3. So how can I defend Vick? Start here. Vick maintained, when the news erupted, that he was personally unaware of the dogfighting at his house. This claim has been ridiculed in the press and apparently now contradicted by certain witnesses. Is it ridiculous? Many star athletes and celebrities own several homes, largely for investment, but also, especially in the case of athletes from impoverished backgrounds, to provide housing for relatives. It is in fact possible (although not probable) that Vick seldom actually stepped foot in the house, despite his nominal ownership. What if we find out he actually did not know? Let's go slowly here.

4. What about the witnesses? They were bribed. Not by cash money, of course, but by the promise of non-prosecution or prosecutorial leniency that they were or will be given in exchange for their incriminating testimony. Is that a bribe? No, not in the legal sense. But a prosecutor's promise (enforceable in court) functions like a bribe. Clearly the prosecutors are seeking to convict Vick on this case because convicting a famous public figure maximizes law enforcement, sending a message to the rest of us that a successful prosecution of some unknown person would not replicate. So to a person implicated in the dog fighting, the threat of prosecution paired with the promise of leniency in exchange for implicating Vick functions as a substantial inducement to fabricate. And if you don't think fabricated evidence poses a problem in criminal prosecutions, go read some of the research discussing the quality of evidence of "jailhouse informants," who will say just about anything to lessen their exposure to further criminal sanctions and whose imaginative stories have led some judges to refuse to allow them to testify at all. Now, to be clear, I'm not saying the witnesses in the Vick case are lying or that the prosecutors misbehaved, not at all. But I am pointing out that witnesses in these matters have obvious motivations to lie. Prosecutors, when they offer such leniency, are to an extent buying a "pig in a poke" (Virginia saying), not entirely sure what testimony they're getting for their offer. If the testimony proves to be a lie, the offer will be retracted. But still, the testimony promised (and leaked to the press) may not be the actual testimony that is given under the threat of perjury in a court of law. Again, let's see how these witnesses hold up over time before we believe them.

5. What about the charges? How bad is dog fighting? It's bad, in my view. But my stomach would be equally turned by cock-fighting, bull-fighting, and many of the other blood sports that are not uncommon, still, in the contemporary world. Michael Vick witnessed a dog fight. Has Pau Gasol (from Spain) witnessed a bull fight, where the large, sentient creature is slowly and cruelly (at least it looks cruel to me) put to death through a succession of pricks, stabs and other wounds? Cocks may not be as sentient and intelligent as dogs, but still I couldn't watch them fight, pecking each other to a bloody pulp. Yet people, both men and women, do enjoy such fights, and I assume the rest of us treat these people with normal respect and politeness. I see glimpses of Ultimate Fighting on television, and even though no one's fighting to the death in that ring, I have seen men fall and their opponents jump on top of them, pounding them in the head unto submission. Again, I don't have a taste for such blood sports. But some people do. Should we deny them that taste? Yes, emphatically. But by the same token, when they act on that taste and attend a dog-, cock-, bull-, or ultimate-fight, I think the rest of us have to understand that a taste for blood sports is a somewhat normal and (in some places) culturally accepted means of enjoyment.

6. Why were the dogs killed? The indictment contends that dogs at the Vick house were killed by strangulation, shooting, drowning, and the like. What could possibly justify such barbarity? Perhaps charity and humaneness? As I've written before, on occasion I take my boys bird hunting. Now my boys are excellent shots, seldom missing the birds that flush into their zone of fire (those young eyes are nice). For TSLP, with poor vision, well, I do practice but I'll confess I miss sometimes. It's not good to miss (which is why I never attempt difficult shots and always remind my boys to be ready to fire in case I do miss). Missing can wound the bird instead of kill it. I have wounded birds and like any ethical hunter it becomes my duty to track that wounded bird down and finish the job as quickly and humanely as possible. Tired and hungry, my boys and I have crossed much rugged terrain in chasing down my wounded prey. When we find the bird, we don't just shoot it on the ground (sluicing). Sluicing is reckless and dangerous, as you never know how a BB from your shotgun might richochet; plus you never know what else is hiding in that bush. No, what you have to do is grab that poor wounded bird and twist his neck so he dies. I don't like killing birds that way, but it's the only humane thing to do in the circumstances. Now, I have no idea why people were strangling dogs at the Vick property. Maybe it was just malignant, and if that's the case, it's despicable. But we might learn that these particular dogs were injured from fights to such an extent that the humane thing to do was to put the dog down, and strangulation or shooting was the quickest and most painless way to end the dog's life. I don't know why these killings happened (and neither do you), but my point is that there might be non-malign explanations. Let's not jump to conclusions.

7. Talk of ending Vick's career or punishing him at this point seem absurdly premature. The criminal trial, if it goes that far, may bring many facts to light that could change the tenor of public opinion and affect the seriousness of Vick's conduct. Kobe Bryant, now returned to icon status, was tried for forcible rape of a human being. Michael Vick has been charged with less.

The Difficulty of Profiting from a Corrupted Referee

The big story this week concerns an NBA referee with a gambling problem who allegedly endeavored to fix game outcomes to favor his gambling cronies, to whom he was apparently indebted. At this point none of us know the full details, and maybe we never will. Nonetheless, the media reaction to this development has been apocalyptic, and that's putting it mildly. I've heard the event described as the biggest American sports scandal since the Black Sox; some commentators have predicted the demise of the NBA itself.

Time to get a grip everyone. A game fixing scandal is not that big of a deal. But if it becomes one, what I fear is not the scandal but the measures that the NBA (and potentially other sports leagues) will take in response. If this scandal leads to the demise of the NBA, it won't be because of the rogue actions of a particular referee. It will be because David Stern, perhaps pushed by an irate Congress or an over-reactive public, makes a profound error in judgment.

1. The Black Sox scandal was such a big deal because, well, who knows. It's part of the lore and legend of baseball, and, like many such memories (see the "Curse of the Bambino," for instance), the scandal is probably oversold in its significance. Well within the memory of players and fans at the time of the Black Sox was the practice of "hippodroming," which in the early years (before the formation of the first professional baseball league) involved two club owners staging private baseball games for the benefit of local gamblers. So baseball was no stranger to gambling, and only in the wake of the 1919 World Series (and the trial acquittal of the White Sox players) did the major league employ a commissioner to eradicate betting. So the famous scandal became notorious not because it was shocking or novel or unexpected, but because it marked what came to be regarded as a turning point in baseball's history. (A little like Paul Revere's ride in that its contemporary significance paled in comparison to the importance the ride is given in the common historical narrative).

2. Other sports have had their scandals, even involving game fixing, and have survived intact. College basketball, probably the most corrupted sport given the number of instances of fixing that have surfaced over the years, appears to remain unblemished in the public eye. Why do these commentators, so upset about the possibility of an NBA game being fixed, happily watch (I presume) college basketball? One solution already proposed to the NBA scandal is to give the referees a pay raise. How perplexing that move would be for the refs. Here they are, cowering in their off-season homes with a worried eye on the developing story, and then the hammer comes down: pay raises for everybody! That will teach them. More money would give the refs a greater investment (performance bond) in doing a good, honest job, but on that theory we should give a raise to college athletes (who are paid, in effect) and to everybody else in a position to fix a game. Besides being expensive, how much is enough? At what point does a referee or player make enough money to forgo the bribe? At what point would a person risk shutting down his career to make some immediate cash? I don't know; I suppose the amount would vary quite a bit. Raising everyone's pay seems problematic at best.

3. Lots of games are fixed, in a sense. Wrestling for one. Horse racing has had its problems. Given the willingness of some players and teams to use performance enhancements, isn't it just as true that, in a signficant way, games involving those teams are fixed too? The probability of a particular outcome (victory by the druggies) is enhanced. Reading recently about the drug scandals surrounding teams in the Tour de France makes clear to me that certain teams were pre-ordained to be competitive or to have no chance, depending on their decisions to use illicit drugs. Aren't baseball games involving Barry Bonds fixed, in that Bonds' steroid use gives the Giants a (big) leg up on the opposition? Does not the Giants' management, well aware of Bonds' drug use, essentially pay Bonds a large salary precisely because his cheating enhances the Giants' chances? A referee can't guarantee bettors a particular outcome; he can improve the chances, perhaps significantly, and so in the betting world, where even slight edges are worth lots of money, bribing a referee pays off. But does it pay off more than other inside knowledge, such as knowing a particular pitcher is doping, or knowing a wide receiver is having marital troubles, or realizing that a particular guard, in a contract year, will shoot the ball even to his team's detriment? The point is that lots of games are fixed in this broad sense, yet we still love to watch the games and seem to enjoy them just as thoroughly.

4. If baseball can survive an entire generation's worth of sluggers and fastballers shooting up with steroids, basketball can survive a rogue referee's slip to the dark side. Steroids affect every aspect of a sport, from the batter's performance to the pitcher's arm speed. Every game, every day. Even a referee hell-bent on fixing a game will have to overcome the compensating calls made by his two fellow referees, plus overcome the fact that, no matter how many fouls one calls, on some nights one team just beats another, sometimes badly, and there's not much a ref can do about it. Plus some referees are corrupted, not by a bribe, but by the screams of the home crowd, the reputation of the players, the speed of the game, and so on. No, these refs are not corrupted in their intention (as is a referee who is bribed), but the result is the same. Part of the NBA's appeal is the fan's chance to comment directly on the performance of the referees. Unlike football, where many actions that lead to penalties are hidden from public view beneath the mass of linemen's bodies, in the NBA most actions subject to foul calls are nearly as evident to spectators (especially those at home) as they are to the referees. Now, along with incompetence and mistake, fans can cite intentional corruption in their catty remarks.

5. How often would a corrupted referee fix games? Imagine you're a gambler controlling an NBA ref. It is likely you made a large investment in getting the ref to the point where he'll try to fix a game. You wouldn't want him making it too obvious. Once the ref were exposed, your investment would be lost, along with all the future games from which you could profit. Instead, you'd probably look for games likely to be close (so the ref's corruption might better affect the game outcome), and that involved enough betting action to allow you (the fixer) to get down a large amount of money without that bet being traced to a single source. (Bookies know what fixed games look like too, just from the bets that are made.) Probably you'd pick out three or four games, hoping the modest edge your "fixed" ref gives you allows for the game outcome in the majority of them to be tipped in your favor. My point is: we don't need to search through meaningless Hawks vs. Bobcats contests to look for objectionable calls by the corrupted referee; look at games where a lot of money was down. Even then, good luck finding corrupted calls: basketball fouls are intractably subjective, and people see what they want to see. (Some people claim to see losing NBA teams "tanking" for draft position, even where all logic and anecdotal evidence is to the contrary.)

6. Here's what will happen: after as much detail as possible is learned, the NBA (and other leagues, I predict, will follow suit) will "get tougher" on referees who gamble. Given that the current rule prohibits gambling and calls for the single sanction of immediate termination, I'm not sure what more the league can do. Perhaps refs will be given periodic lie-detector tests; perhaps also referees will be required to make detailed disclosures of their financial statements to alert the league to unusual gains or losses. Similar restrictions on players, who are equally able to fix games, might follow. At this time, all the leagues prohibit players betting on their sport; some also prohibit sports betting entirely. None, outside of the NCAA, prohibit all gambling activities, and if the story is right, it is non-sports betting that got this particular NBA referee into trouble. Could contemporary professional players, flush with cash and with a proclivity for wagering action, plausibly be prohibited from engaging in any gambling activity at all? Would the NBA or any pro league really suspend a notable player just for playing cards at the local casino? My point is that taking the anti-gambling rules much further brings the leagues into a position with which few of us would be comfortable.

7. Here's what should happen. The NBA should investigate, find and fire the miscreants, and move on. The FBI and the U.S. Attorney's office can take care of any violations of federal law. Gambling in general is not that bad. There are lots of ways referees and players can get into deep financial trouble, and some of them involve perfectly legal bets like stocks, bonds, real estate and business start-ups. A player or referee, by having some (marginal) control over game outcomes, always has the potential to sell that control to a bettor or to others who may be interested. (For instance, couldn't wealthy boosters of a college football club be just as likely to fix a game by bribing the opposing quarterback as would a gambler? Even people in no particular financial difficulty might be inclined to sell their control over game outcomes, just to make some money.) So there's really nothing the NBA can do to legislate away financial troubles, and little the league can do about the opportunity referees and players have to sell their valuable ability to marginally affect game outcomes. At the end of the day the league has to trust people, and we fans implicitly know that every once in a while that trust will be broken. It's not a shocker; the league won't fail. That a trust given will occasionally be broken is an expected aspect of the human condition, a fact of which everyone except certain notable commentators seems well aware.


Addendum:

This ESPN interview with an oddsmaker makes a good point: that an NBA referee, although unlikely to be able to dictate game outcomes in terms of victory, is able to influence the total points of the game. Betting "totals," or the "over/under," is another common bet proposition, along with bets on the winner. Two thoughts to add. First, totals bets are not as widely available as are bets to win. Some bookmakers don't like to offer totals, much like they don't like to offer any wagers on more obscure games featuring unknown teams, simply because information (which gives professional oddsmakers their edge) is harder to come by.

Second, a major bettor (and I would assume any bettor who invested in corrupting and controlling an NBA referee would be a major bettor) would want to get down some very heavy action on the particular game his corrupted referee were under instruction to try to influence. Big bets on totals are hard to get down. Most sports books limit the size of these bets much more than they do the size of the bets to win (for that same unpredictability and information reasons). Now, to most of us, a betting limit of $5000 or whatever sounds like no limit at all. To a professional gambler looking to get down over a quarter million dollars on a total bet, this limit can pose a real problem. Plus, even to get down a bet at or near the book's maximum, most gamblers need to have a prior, established relationship with the bookie. Bookies only maintain losing relationships, if you get my drift. A successful bettor with inside information would have a seriously difficult time getting his bet down, even through cut-outs (other people placing bets for the big bettor). Bookies are very watchful of their customers. Worse, once the bookies figure out the bettor is winning, the spreads or totals will move with his bets, instantaneously, thus making it progressively more difficult for this bettor to get the action he needs to make this venture profitable.

I'm not saying money can't be made from a corrupted NBA referee; of course it can. I'm again suggesting that this scandal might not be as substantial as some are assuming it to be. Having inside information (a biased referee) and making money off of it are two different things, much like having the ability to access illegal drugs and making (and laundering) proceeds from it involve two different levels of complication. The money part is a lot more tricky.

Van de Velde Could Have Won

With the British Open returning to famed Carnoustie, focus again returns us to poor Jean Van de Velde who, in perhaps the biggest mistake in sports history (pending Michael Vick's disposition), lost a major championship that was his for the taking. Why did he lose it? Not because of poor golf swings or even poor judgment, as is commonly understood. No, Jean lost the Open because he failed to exercise his right to counsel in a timely manner. Yes, if only a Lawyer instead of a caddie had carried Jean's clubs that day, the Claret Jug would have been his.

Don't believe me? Here's a piece I wrote at the time for Legal Times, a lawyer newspaper.

Don't Play Pro Se

Jean Van de Velde didn’t need a better swing coach, psychologist, or financial planner to win golf’s most coveted championship, the British Open, last month. What he needed was a lawyer.

The Rules of Golf, which golf professionals are somehow expected to master along with driving, chipping, and putting, are about as perspicuous as the Internal Revenue Code, and more important to boot. Playing a long shot from a deep sand bunker is a cakewalk compared to taking on the intricacies of Rule 27. Had Jean had a lawyer by his side as he played the fateful 18th hole at Carnoustie, he might have won, despite his poor judgments and poor shot execution.

Recall the troubles. Our doomed Frenchman carried a commanding three-shot lead into the final hole of the Open. A simple par, a routine score for a professional, would mean the famed Claret Jug would be brimming with expensive Bordeaux within the hour. But even a one-over-par bogey or a double bogey, the mode score of hackers everywhere, brings the Jug to France. Now, ending with a double bogey is not winning in the classic style, to be sure, but who cares about convention? An offhand wave of the Gauloise accompanied by an insouciant smile, c’est la vie, and that double bogey is forgotten forever.

But Jean wants it all, he wants to arrive in fashion, so he uses too much club on the drive, his first shot, on hole 18. Of course, Jean hits his drive errantly (a lesson there for us all), but he’s lucky! His ball somehow lands and stops on a small isthmus of land surrounded by a ball-swallowing stream, the Barry Burn, well off the fairway, but safe, dry, the ball lying perfectly on a flat patch of groomed and mowed grass. Of course, now we understand that Sartre was right, il fait necessaire, it must be. There is no reason for that patch of land to be groomed and mowed and flat but to catch and coddle Jean Van de Velde’s stray shot at this moment in time. Jean would win the Open no matter how much we mere mortals had tried to interfere.

Certainly, Jean must have understood all of this. How else to explain his next shot? Jean decides to use a long iron – for most players, the most difficult club in the bag – to carry the ball over the same burn, which circles back over the fairway about 200 yards away, with the idea of rolling his ball onto the green in regulation. A successful negotiation of the burn at this point all but seals the victory, as most players, from skilled pros to over weight cart-riders, can two put on most greens at most times.

But as golf history will forever record, Jean tempted fate once too often. His shot did fly over the burn but veered to the right at the end, and in an abrupt reversal of luck, struck a grandstand rail and bounced sharply backward, toward the burbling burn, bouncing off a rock and ending up in the long hay grass and gorse that passes for rough on Open courses. Now in a hopelessly impossible situation, Jean stumbled his way to a triple-bogey seven, ending up in a three-way tie playoff that he was unmistakably scheduled to lose.

What Jean should have done is this: Moments after his second shot caromed off the grandstand and into the tall grass, Jean should have handed his two-iron back to his caddie. He should then have planted his feet square to the target line and made a full shoulder turn to his left to consult his golf lawyer, who would have by now researched and prepared a legal opinion on how to proceed under the Rules of Golf. The golf lawyer – or GL, as they will one day be called – would have told Jean to try it again.

That’s right, Jean, drop another ball and try to hit it straight this time. What the rules of golf call a “provisional,” though in the hands of a skillful lawyer really amounts to a free do-over, is known universally as a “mulligan.” Had Jean’s provisional shot been correctly struck and ended up on the green, the GL would have told Jean to hurry to his provisional ball and two-putt to a victory.

Could it be true? Do the Rules of Golf, that long and picky list of do’s and don’ts issued jointly by the most stuffy of ruling bodies, the U.S. Golf Association and the Order of the Royal and Ancient, really allow for a good old mulligan on the last hole of a major championship, just like you get on the first hole every Saturday morning? You bet. It’s a bit complicated, but that’s why we pay lawyers.

Our path to a free mulligan begins with Rule 27, pertaining to lost and provisional balls. A ball is “lost,” according to the rule, when, well, it’s lost. No one can find it in five minutes. Under the same rule, a ball is also “lost” when the player puts another ball into play, even if the original ball is not lost in the first sense. So even if the original ball is sitting in the middle of the fairway, if a player drops another ball and hits it, without declaring it to be a provisional ball, then the first ball is lost, and the provisional ball is now the ball in play – albeit lying there after a one stroke penalty for a lost ball. None of this would have helped poor Jean, who on the advice of his GL, would clearly have declared his mulligan to be a provisional ball before dropping it at the spot from which his original shot, the second shot on 18, was struck.

But Rule 27 doesn’t stop there. For some reason, a third definition of “lost ball” is provided, and here’s the one on which Jean’s golf lawyer would have rested his finger in explaining matters to perplexed officials as Jean hoisted the Jug. Strangely, under Rule 27 an original ball is deemed lost whenever a player plays his provisional ball from the place where the original ball is likely to be lost or from a point nearer the hole than that place.

So as soon as Jean smoothly strokes his provisional ball for the second time (after, presumably, it has come to rest on the green, which is a point nearer to the hole than the place where his original ball is presumed lost), then at that moment Jean’s original ball, snuggled in an unspeakably long rough, is lost – even if thousands of spectators are looking at it, Bob Rosburg is assessing the merits of its lie for the television audience, and Curtis Strange is calling Jean stupid for hitting it there. Jean putts his provisional ball for his fifth shot (after taking his one-shot penalty), taps in for the double bogey, hugs his gleeful wife, and prepares his gracious acceptance speech.

Sound implausible? As they say in golf, it will work. A player may play a provisional ball as long as the ball may be lost outside a water hazard. The player’s belief on this point must be a reasonable one, according to the USGA’s “Decisions on the Rules of Golf,” which provide what purport to be authoritative interpretation of the rules. The numerous decisions resolve dilemmas involving balls being stolen by animals, hit by thrown clubs, and all other sorts of wild mayhem and improbable luck that might happen on our otherwise sedate golf landscapes. With Jean’s ball lying in the tall grass, his decision to declare and play a provisional would seem reasonable.

Beyond a Mulligan
So Jean drops and hits his provisional shot. If the provisional shot was well-struck, Jean could proceed to play it, forgetting about his original ball. If the provisional was as bad as the original, then Jean could simply have abandoned his provisional and played the original, no harm done. Wait, the weekend player might say, this isn’t just a mulligan, it’s the coveted “Murphy,” one better than a mulligan, because Jean can actually hit two balls and pick the better. That’s right. Jean had a chance to try the shot again with impunity.

Indeed, in interviews after the tournament, Jean said that, for him, a long-iron shot from the perfect lie where his drive ended up was actually an easy shot. Jean’s claim was probably correct, given that the young Scot, Paul Lawrie, the eventual winner, attempted successfully a very similar shot about one hour later in the playoff, and he did so holding but a one-stroke lead. So we have good reason to conclude that Jean’s second try would have sailed true, and Jean would have had an easy choice to make.

Could Jean really have putted out a provisional ball? Decision 27-2b/1 of the USGA discusses in question-and-answer format a player continuing to play his provisional ball without searching for his original ball. Here’s the question, which of course is on the lips of every golfer whenever the provisional stroke turns out far better than the original:

Q: At a par-3 hole, a player hits his tee shot into dense woods. He then hits a provisional ball which comes to rest near the hole. In view of the position of the provisional ball, the player does not wish to find his original ball. He does not search for it and walks directly towards his provisional ball to continue play with it. His opponent (or fellow competitor) believes it would be beneficial to him if the original ball were found. May the opponent (or fellow competitor) search for five minutes for the player’s ball?

A: Yes, provided that in the meantime the player does not play a stroke with the provisional ball, it being nearer the hole than the place where the original ball is likely to be. The player is entitled to play such a stroke. If he does, the original ball is lost under Rule 27-2b and further search for it would serve no purpose.

You see, it’s a race. Jean hits his provisional shot, the ball rolls onto the green, and then, acting under legal advice, Jean moves quickly to the green. Heck, it’s the Open! Run, Jean, run! As long as Jean plays his next shot before his first ball is found by his fellow competitor, forecaddie, or some official, then his provisional becomes his ball in play and his original ball is lost.

Indeed the rules are even more specific. Even if Jean’s ball is found, Jean may still stubbornly proceed to his provisional and play it, as long as he has not actually been told that his original ball was found. Look at Decision 27-2c/2, “Original Ball Found: Player Wishes to Ignore It and Continue Play with Provisional Ball:”

Q: At a par-3 hole, a player hits his tee shot into a heavy thicket and, since his ball may be lost, he hits a provisional ball, which comes to rest near the hole. In the circumstances, it is advantageous to the player not to find his original ball, in which case the provisional ball would become the ball in play. Accordingly the player does not search for the original ball; he walks directly towards his provisional ball. While the player is on his way to his provisional ball, his original ball is found by a member of the Committee, a forecaddie, his opponent, or a fellow-competitor. The player is advised that his original ball has been found. May the player ignore the original ball and continue play with the provisional ball?

A: No. The player must inspect the ball which has been found and, if it is the player’s original ball, he must continue play with it (or proceed under the unplayable ball Rule). The provisional ball must be abandoned.

So putting these two decisions together, as long as the player has not “been advised that his original ball has been found,” he may dash forward and hit the provisional ball for his next shot. Once he plays that shot, the original ball is lost, no matter who finds it and when. Jean’s golf lawyer could have helped here too, engaging meddlesome officials and rerouting troublesome forecaddies who might want to help Jean find his original ball while Jean quickly lined up his approach putt.

Why not? This is the British Open, for goodness’ sake. Tiger Woods once had a two-foot high boulder carried out of his way, with the assistance of spectators, as a “loose impediment” and that was a comparatively meaningless PGA tour stop. Why shouldn’t Jean use the Rules of Golf just as aggressively? The only “violation” of the rules Jean would have committed by quickly hitting his provisional ball again is playing out of turn, which under stroke play competition results in no penalty at all.

Check out this delicious variation. What if Jean’s provisional ball had rolled into the cup? As his GL, I’d advise him to sprint to the green. Surely he’d be faster than the rotund Craig Parry, his playing parter for the day. Consider Decision 27-2b/2:

Q: At a short hole, A’s tee shot may be out of bounds or lost, so he plays a provisional ball, which he holes. A does not wish to look for his original ball. B, A’s opponent or fellow-competitor, goes to look for the original ball. When does the provisional ball become the ball in play?

A: The provisional ball becomes the ball in play as soon as A picks it out of the hole, provided his original ball has not already been found in bounds within five minutes of B starting to search for it.

And they say golf is not a sport! This decision could have restated more realistically as follows: The moment A’s provisional ball falls into the cup, A and B take off like mad-men down the fairway. B dons his golf gloves and dives headfirst into the thicket, hoping to find A’s original ball at first look. For his part, A, having trained for speed, sprints to the green, coming to a sliding stop right at the hole. He plucks his provisional ball from the hole and holds it aloft moments before B screams out, “I found it!” And A records a routine par 3.

Jean had the championship right there in front of him. Not on the 18th green, but in Rule 27. What could officials have said had Jean played a provisional and then hit it again? The Rules and Decisions of Golf actually permit a Murphy: a chance to hit the shot again and then decide, after seeing how good the second try was, whether to play the original ball or the provisional. Nothing would have prevented Jean from playing the provisional with the one-stroke penalty – a trade Jean would have been delighted to make, given the fate of his original shot.

Poor Van de Velde. One day, in a better world, professional golfers won’t have to face the perplexities of the Rules of Golf without adequate legal counsel. Until that day comes, pro golfers, like victims everywhere, will have to suffer the injustices meted out by unseen tyrants. C’est la guerre, Jean, c’est la guerre.

I Pine for Wood Bats

I still love the feel of the wood bat in my hands, even if I only have a fungo bat for practice drills. The metal bats and the distinctive ping sound they produce can't match wood. With wood, everyone knows immediately how well the ball was struck; all metal hits sound the same. Yet all the tactile and aesthetic considerations don't override the primary consideration of today's Little Leaguer in purchasing a bat: the kids want the bat that will hit the ball the furthest. And in my mind there's no question about performance: today's manufactured metal bats, fashioned out of alloyed composite materials, hit the ball harder than does the traditional wood bat made from ash.

Some states have apparently banned metal bats from their youth baseball leagues, and other states are considering following suit. These bans have been encouraged by parent organizations that cite to several tragic injuries (usually to pitchers, the closest fielder to a batted ball) from hard-hit line drives off of metal bats. Needless to say, the bat manufacturers are displeased, claiming that no valid evidence demonstrates that metal bats form a safety risk.

Should metal bats be banned?

1. Here at TSLP Laboratories (research sponsored by TSLP Worldwide, Inc.), our scientists carefully followed the following protocol in our experiment to compare wood bats and metal bats. First, many decades ago (over four) we selected our human subject (call him "Little T"). He was a perfect test candidate, due to poor vision, modest athleticism, and a dream of playing for the Boston Red Sox. Little T was told to use a wood bat only throughout his little-league baseball career. Little T's every success was carefully remembered (the failures less so). We then followed Little T longitudinally, carefully noting his decision to father young boys with a deep love of baseball. Little T (now a bit bigger) was told (by the new baseball-loving boy T's) to purchase expensive metal bats for his boys to use in their youth baseball games. Little T was instructed to spectate at those games, no matter how long they took, and to observe closely every at-bat of the boy T's. Little T was charged then to measure mentally the differences, if any, between wood bats and metal bats. Our findings, soon to be published in dense numerical data form, can be summarized as follows: METAL BATS HIT THE BALL HARDER.

2. I saw a ten-year-old boy the other day "miss" on a ball, the pop-up carrying to center field. And carrying. Over the fence, 200 regulation feet away. I routinely see boys at this age stroke deep liners and long homers. I realize that heavy steroid doses and personal trainers have added some muscle mass to today's elementary school child, but still, the baseball is being hit harder and harder, even over the last few years. Maybe technique is better. But I'm betting the bats are better too.

3. Surely the bat manufacturers would agree that their bats are better than they were in previous years, and certainly better than decades ago. These bats better perform better: I've promised my kid a new one for next season, and worried talk among the fans in the stands is that it takes about $300 to get it done. (Research note: if the bat manufacturers want to send me some experimental bats for TSLP Junior to try out, I'll be happy to report on their success. TSLP is willing to pursue the truth no matter what the personal cost to my academic integrity.) For that kind of money, I want to see my kid flying balls over the wall too.

4. Here's what I can't figure out about the tester's conclusions finding that there is no difference between wood and metal bats. It may well be the case that a ball, when struck by a metal bat in its "sweet spot" or a wood bat in its sweet spot, comes off the bat at an identical velocity. But how often do batters, particularly in youth ball, square the ball at just the right spot? Not often. But here's the thing: everyone seems to agree that metal bats have a much larger sweet spot, and are, for their weight/length ratio, lighter than wood bats. What this means is that players swinging metal can use a larger bat (youth leagues vary in their restrictions on bat size), swing it harder, and hit the sweet spot more often, a lot more often, if the testing protocols described above prove up to scientific standards. So the game is changed, and clearly pitchers and other fielders are in danger, more often than they would be in a game with wood bats. Instead of one or two really squared hits in a game, with wood bats, we have that many each inning. Batters using metal can make contact with the pitch all over the bat, such as on the handle or toward its end, and still hit line drives. With a wood bat, hits on those spots would likely crack the bat, or at least sting the fingers, and usually result in an easy out. With metal bats? Well, I know of a coach who keeps batting statistics, and he claims his leading hitter (his son, it turns out!) is batting over .700. Even allowing for generous parental scoring, that's a lot of hits.

5. But banning metal bats may not be the only response to (what seems to me) an obvious case of the batted ball flying harder, and more often, than in the glory years of TSLP's youth. One only has to be in law school for about a week (a month, for some) to realize that it takes two to tort. If pitchers are in danger from metal bats, then instead of banning the bats maybe the pitcher's mound needs to be backed up some. When I see a team of 12-year old boys playing on a sixty-foot diamond (with the mound just a shade over 46 feet away), the diamond looks too small and the players too big. A diamond appropriate for 9's and 10's is too small for 12's. Of course no remedy is faultless; baseball has inherent dangers. One claimed advantage of metal bats is cost-savings; although the bats are pricey, they supposedly last longer (although I think their very thin walls are vulnerable to easy denting). Maybe that cost savings should be redirected into building larger diamonds. Maybe also younger players should be segregated from older ones.

6. There are undoubtedly good reasons, probably having to do with cost, space and available coaches, that nine and ten year-olds are often in the same league with 12's. (Also, given other children's interests, it's difficult to find enough kids to field competent teams at all levels.) For the better players, of any age, quick reflexes are usually enough to defend oneself. But dangers lurk: not just from metal bats, but from obvious deficiencies in player ability, bad hops from ill-kept infields, and the like. I don't have any data on this (TSLP Laboratories is limited to one experiment per lifetime), but I would bet many more injuries result from bad hops on grounders (often due to poorly maintained fields) than from hard-hit line drives. All of us have seen kids struck high on the body or the head from a bad hop on a hard-hit grounder, even in a practice setting. Should Little League ban bad fields? There is a rule against playing in "unsafe" field conditions, but any veteran of youth baseball knows that even decent fields are full of irregularities, "lips" on the edge of the grass, pebbles in the dirt, and the like. We're all just volunteers here, and maintaining even a decent field takes a lot of coordinated effort.

7. What's more, despite all of its claimed preference for safety, Little League in my mind continues to allow the most dangerous activity I've ever seen on a youth baseball field: coaches hitting grounders to players. Now I realize that this practice activity is totally necessary for player development and game preparation; but its necessity doesn't change the fact that it's dangerous. Some of these coaches, in an effort to "get them ready" for higher levels of play, or perhaps out of a touch of anger or sadism, hit their grounders quite hard. Boys get bruised, and we're lucky if it ends there. Should LL ban this activity also, or limit coaches to soft grounders? I guess the answer is no, yet having grown men rap hard ground balls directly at players standing on a typically uneven baseball field creates a clear danger of injury. Some teams or leagues have, in response, adopted rules requiring the wearing of fielding helmets equipped with face masks. These contraptions provide protection, but probably create bad fielding habits that, once the mask is removed at higher levels of play, reveal themselves. But I'm not against fielding headgear; but I do wonder if the cost (in terms of discomfort, etc.) is worth it. Mopeds would be popular if helmets weren't required. Make a kid take the mound in a helmet, face guard and heart guard, and do you think kids would be as excited to pitch? Maybe they'll just quit.

8. The other problem with legislative bans on any dangerous activity is that of data. Probably the most dangerous sports activity for children involves swimming in the backyard pool; perhaps routine exposure to the sun comes next. I would bet the odds of being catastrophically injured by a batted ball is very far down the list. So why should legislatures single out the particular danger of metal bats? Is it just a matter of whose injury or complaint manages to get itself political salience? Should we voters encourage our politicians to outlaw swimming pools, require big floppy hats, and so forth, until we get down the list to the metal bats issue? Now of course just because no state will ever outlaw swimming pools doesn't mean a state cannot address other, lesser dangers that are perhaps more susceptible to amelioration. But still, like swimming pools, metal bats do have their virtues: they are (supposedly) cheaper, and more importantly, they hit the ball harder! More fun for everyone. All dangerous activities have offsetting benefits: is the net effect of metal bats negative? Should we (or our legislatures) implicitly decide that the occasional grievous injury from a batted ball is a price "worth" paying so other kids can enjoy the fun of metal bats? (Obviously holding metal bat manufacturers liable for batted-ball injuries will drive the price of bats higher, meaning that those kids who get to enjoy the fun of metal will have to compensate those who are injured by that enjoyment.)

9. I guess we could start this on a smaller plane. I'm trying to talk TSLP Junior into opting for a wood bat when we make our pre-season bat purchase next spring. Appeals to the safety of others don't seem to appeal to him, nor does my nostalgic speeches on the hidden virtues of wood. So now I'm telling my ten-year-old boy that he needs to get used to wood bats ASAP so he's ready when the Red Sox call him up right out of middle school. The mounds aren't going to be moved back any time soon; nor will pitchers start wearing head gear and heart guards. So the lowest tech solution might be for a group of parents from just one team (preferably a good, winning one) to buy their kids wood bats and win games anyway.

Pitch Counts and the Preference for Rules

It's July, and as every parent of a Little Leaguer knows, it's time for the annual Little League "All Stars" tournament. Yes, it's more than a little presumptuous to think that a ten-year-old boy, like the tiny TSLP Junior, can properly be called an all-star at anything, other than getting into mischief at school. And yet each summer the happy TSLP clan looks forward to another round of our boys against your boys, double elimination for all the marbles.

Since TSLP has been away for most of the last few weeks (family vacation), nothing in the sports world presents itself so immediately to me as does the imminent LL baseball tournament. For most of the baseball season, TSLP sits high in the stands, reading a book and occasionally squinting out to try to find my son's number. But for the tournament? TSLP is on it. These are important children's games!

Now that I'm looking, I've noticed that LL has instituted a strict pitch count rule respecting pitchers, apparently new for this year. The rule limits pitchers to 75 or 85 pitches per game, depending on the player's age. It also requires two days of rest for pitchers who throw more than 45 pitches in a game, one day of rest for 21 to 45 pitches, but no rest requirement for a pitcher throwing fewer than 21 pitches.

Now it's hard to look at a couple of games played in my little corner of Oregon and determine that we have a national crisis, but hard tasks never worry me. We have a national crisis! These pitch rules are a problem.

1. Let's start with the premise that pitchers need to be limited in their pitching. I'll grant the premise, but with some skepticism. In the summer I work a lot in my home office, which custom gives me a good look at my son's play habits. On most days, he is on the run the whole day. When he and his fellow baseball-loving friends get together, some version of baseball erupts, usually in the form of my son playing catch with one of his friends. No coaches, no rules, just these kids throwing the ball, pretty hard most of the time, and usually at the limit of their distance, back and forth. They don't stretch their arms beforehand (and I'm not about to run out there and insist these kids in sandals and bathing suits run through a warm-up stretching routine) and they spend at least one-half of their throws trying to curve the ball. Like kids in my day, these boys crave knowledge about how to throw the exotic pitches they see the pros make on television. (And they find that knowledge: the internet has ended all hopes of keeping such adult images from the young.) They just throw, hundreds of times, without limitation. Is Little League worried about kids throwing baseballs with no one counting? Should I sit near the window and count my son's throws, racing out to stop him before he throws number 76, or insist on two days of rest if he throws more than 45?

2a. By the way, is it really necessary that young boys stretch before baseball games? Not sure if my kid is typical, but he spends the entire summer day on the run. Does anyone out there have his kid stretch before the kid rides off on his bike, or plays with the dog, or plays wiffle ball in the front yard with his pals? Then why when this same kid puts on the uniform and arrives at the ball field that evening does he now have to perform all this stretching that looks designed for forty-year-olds? Kids are limber by definition.

2b. Also by the way, my kid likes to arrive early at the ball field (did I mention he likes baseball?) and as soon as he arrives, he wants to play catch. Again he'll throw it hard and long. He does stop when he's tired, but minutes later he'll be back at it. Watch any LL team warm up and the players will easily throw the ball fifty times each over the course of the pre-game hour. Plus add in the 5-8 warm-up pitches a pitcher makes between innings. If the rule is that a child my son's age should be limited to 75 pitches in a calendar day, well, on most game days, between the play at home and pre-game warm-ups, he'll exceed that number before he delivers his first pitch. Again, I would assume my son is not unique in his love of throwing. Perhaps an in-game pitch is a little more physically stressful than a warm-up throw, but not by much. These kids throw way more than 75 times.

2c. And by the way, years ago I was at a game and the opposing coach was one of these guys who's really into it, just every aspect of the LL baseball game being treated like it was the MLB World Series. Statistics kept and analyzed, coaches dressed up in uniforms to match the players, lots of yelling at the umpires. (Yes, his team won.) At one point he goes to the mound to visit his starting pitcher. "How many?," the coach yells to a parent in the stands, whose job it was to keep track of the pitch count. "121," yells back the parent. Yikes. The coach left the pitcher in.

2d. As an aside, it is really all that bad that a young boy throw a curveball? Watch kids play catch: about all they do is throw curveballs, or any other pitch that might put a little shake into the ball. They throw knucklers, screwballs, knuckle curves, curves, sliders, cut fastballs, you name it. (Of course, in reality all these pitches are "gravity balls" whose slow sinking to the earth results from the distortion of space-time, so that as the ball travels through space it also travels through time. But try convincing a stubborn boy on this point.) So when a game comes and the same kid puts a spin on the ball and the spin (or perhaps the theory of general relativity) results in the ball sinking to the earth, why should all the adults watching get so hot and bothered? Do these gravity balls really result in Tommy John surgery? Maybe yes, at some point. For a ten-year old who spends a large chunk of his summer hours trying to throw a curve ball? I don't care if TSLP Junior throws his curve ball. He won't need his right elbow for his career in law anyway.

3. So, even though I'm granting the premise that a pitcher's pitches ought to be limited, it's a bit of a sketchy premise, given all the throwing kids do on their own. But if the pitches are to be limited, should that limit be created by a rule or a standard? Lawyers and law-makers struggle with this choice all the time. A rule is a fixed point; a standard is a less specific, less descriptive range of outcomes beyond which one should not go. Seventy-five pitches as a limit is a rule; "pitch until not unduly tired" is a standard. Rules take away discretion; standards rely on it. Now to be sure, a rule and a standard may be seen as two points along a continuum. LL's former rule, which limited pitchers by innings, not pitch counts, operated more in the way of a standard because the stress on a pitcher varied by inning; a pitcher throwing two innings may work a lot harder than one throwing four. Thus, a coach might reasonably allow a pitcher to throw his maximum innings, if they were easy, or limit him short of the maximum if not.

4. One big problem with rules is also their virtue: they allow for no discretion. Some boys, especially when working easy innings with plenty of rest in between, are physically able without apparent difficulty to exceed the maxima; they can also come back for more pitching a day or two later. Other boys, especially those with poor throwing motions, may struggle to reach the limits. Now all of us have heard, if perhaps only through the newspapers, of coaches leaving young pitchers in the game for excessive lengths, or of the increased incidence of arm surgeries among the comparatively young. Rules suggest we don't trust our coaches. Maybe we shouldn't, since many of them are dads who bring little in the way of expertise to their volunteer roles. But still, any adult can tell when a kid is tired out, and when a kid is done, it's time to take him out. But a kid will often tell us too. Pitchers who are tired will have trouble repeating their motion and will lose velocity and get wild.

5. But that's not the real problem. It's this: by eliminating discretion in decision-making (even about the right time to change pitchers), rules generate incentives to take advantage, what some might call unforeseen or adverse collateral consequences. The pitch count rules, for instance, have coaches remove perfectly effective pitchers after just 20 pitches, even in the middle of counts, so that the pitchers will be eligible the next day. Is it more healthy for a boy to throw 20 pitches every day instead of 40 with a day of rest? I do recall Jonathan Papelbon, the star young reliever for the Boston Red Sox, claiming that his frequent appearances as a short reliever were hard on his shoulder and that a move to the starting rotation would be better for his health. Is it wise to use a 10-year old daily? Unmistakably this is happening, as the rules implicitly encourage it. I've also repeatedly seen coaches call out the "remaining" allowable pitches to their pitcher, exhorting full effort on the last few pitches. A pitcher not subject to pitch limits might naturally adjust his efforts to coast through certain weaker hitters and to be sure to save some strength for later innings. With the pitch count, the pitcher will go all out at the end, hoping to finish with a strikeout. What sense is there to encourage a boy at his maximum pitch limit to throw the last few with greatest effort?

6. On the other side of the ball I'm also witnessing offensive coaches instructing batters to take pitches in order to run up pitch counts in order to drive effective pitchers out of the game. The third-base coach for my son's team told me he has repeatedly given the "take" sign on a three balls and one strike count (a hitter's count) to add to the opposing pitcher's total pitch count. Watching the games, I have every reason to conclude other coaches are doing the same. The pitch count has become an offensive weapon. Batters will learn to take strikes instead of hit them.

7. One beneficial effect of the pitch count rules is to encourage teams to use more players at pitcher, albeit as a bunch of short relievers. But if Little League really wanted to extend pitching staffs it would allow tournaments to schedule teams for more than a single game per day. By limiting pitchers to but one game per day, coaches would have little choice but to use pitchers for more than the 20-pitch "short relief" role. The problem is of course that, despite what the parents think, not every kid can pitch. It's not easy to stand on the mound in a pressurized all-star contest with runners on base and a full count, while hundreds of parents hang on one's every move. A coach is lucky to field a team with three or four serviceable pitchers. Not too many would be happy to manage a "walk-a-thon" featuring each team's sixth-best pitcher. Not too many parents would enjoy that either. Little League needs to recognize that the reality is that few players can pitch effectively and keep the games competitive and completed before nightfall.

8. Rules are a problem in law because they lend themselves to easy manipulation, and thus engender lots of socially undesirable conduct. They do have a place, but it's comparatively rare that law makers can be so certain that a certain rule is the "right" one that all conduct on the wrong side of the rule should be prohibited. That's why law makers and courts and the like favor standards and prescribe words that signify standards ("reasonable," "substantial," "good faith"). Standards allow for flexibility and judgment, and flexibility and judgment form bulwarks against manipulation and unwanted collateral consequences. LL's pitch count rules seem to invite manipulation, and do so without, at least in my mind, generating clear offsetting benefits.