Here’s a real beauty for ya…
The count is full, but the plate umpire loses count. The next pitch is outside, but the batter remains in the box. The official scorekeeper takes a wee-wee break and asks the guy who puts up the advertising on the animation screen to “watch this for me.”
The next pitch is nailed over the boards and the batter trots home. Neither bench is really paying attention – all except a group of youngsters who attended the game on invitation tickets (promo’s), and they were from a local CYO league.
Now don’t some of the kids start chartering with one of the dugout coaches of the fielding unit.
Time is called and all those who were in charge of whatever, meet at home plate and hash things out.
This was back in 1981, no instant replay and little in the way of computerized “stats” as it happened. I can still see the powers that were - owners of the park and the leagues commissioner, arms folded in their air conditioned box, shaking their heads with an expression … “let it be…. let it be…”
That was my early introduction to …” doesn’t mean squat what the rules say … owners always have the last word… they are the rules.”