November 1996
by Barry Stagg
ROBBIE ALOMAR: IGNORAMUS
The whole world knows that Robbie Alomar spit his revolting venom upon umpire John Hirschbeck. There are few words to adequately describe the contempt in which Alomar is now held by the public in general.
Alomar has given up what little respect the Toronto baseball fans had for him. When he sat out the last three games of the 1995 season to preserve his .300 batting average we all marked it down as being the final snivels of a childish prima donna oaf. We have come to expect that type of behaviour from spoiled celebrities whether they play baseball or get to take off their clothes and expose their fabricated bodies in movies. Whether it is a semi-moronic movie starlet or the equivalent baseball player we have come to expect the same low standard from them in any event.
However, Alomar and his saliva attack on the umpire plunged the whole celebrity category to new depths of depravation. It seems to reveal what is almost a fascist effort on the part of the sports industry, including the media, to advance these despicable little people as heroes and people in fact worthy of the obscene sums of money they are paid to play sports. The whole stinking illusion may just come down around the heads of the moguls who have used the Robbie Alomars of the sporting world as stepping stones to fame and fortune.
Compare this case to the equally contemptible case of disgraced criminal Bruce McNall. McNall is Wayne Gretzky's former business mentor, boss and partner. He is also a fellow who defrauded millions of dollars, pleaded guilty in a California courtroom and yet remains at large apparently because his freedom seems to be directly related to the amount of money that the defrauded creditors can hope to recover from him.
All of this simply points out that the professional sports industry is morally corrupt. When Major League Baseball refused to suspend Robbie Alomar immediately (and for at least a half season) it showed the farcical and self-serving nature of its disciplinary process. Given the present state of discipline proceedings in Major League Baseball, it would appear that if an outraged ball player were to attack an umpire with a baseball bat and fracture his skull on the last day of the regular season then he would face a lengthy suspension next year while he continued to play in his team's playoffs. That logic appears to be correct since the players' union in full "We shall overcome" rant immediately appealed the Alomar suspension Presumably the brothers would do likewise if Albert Belle decided to use an umpire's head for batting practice.
Alomar is a supremely ignorant practitioner of the art of professional sports celebrity. He will stand as the main totem showing to the rest of the world what a rotten self-centred and self-serving world professional sports has become. Where, indeed, have you gone Joe Dimaggio?
I saw the spitting outrage on national television and I heard Alomar's ignorant reference to the Herchbeck's son who had died of cancer. I thought of what might have happened to bratty Robbie if he had done these things in a less public place. An old story from my baseball days with the Port au Port Vikings comes to mind.
A teammate of mine was telling me this tale one late evening over a few Dominion in the venerable Viking Lounge on Berry Head. It seems a certain high-strung colleague of ours had thrown an ill- timed tantrum during a game on the old baseball field in St George's, just across the bay. Unfortunately for our anonymous friend he chose an umpire of less than restrained nature upon whom to vent his childish rage. Our amateur arbiter took the same action that he would have employed if the outburst had been at the local tavern. He cold- cocked him. There all of a sudden was our loud-mouthed miscreant out cold on the infield grass. Justice had been swift and painful though thankfully not permanent. Our hero was revived and to my knowledge no appeal was ever launched by the local player's union .
Of course the story is old and a few details including the name of the local star elude me. Maybe it was Jockey Club instead of Dominion that we imbibed that night. Nevertheless Robbie would have fit right in on that old diamond in St. George's. Perhaps he should visit and sign a few autographs some cold February. He can hear the story for himself. Maybe he can tell the old ballplayers about his appeal.
Until next month be proud, be prosperous.