Relax, AI Couldn’t Possibly Fuck Things Up Worse Than Humans Already Have (And Maybe It’ll Fix Some Shit Too)
By Michael Kelman Portney
Picture this: Game 7 of the World Series. Bottom of the 9th. Full count. The pitcher paints the outside edge. The batter freezes. The stadium holds its breath. And the umpire—human, fallible, ego-driven—blows the call.
Cue the rage.
Baseball fans are notoriously resistant to change. Purists whine about pitch clocks, cry over shift bans, and foam at the mouth over bigger bases. But here’s the paradox: one change people actually seem to want is the replacement of umpires with machines. Not to rewrite the rules of the game. Just to finally enforce them without bullshit.
That’s telling. Because in a world addicted to ego, tradition, and power politics, the willingness to hand judgment over to data-driven systems might be the first crack in the facade.
The real question is: if we’re ready to trust algorithms to make fairer calls in baseball, why not in governance, law, or economics?
Why do we demand robo-umps but flinch at algorithmic judges? Why do we beg for consistent strike zones, but defend a tax code held together by corruption, nepotism, and lobbyist duct tape?
Maybe it's because we don't hate rules.
Maybe we just hate when they're applied unfairly.
The Umpire As Metaphor for Power
The umpire is the purest symbol of discretionary power in American life. He doesn't write the rules, but he decides how they're applied. And for decades, we've lived with that: missed calls, phantom tags, reputation calls for big-name players.
Sound familiar?
Because that’s not just baseball. That’s policing. That’s courtrooms. That’s elections. That’s the IRS. That’s healthcare. That’s every institution where a person in power gets to say, "Yeah, technically that’s a rule, but not for you."
So when the public demands robo-umps, what they’re really doing is confessing something deep:
They’ve lost faith in human discretion.
They don’t want new rules. They want the old rules enforced honestly.
That should terrify every politician, judge, executive, and bureaucrat who built their careers on selective enforcement.
The Slippery Slope Toward Something Better
The robo-ump isn’t dystopia. It’s a gateway drug.
Once people see what it feels like to have a rule enforced without ego, they start to crave that feeling elsewhere.
Why can’t sentencing be this consistent?
Why can’t taxes be this transparent?
Why can’t legislation be this auditable?
Why can’t my rights depend on code, not connections?
And here’s the truth: they can.
We already use algorithms to approve mortgages, allocate emergency services, determine insurance risk, and optimize logistics. We let AI diagnose cancer and drive cars. But when it comes to the raw machinery of power—justice, governance, resource allocation—we slam the brakes.
Not because we don’t trust the machine. But because we don’t want to give up the game.
We’re not afraid of AI failing. We’re afraid of it succeeding.
Because if it succeeds, it reveals just how rigged the old system was.
Humans Are Addicted to Ego and Exception
Power, in human hands, is always polluted by ego.
Judges throw tantrums. Senators grandstand. Bureaucrats get high on gatekeeping. CEOs write policy through backchannels. Discretion becomes a weapon. And the rules are only rules when they serve the ruler.
Take the ego out of governance, and what happens?
The system starts working for the many, not the few.
That’s what terrifies the establishment. Not robots rising up, but robots refusing to kiss rings.
Robo-umps don't care if you're a rookie or Derek Jeter. They don't care if you're a donor, a legacy, or a guy with a badge. They call it like it is.
Imagine that logic extended to zoning laws, campaign finance, prison sentencing, and tax enforcement.
Now you see the fear.
It's Not Technophobia. It's Entitlement Panic.
When people say "AI is dangerous," what they often mean is: it might stop me from gaming the system.
Fairness feels like oppression when you're used to favoritism.
You hear it in every critique:
"An algorithm can't understand nuance" (Translation: It won't cut me a deal.)
"We need human judgment" (Translation: I know a guy.)
"This is tyranny by code!" (Translation: I don't get to negotiate my way out.)
And look, those fears aren’t always wrong. A bad algorithm is still a bad ruler. But when the resistance comes from the top—from those who’ve benefited most from human error, corruption, and wiggle room—we should question the motive, not just the argument.
Open Source or Bust
Here’s the non-negotiable: If we're going to move toward algorithmic governance, it has to be open source.
No black-box justice. No proprietary tax enforcement. No AI courtrooms with NDAs.
The code has to be visible. Auditable. Forkable. Governed by the people it serves.
Think Linux, not Palantir. Think public GitHub repos, not secret military contracts.
Democracy doesn’t die when the algorithm takes the gavel. It dies when the algorithm is hidden.
We don't need AI to rule us. We need it to referee the rules we already agreed on.
The Real Resistance Will Be Emotional
Even if it's open. Even if it's fair. Even if it works.
People will resist. Because this isn’t a technical revolution. It's a psychological one.
To accept governance by system, you have to let go of the dream that you can charm, hustle, or muscle your way out of accountability.
You have to accept that the strike zone is the same for everyone.
That’s a bitter pill.
The rebellion won't come from the bottom. It will come from the top. From the players, not the fans. From the ones who always got the benefit of the doubt, the favorable whistle, the extra step.
They will scream that it’s dehumanizing. That it lacks soul. That we’ve lost something sacred.
They said the same thing about instant replay.
What they really mean is: we've lost control.
The Long Game
We're not there yet. In baseball or in life.
Robo-umps are still controversial. Judges still get to ad-lib. Congress still redraws its own maps. Billionaires still pay less tax than teachers.
But the cultural shift is underway.
Every time a fan says, "Let the machine call it," they’re subconsciously saying: I’d rather be ruled by data than by ego.
Every time someone trusts Google Maps over a cabbie, or a credit score over a handshake, or an algorithm over a middleman, they’re inching toward consent.
Not for tyranny. For consistency.
For a world where the rules apply evenly.
Final Score: Machines 1, Corruption 0
We don't need to be ruled by AI.
But we do need to be willing to build systems that can't be bribed, bullied, or blackmailed. Systems that don’t care about your status, your sob story, or your social capital.
We need governance without ego.
Justice without theatrics.
Power without personality cults.
And if that starts with a better called third strike?
So be it.
Because if the machine gets it right, every time?
That's not oppression.
That's the first fair inning we've ever played.
