I Shouldn't Have Brought Up Pi.

On day 2 of Umpire School, we learned how to throw slow-working relief pitchers out of the ballgame.

No, sorry, that’s what the Nachoman *wants* to know. The instructors emphasize that we are learning umpiring from the ground up. We have used only a few mechanics: safe/out, ball/strike, and what to do on a passed ball or popup behind the plate. That’s it. Though our current study could not be called exciting, the instructors are effective teachers in the field, and the order of presentation makes considerable pedagogical sense. My assignment for tonight is to memorize basic baseball-related dimensions,[1] and to take my mask off 100 times without my hat flying off as well.

My major “I’m not in Kansas anymore” moment came right before lunch, when we were discussing the definition strike zone. Paul Nauert, the head instructor and major league umpire, misstated the size of the ball. He mistakenly noted that the ball’s width is 5 to 5¼ inches.[2] When a student asked him what the ball’s width actually is, Mr. Nauert responded with the ball’s circumference, which is 9 to 9¼ inches. The student pressed on, asking for the *width* of the ball. Mr. Nauert hesitated… I shouted out, “divide the circumference by pi.”

Everyone looked like at me as if I were a space alien. No one laughed; no one showed any signs that they had any clue whatsoever that I had made an accurate (if rather arcane by their standards) statement.

At lunch, one of my classmates hesitantly approached me to ask what I meant. Was I making a joke? Was I serious? Was I just being a wise-arse? I had to assure him about three times that in fact one could divide the ball’s circumference by pi to get a width of about 3 inches, and that I was *not* merely being a wise-arse.

He still thinks I’m a space alien.

[1] Such as, the lacing leather thongs covering the crotch opening shall measure not more than 4.5” on top and 3.5” on the bottom. On the fielder’s glove, I mean, of course.
[2] The ball weighs between 5 and 5¼ ounces.