On the Matter of Tests

Rain today… we spent all day indoors, discussing interference and obstruction, and taking two of our twenty-five rules tests.

In my real-life role as a physics teacher, I take considerable heck for my test administration style. In particular, I insist on students finishing all tests within an inflexible time limit, with no “coming back later” to finish. And, I do not allow students to ask questions during the test.[1] Now that the Nachoman is on the butt end of classroom testing at Umpire School, does that change my mind about test taking policies?

No. In fact, I’m even more convinced that I’m right.

Tests at Umpire School harken back to the days of middle school. Each test is ten questions long, and is straightforward, but not necessarily easy. We have essentially unlimited time to finish; we have to wait until everyone is done before the class can move on.[2] Just as in middle school, one can feel the waves of apprehension flow through the class before the test, peaking as the test is handed out. I tend to finish well before everyone else,[3] meaning I have lots of time to sit and do nothing.

That’s not to say my classmates are (figuratively) slow. Most of them get the right answers most of the time. I have a considerable advantage over them in the classroom – I’ve read and studied the baseball rulebook more or less annually since I was 12, and a guy with an M.S. is probably more comfortable with tests than your typical prospective umpire.[4]

But let’s talk about “unlimited time” and the purpose of testing. The tests usually state baseball situations, and ask for the ruling that we would make on the field. Of course, on the field, we will *experience* the situation; in the classroom, we have to *read* about the situation, meaning that it should take a bit longer in the classroom to process the issue before delivering a ruling. But, on the field, rulings have to be nearly instantaneous: I see a balk… when do I stop play? Do I enforce the balk? Why or why not? What exactly is the penalty if I do enforce the balk? What do I say to the manager when (not if) he comes out to “discuss” my ruling? We don’t have time on the field to sit and ponder. If the tests are to truly ascertain our rules knowledge for use in game situations, we have GOT to be faster than we’ve shown so far.

Now about questions… The palpable anxiety of these non-traditional students causes them to ask all sorts of silly questions, often about self-evident issues. For example, a test item indicated that with a runner on second, the batter-runner was retired on a ground ball to shortstop; but then the ball went out of play on an attempt to catch the runner going to third. Some folks raised their hands to ask who made the throw that went out of play. Okay, I’ll grant that the test was not absolutely, legalistically clear about who made the throw. But (a) isn’t it reasonable to assume that the first baseman made this throw? And, more to the point, (b) who threw the ball is irrelevant for this ruling!

But, now the question had been raised. You probably know how this works, especially in a class of 120 worried and unconfident students whose career possibly rests on their test performance. First, the question was asked of an instructor. Then, the nearby test takers didn’t quite hear the question or the answer, but they thought it must be important. So they murmured, “What did he ask?” Pretty soon everyone was distracted, wondering what was up. Those who heard that the question was about number 8 wondered what they were missing… #8 seemed simple enough at first, but now it seemed like they might be missing something important. No wonder the tests take so long…

On several tests so far, the instructors have tried to answer such a question for the entire class. Okay, fine… but once they do that, they formally distract everyone, and they cause even more confusion for those who thought they understood the original item. EVERY TIME that the instructors have interrupted the test to make a point to the entire class, they have inspired so many additional questions that they’ve had to interrupt a second (or third) time in order to “clarify” the issue again!

And I haven’t even discussed the common type of question that betrays the questioner’s ignorance, such as, “Where were the runners when the ball went out of play?” If you have to ask, you don’t know what you’re talking about.[5] But a weasely[6] student might gain much information from the instructor’s response.

I hope you see why, when I’m in charge, I refuse to allow any questions at all. But my policy really is a covenant with my students… I won’t allow questions, but I will make dang sure that I’ve proofread the test carefully, that there truly are no ambiguities that require clarification. Then, if I screw up and something was unclear, I accept as correct any reasonable interpretation of the question. Today’s test had a major ambiguity that caused consternation. The chief instructor had to explain three times what kind of answers he was looking for. I didn’t change my answers until we got the second explanation. Some folks never did figure out what he was talking about, and as a result, lost credit for several questions on which they had a solid understanding of the situations. Now, that’s not fair… but the remedy is NOT to respond to questions during the test! The remedy is not to ask bad questions in the first place, and if you do, to ignore any reasonable confusion!

I know that my own students are initially put off by my no-questions policy. My hope is that by the end of the year, especially after they’ve faced nationally administered, no-questions tests such as the AP or the SAT II, they appreciate my style. I guess I’ll never know for sure. But, one way or the other, I’m sticking with my way.

[1] “I’m missing page 2” is just about the only legitimate question I will entertain.
[2] The instructor will find out how many people still haven’t finished, and say, “Okay, take your time. But hurry up.”
[3] So far, after about eight tests, I’ve missed one question, because I didn’t remember whether a declared infield fly that hits a runner standing on second base is a live or a dead ball. I knew whether the runner was safe or out, but I didn’t know the ball status. Grrr. I know now!
[4] My academic advantages are offset by my lack of game experience and my, um, athletic ability.
[5] Because the position of the runners when the ball went out of play never has an effect on their subsequent placement, even though many folks think otherwise.
[6] I welcome spelling corrections… Neither “weaselly” nor “weasely” is in any dictionary I can find.