Would you recognize it if it hit you in the face?

Question: if there was sufficient enough technology to officially read the velocity of a thrown baseball 34 years ago, why isn't there enough to officially read and record the velocity of a thrown baseball today?

This is something that has puzzled me for... okay, the better part of an hour. But when something's wrong it's wrong, no matter how long one ponders its wrongness. It all started shortly after Venus Williams scorched the Wimbledon sod with a 127-mph flamethrower of an ace this afternoon. No woman had ever hit a faster serve at the Lawn Tennis Club than Ms. Williams, who now holds the distinction of owning speed records in all four women's tennis majors.

Of course, talk of Venus' records can't help but turn to baseball. (Hey, it's either this or a "Why can't our technology match up with that of Great Britain?" segue.) Throughout the evening edition of ESPN's SportsCenter, Williams' howitzer was compared to the highest recognized speeds in other sporting endeavors. One segment compared the serve to Al MacInnes' 100-mph slapper in an NHL All-Star Weekend event. Another brought up the current land-speed record of 700+ mph. And the baseball equivalent ESPN mentioned? Nolan Ryan's 100.9-mph rocket, recorded August 20, 1974.

The majority of online baseball record sites recognize Joel Zumaya as the sport's rocket-launching record-holder, crowning either the supernova that passed Yankees slugger Jason Giambi at 103.0 mph in the eighth inning of Game 2 of the 2006 ALDS, or the pitch during Game 2 of the 2006 ALCS at Oakland's McAfee (Almeda County) Coliseum that rang the guns at a jaw-dropping 104.8 mph. Yet oddly enough, the Major League Baseball records site notes that they "don't recognize radar speeds as an official statistic." Other concurring sources discredit the validity of the guns (and gunners) used to clock Zumaya and other present-day pitchers, claiming that a pitcher's arm velocity can impede the consistency and uniformity of the results, questioning the calibration of the equipment and even suggesting that the numbers are intentionally "dialed up". (Let it be noted at this point that no one, particularly the USTA, has questioned the validity of any of Venus Williams' records, nor the means by which each was documented.)

According to the Guiness Book of World Records, "The greatest reliably recorded speed at which a baseball has been pitched is 100.9 mph by Lynn Nolan Ryan (California Angels) at Anaheim Stadium in California on August 20, 1974." (link: http://www.baseball-almanac.com/recbooks/rb_guin.shtml) So. If there was sufficient enough technology in 1974 for the folks at Guinness (the world records house, not the brewing company, although knocking a few stouts back may help one make sense of all this), why isn't there enough in 2008? What mad skill do we as a society no longer possess?

Given their insistence on verification--representatives will routinely travel to all parts of the globe to witness a mere attempt--why wouldn't Team Guinness have investigated much less recorded Randy Johnson a decade ago, when The Mullet rountinely hit triple digits (and the occasional Floridian sea bird)? Or why wouldn't they be ready to track the pitches of a now-healthy Zumaya this season? Mind you, this is the same bastion of authenticity that allowed a chopped-up videotaped screen capture to serve as proof of an arcade game's all-time high score (yes, I saw "King Of Kong", so you're not pulling one past me!).

Being from Detroit, I have watched Zoom-Zoom throw 101-103 mph consistently in short relief. If a verification of the speed gun used to record these pitches is all that's standing in the way of making any of them qualify as world records, why on earth wouldn't there have been an attempt to document this legitimately? Especially since the gold standard for pitching velocity dates all the way back to 1974? ESPECIALLY considering how willingly they allowed another 1974 record to fall by the wayside. Funny how the juice-filled final years of Barry Bonds' career will likely keep him from something as subjective as Cooperstown, yet they're good enough for the pocket-protecting savants running the world's foremost keeper of its records.

And as for Zumaya and his numerous 103mph tallies (which, by the way, have been clocked on numerous speed guns by numerous people)? Sorry dude. Never happened. We can't prove the accuracy of the recording mechanisms.

Maybe we should just chalk it up to the screwed-up mess that is Major League Baseball, whose rules twist logic around as effortlessly as a Dr. Seuss book. The damage this game repeatedly inflicts upon itself is already a matter of record. Yet the very records themselves are precisely what allure the core of its audience: the "stat geeks", the guy sitting in your row amid a pile of peanut shells who's scored every game since the Dodgers left Brooklyn.

Adding to the irony is the fact that the one outlet ideally suited for these fanatical misfits happens to be the only major sport without things like, oooh I don't know, consistent playing field dimensions--uniformity typically being an important component of all comparative research. Not to mention the only major sport where one teams plays under different rules, with roster positions other teams are not permitted to have. Then again, we're talking about a league run by a commissioner content with ending its All-Star game in a tie; cancelling the World Series--THE WORLD SERIES--rather than working with its players union to reach an agreement; and turning his back on the rampant widespread violation of its drug policy because a home run battle was just what he needed to bring the fans back. So how important can maintaining the integrity and consistency of its record book possibly be?

Consider last Friday night's nonsense. The New York Mets' Carlos Delgato set a Major League single-game record for most RBIs by a designated hitter with nine in the first game of the Mets' day-night "Subway Series" double-header against the Yankees. Lost in Delgato's impressive performance is this little fact that the Mets are a National League team and as such, do not recognize the designated hitter rule except for the handful of times when they play an American League team in their ball park.

The list of absurdities grows with each passing day, a fiction no writer who values his reputation would dare write. Even as I type this, another "rule" has popped up that simply defies explanation. For some reason, someone in the MLB brain trust (oxymoron noted) decided to change the definition of no-hitter a decade or so ago. From that point forward the feat would no longer be based on the accomplishments of a pitcher. Nope, throwing a complete game without giving up a hit wasn't enough; the pitcher's team must score enough runs to win the game as well.

Technically, the rule was changed to include that the game must consist of "at least nine innings". Perhaps this was a means to prevent a pitcher with six innings of hitless ball under his belt in a rain-shortened game from receiving "no-hitter" status. However, since a team doesn't need their final at-bat when they're winning a home game, the addendum also excludes any poor saps who toss a no-hitter on the road when their team loses.

So on this asterisk of a night, the Mighty Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim's Jerred Weaver and Jose Arrendondo teamed up to blank their cross-town rivals at Dodger Stadium. But there was no celebration, no ride on teammates' shoulders. Why? Because their team couldn't score and the Angels lost the game, 1-0. But more specifically, because they performed this feat on the road. Had the pair pulled this off in Orange County, the Dodgers would have batted in the top of the ninth inning. In other words, you can throw a complete-game no-hitter and lose, so long as you're pitching for the home team.

Despite the fact that it's officially in the books as a complete game and the Dodger line has been duly recorded as one run, zero hits and two errors, this incredible performance is denied recognition as an accomplishment that could have, should have and would have been the defining moment of their careers. And a sport who three times this season has failed to identify a home run (and it's only June), has drifted further away from the game it once was.

I'd recommend pulling the plug on the entire league, but I don't think they're capable of recognizing their own demise.