Major League Baseball has finally fully integrated the Automated Ball-Strike (ABS) system, and everyone is complaining about the high strike zone. I’m not complaining about the strike zone. I am complaining because I tried to find the ABS system on Facebook so we could be friends, and it has not accepted my request.
Robots Hate Me Too
I thought, “Hey, here is a computer program that just wants to do its job and is universally despised by thousands of screaming men. We have so much in common!” I even wrote a really nice introductory message. “Hi ABS, I also make borderline calls in my personal life that result in people yelling at me. Want to play FarmVille?” Nothing. Not even an automated out-of-office reply. The robot umpires have left me on read.
The Ultimate Strikeout
Now, every time a batter strikes out looking, I feel a deep, existential pang of rejection. That robot is out there accurately measuring the trajectory of a 98-mph sinker, but it can’t measure the trajectory of my breaking heart. I just want one friend. Just one. Is that too much to ask from a complex network of stadium-mounted tracking cameras? Apparently, yes.
