From the masters to the mimicsOn July 24, 1983, George Brett hit, ran, yelled and flailed his way to one of baseball’s most memorable moments. With his homerun nullified on a technicality, pine tar reaching two inches higher on his bat than the rulebook allowed, and a controversy that resulted in a half inning being completed almost a month later, the image of Brett charging the umpire in his baby-blue Royal’s uniform is like a great line at the end of a great movie, a punch-line for the ages.
Sports has had its fair share of memorably bizarre tantrums: Bobby Knight tossing a chair on the court, Dennis Rodman kicking a photographer where the sun doesn’t shine and Roberto Alomar expectorating on an umpire.
This year has been no exception.
My favorite belongs to L.A. Dodger hothead Milton Bradley. After an argument with umpire Terry Craft, Bradley left his bat, gloves and helmet beside home plate, walked to the dugout, took a bag of balls and tossed them all over the field, with a look of rage, disgust and momentary insanity plastered all over his face.
Last week, Red Sox slugger David Ortiz gave him a run for his money. Suddenly tossing things on the field is a trend comparable to the Macarena, bobble-heads and Pokemon. In a game versus the Angels, Ortiz, called out on strikes, erupted in anger, walked to the dugout and threw two bats in the general direction of umpires Bill Hohn and Mark Carlson.
In basketball, Tracy McGrady, one of the league’s cleanest characters, sent a ball off his personalized kicks and into the stands after his Orlando Magic suffered another defeat.
The tantrum is an art-form, crafted by masters like Lou Pinella, Rasheed Wallace and Ron Artest. McGrady, Ortiz and Bradley are mere understudies, prepared for the moment Pinella needs a night off, too tired from tossing bases and kicking dirt.
For the casual viewer, the tantrum is like nudity in a big-budget movie, a cheap thrill, but an unexpected and appreciated surprise, a break from the ordinary. It’s almost voyeuristic; you’re seeing something you’re not sure you’re supposed to.
It’s also a moment a vulnerability. Professional athletes get paid to do what others can’t. After a long season of watching Kobe flying, Shaq ripping the rim down and Barry sending fastballs into McCovey Cove, a well-timed tantrum is a breath of fresh air, a reminder that just like the guy who smashes his tennis racket after losing a local tournament, athletes are human. It’s a reminder that for all their Bentleys and gold Rolexs they are no better than you or me.
As David Ortiz will find out as he sits through a five game suspension, a tantrum is rarely worth the price. A rare few are undeniably priceless, preserved as models for future athletes to follow in during their moment of weakness, but most are forgettable and bad examples for all those little leaguers who watch so attentively.
But, every so often, a well-timed tantrum can bring the world of sports away from the oversized contracts and glamorized exploits and back to the playground.