We UmpBump writers have a gripe with the Chinese government and their banning of American baseball websites. First, it was FireJoeMorgan. Then, Joe Posnanski met this fate. So we have a question for you, Mr. and Mrs. Chinese Government. Where’s our ban? We want to be censored! Nay, we demand to be censored, damn it!

So with this in mind, and to also commemorate the retirement of Mr. Furman Bisher from the Atlanta Journal Constitution, we present to you our attempt at getting banned in China. And really, how could this NOT work?

I Like Things I Remember

By Fur-man “Shu” Bisher

Baseball used to be a game played with nine men to a side, two managers, four umpires, seven iron maidens, thirteen Papua New Guinean prostitutes, an ostrich, and the American players always played in America, as long as they were white Americans, except for those times when the Blue Jays and Expos played, or when the Expos played in Puerto Rico, or when the MLB All Stars went to Japan in 1934 with the Bad News Bears. Come to think of it now, that would be sort of like some old-timey analogy that no one understands but I’m going to use right now. But the American players had a deal, see.

Well, not any longer. Giving up the great policy that was isolationism can change any habit. As I write this, our boys are getting ready to play a baseball game. Guess where? China. That China, the guys that gave us the Yellow Turban Rebellion in the second century. Some people don’t like you to bring that up, this new idea of “the Olympics” is so hot. But I’ve got a long memory. I saw what a few Chinese peasants can do to the Han dynasty.

Oh, well, ‘scuse me. It’s just tough to get away from it when you turn on your TV in the morning and see Chinese Olympic security forces menacingly riding segway scooters to prepare for a possible uprising. It’s AD 184 all over again, I say.

I remember as if it were only 400 years ago when the Yellow Turbans defeated Zhu Jun and the Imperial Army. China was more heptadecagonally-shaped then. Now, hurlers are called “pitchers” and they throw things called “curveballs” and “change ups”. Is that Hee Seop Choi boy from China? At least I can still sleep wearing a onesie.

It is disgraceful that the game is now being played in that country, a game that is as American as a hamburger, or a frankfurter, or an apfel strussel. It would be my guess that in China, they don’t grow maple. For the bats, you see.

It must be assumed that some day, baseball is going to be played by Latins as well. Now wouldn’t that be something? But seriously, not the Chinese.

Ban us. All the cool kids are banned. Do it. Doooooooo it.

Creative Loafing is reporting that Furman Bisher is one of 75 AJC journalists who have accepted a buyout. You may remember Bisher for his work as the president of the Tom Glavine Fan Club, or you may remember the time he objected to MLB playing games in Japan, because of, you know, World War II and all.

Or maybe you remember Bisher as the guy who wrote for the AJC, Sports Illustrated, and The Sporting News for the better part of 70 years and who loved golf and earned a reputation as the “dean” of Masters journalists. I’ll remember Bisher as the guy who, in 1949, landed the only interview ever granted by Shoeless Joe Jackson concerning his involvement in the 1919 Black Sox scandal. Nice work.

I’m not one to pick a fight. Whenever the editor of a newspaper for which I don’t work for comes over to my cubicle screaming obscenities as to why the Internet is jacked up, I look down, blush red in anger, and bite my lip.

Loyal UmpBump readers know that I rarely have a bone to pick with anyone (well, except Jay Mariotti, but who doesn’t?!)

But this morning, as I unfolded the sports section of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution I came across a column by one Furman Bisher, a pundit I’d never heard of in my life. And his column, “Sayonara, baseball tradition” though eloquent, rich in historical facts, embellished with romantic longing for yesteryear, came across as outstandingly ignorant and scandalous.

Now, as I said, I’d never heard of Bisher, so I brushed up on his bio just to know who I was dealing with, and it’s more than evident that he’s an eminence and he’s earned his place among accomplished sports journalists.

But passages like this have finally broken my impression of printed dates preceded by the number 19 as current or modern; and clearly, like Bisher, those dates belong in the 20th century, and not in the opinion pages of any publication:

Well, not any longer. Money can change any habit. Eight springs ago the Mets and Cubs opened the season, not in Cincinnati. Guess where? Tokyo. That Tokyo, the guys who gave us Pearl Harbor. Some people don’t like you to bring that up, trade with Japan is so hot. But I’ve got a long memory. I saw what a few bombs can do to our property.

Oh, well, ‘scuse me. It’s just tough to get away from it when you turn on your TV in the morning there are the Boston Red Sox playing the Oakland A’s in the Tokyo Dome. Not only that, but the Red Sox pitcher is Daisuke Matsuzaka, who didn’t grow up in Wampole.

I have no problem with Furman waxing nostalgic about Red Stockings and how every season was opened in Cincinnati; yes, tradition is something we all long for and have a hard time breaking off. But when you go from Cubs-Mets in Tokyo, to the Japanese bombing Pearl Harbor, to Daisuke and Opening Day ‘08, it’s time to ignore the senile old man and let him sit in his chair, drinking his sweet tea.

Except, of course, he’s not sitting idly reminiscing on his better days. He’s in the opinion pages of both a major daily and its website!

Bah, who am I kidding. This is the AJC, and this is Georgia, where it’s still illegal to buy beer on Sunday. Too bad old man Bisher doesn’t realize that, much like him, some traditions, for better or worse, will simply not go away.