Monday night, at Fenway Park, an emotionally-charged Willson Contreras hit a first-inning three-run homer and showed his extreme emotion all around the bases. 

By the second inning, he was watching the 6-3 win over the Washington Nationals on television in the clubhouse — the victim of an umpire who, if he didn’t have rabbit ears, at least had rabbit eyes.

Contreras officially struck out on a pitch about 50 feet outside. It looked like one of those sweepers that starts in Marblehead and ends up in West Peabody. It isn’t so much that you swing and miss as it is whether you “break your wrist,” as we liked to say when we were kids, when you try to hold up. 

Apparently, Contreras broke his. And first-base umpire Nic Lentz, without a moment of hesitation, gave the signal calling Contreras out on strikes. 

Contreras didn’t agree and, on the way back to the dugout, tapped his helmet a few times — the signal for launching a challenge under baseball’s newly-instituted rule. 

That was all he did. No Earl Weaver or Billy Martin antics. No kicking and screaming. Just a silent statement of his objection to the call. 

But Lentz gave him the heave-ho. Even the post-ejection conversation was restrained. Contreras, Lentz, and manager Chad Tracy might as well have been at an English tea party.

Are we serious? As announcer Will Middlebrooks exclaimed, is this where we are now? This is an ejectionable offense?

As a former baseball umpire myself, I can speak a little to this. First, and this should be obvious, we are not in the business of ejecting players or managers. This isn’t to say there aren’t times when it’s necessary. But to me, it should be limited to times when it’s absolutely necessary. Either you need to get the game going again or the penalized player or manager has said something that goes beyond the pale. Otherwise, we have to remember that we are, in effect, the adults in the room.

We’ve all had our experiences. Once, one manager referred to his counterpart as an anatomical body part that should best remain unsaid. Out loud. Out he went. 

Then, a 13-year-old Babe Ruth prep player thought he’d be wise and, while pretending to cough, spoke of unpleasant obstacles in the pasture as he beefed about one of my calls. Out he went, too. It was probably a bit of an overreaction, but it was a violation of league rules. 

My favorite one came in a Babe Ruth game, too. A kid was beaten on a close infield play, after which he threw his helmet in the direction of an electrical box that contained the mechanism for the lights on the field. The helmet hit the stand so hard it clamored from here to Timbuktu.

It was a close play, and they automatically elicit emotion, so I let it slide. But I told the kid that if he did that again, he’d be gone in an instant. Sure enough, he hit another ground ball, to the same fielder, who made the same kind of throw, with the same result — close play at first, but definitely out.

And didn’t the kid throw his helmet into the electrical box again, and didn’t it make the same reverberating clang it made the time before?

Gone, baby, gone.

Look, as an umpire, when dealing with these types of situations, I only had two ironclad rules. First, don’t overstay your welcome. When the umpire has determined you’ve had your say and it’s time to get back in the dugout so we can all play baseball, then, “git.” No more arguing. Second, keep it civilized. No blatant obscenities, and nothing personal.

I can’t speak for Nic Lentz, but Contreras didn’t violate either one of my rules. I wouldn’t have run him simply because he tapped his helmet a few times. Lentz seemed to be looking for a reason to run somebody. 

Contreras is coming across as a leader, and, more important, a guy who can recognize that this is only a game compared to what’s going on in his native Venezuela. He didn’t deserve this, either.