Really now, what would a baseball season be without at least one official scoring controversy? Of course I have a couple of scorer stories; I'm glad you asked.

Frank Fernandez was a catcher of not much note who had pulled time with the Yankees and A's when, one night at Memorial Stadium, he hit a shot down the third base line that was of such velocity Brooks Robinson couldn't even get a glove on it. Fortunately for the Orioles, it ricocheted off No. 5's left knee directly into the mitt of shortstop Mark Belanger.

Fernandez had barely left the batter's box and a good throw to first base by the shortstop would have retired him by at least five strides. The throw was wild, a rarity for Belanger, who used to throw low so Boog Powell could dig it out. Anyway, Fernandez ended up at second base.

I called it an error immediately, but for some reason it didn't show up on the scoreboard that way for about two minutes. When the error light flashed, Fernandez threw a partial fit out at the keystone hassock (which is what we used to call second base on occasion).

Ultimately, Fernandez came around to score and, before retiring to the dugout, came to the bottom of the screen, screaming adult language and throwing his batting helmet up at the press box.

No sooner was Fernandez in the dugout when a call came to the press box for me. It was Oakland manager Dick Williams, an old pal and a guy not given to becoming involved in such things. Williams said it made him look like a player's manager "for a change. And besides, that hit is the difference between Fernandez hitting .202 and .204 this season."

The error stuck.

No more than a week later, the Orioles were in Oakland for a three-game set and, Oakland being Oakland, I used to go down to what they called Center City and watch boxer George Foreman work out in a dump of a training facility on the second floor of a vacant storefront. It had a big poster of bellhop Johnny calling for Philip Morris cigarettes (that's how long the store had been empty -- maybe 20 years).

Foreman, who was playing the part of a bad guy in them days, was beating on light heavyweight Mike Quarry (Jerry's brother) and the only other people in the place were Foreman's trainer, Dick Sadler -- and Fernandez. Oh-oh.

Fernandez, from the other side of the ring, stared me down a couple of times before deciding to join me on my side. We were discussing things, mostly at the top of his lungs, until Foreman could stand it no more. He called time out, came over to us and shouted, "I'm the only guy who's meant to be fighting in here, so you guys shut up or take it outside."

Fernandez and I carried on our one-sided conversation at a nearby coffee shop when he revealed to me that if being "robbed" of a base hit wasn't bad enough, I had wounded him a few years before when he was playing for the Yankees.

He told me that I once wrote in the Evening Sun that the only time Jim Palmer allowed him to hit the ball is when the Orioles needed a ground ball for a double play. I giggled and he got a little upset until I explained that this was normal for most sports writers, giggling at their own stuff.

We finally shook hands and upon parting ways, I swore to Fernandez that I would vote for him for the Hall of Fame when his name appeared on the ballot. What Fernandez didn't know was that he had to be selected to appear on the ballot and chances of that ever happening were non-existent.

Then there was the time Frank Robinson wanted to be credited with a hit after he hit a ground ball that bounced twice before going directly through the legs of A's shortstop Bert Campaneris.

I gave Frank five minutes to get it out of his system and, upon turning to leave, he shouted, "If I was the white Robinson instead of the black Robinson, it would be called a hit."
 
There was just one drawback to this argument: Frank had used it on scorer Doug Brown, my predecessor at the Evening Sun, the year before.

I looked the future Hall of Famer dead in the eye and loud enough for everyone in the clubhouse to hear, said, "Know what, Frank, you're right!" The place went nuts. Paul Blair, who always insisted Frank got four strikes to his two, didn't stop laughing for a month.

Yeah, there are a million official scorer stories around, like the one surrounding CC Sabathia's recent one-hitter. The problem is finding ones that are printable.

Issue 3.37: September 11, 2008