OCVarsity Voice: Good time to ask, what's going on in the world?

One of my favorite episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm begins with Larry David channel surfing, until he lands on a commercial for "Girls Gone Wild."

On the verge of getting lost in this exercise of exploitative voyeurism, he receives a phone call from a friend who is watching the same channel. Larry's first comment on the ad: "What's going on in the world?"

After a brief discussion, he hangs up and orders the DVD.

Saturday night, I sat in the upper deck at Dodger Stadium, for the Dodgers' 11-3 victory against the Rockies. I didn't see the first pitch of the fourth inning, but when I looked down, home plate umpire Kerwin Danley was flat on his back -- arms out, legs spread. He was not moving.

Sitting in the stadium, I was terrified. Minutes passed. Danley didn't move, and I feared I might be staring at a dead man.

As I moved deeper -- and more darkly -- into my imagination, the family of three in the next row shook me back to reality. They stood up for a better view, and, in turn, cut off my sightline. I leaned my head into the aisle to try to see more. I did not want to stand.

I began to look around the stadium. Flashes peppered the night sky, as thousands of people aimed their camera and cell phone lenses at Danley's body. Local Little Leaguers, whose organization apparently bought out most of my section, started speculating loudly about the umpire's fate, in 7- and 8-year-old tones of wonderment. The mother from that family of three began organizing photo opps for the kids, coaches and parents.

A few minutes after Danley went down, he moved his arms toward his chest. His legs appeared to stir. I exhaled.

An ambulance finally drove onto the field, and paramedics put Danley on a stretcher. He waved to the crowd and many fans cheered.

I thought of Brandon Jankowy.

Last year, Jankowy was the best basketball player I covered on the best high school team I covered in South Carolina. A 6-foot guard with nifty moves in the lane and an elegant 3-point shot, he provided Walhalla High School with realistic hope for its first state title.

Deep into the regular season, he leaped to block a shot, flinging his body above the rim. He landed awkwardly.

I wasn't there, but I've heard enough people tell the story. The sound of two leg bones snapping was loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. People sitting close by saw those bones penetrate his skin, as blood drenched the court.

The gym fell silent. Minutes later, a soft buzz enveloped the court, as spectators began to speak in pardon-me whispers. Brandon held onto the team's video of that game and watched his accident several times in the following months. But no one took a picture of him. And no one posed for pictures of their own.

Why the difference between the high school gym and Dodger Stadium? Is it because so many onlookers in South Carolina had watched Brandon grow up, while hardly anyone in the stands knew Danley's name? Do people in and around professional sports just not seem real?

I don't know. Maybe everyone else knew better. Danley was released from the hospital early Sunday morning and reportedly was resting comfortably at his mother's home.

But as I took in Saturday night's scene, my mind could not escape the thought, "What's going on in the world?"

Contact the writer: jkay@ocregister.com