Soldiers of Serendipity

What do CC Sabathia's one-hitter and instant replay have in common? They're both controversial because people don't understand how incredibly important luck is in sports.

Sabathia's mates are miffed that the official scorer in last night's Brewers' game credited Andy Laroche with a hit when the pitcher muffed his swinging bunt. It turned out to be the Pirates' only hit of the game, denying the big righthander a no-hitter. Milwaukee management actually appealed the hit call to the MLB front office.

At the same time, MLB has instituted instant replay to help umpires determine whether balls hit out actually leave the ballpark in fair territory. Newfangled stadiums, with their outfield nooks and crannies, apparently hamper umpire calls.

It's hard to argue that umpires and official scorers shouldn't get calls right as often as possible. But am I the only one who notices that we agonize over calls in sports that are determined by the most granular margins when twists of fate affect every play.

There's the gust of wind that catches a long fly ball and drops it into an outfielder mitt. There's the double-play grounder that hits the rubber, bounces into right field and scores two runs. There's the 0-2 slider that fools the batter into flailing desperately -- and blooping a two-out, two-run double into right field. There's the bad-hop grounder, the swinging bunt, the Texas Leaguer, the broken bat, the rain, the slick field, the shadows, the gnats and a hundred other soldiers of serendipity that turn a 2-1 win into a 9-4 loss. That doesn't even account for the freak injuries and other cosmic anomalies that transform whole seasons.

It's easy to parse one play out of a game and blame it for ruining a no-hitter, but every no-hitter is a lucky five-hitter. Unless they strike out 27 batters, pitchers don't pitch no-hitters so much as put themselves in position to do so and reap the rewards when luck shines on them. Likewise, every game is a stew of skill, execution and chance, and if an ump happens to call a home run foul when it was actually two feet inside the fair pole, well, it's not like the hitter planned to hit it that way. He was just two feet lucky in the first place.