Kids LOCK UP your PARENTS ... (happy NOW A_QB?)

I umpired in the summer of 1993, before I went away to Real College. My God I hated it. Hated every last second of it. Fucking shit-ass parents who don't know dick barking at me from behind the cages. I had one telling me I was ruining her kid's summer after I called him out on strikes for the second or third time. I actually retorted to that one: "Good. It'll toughen him up for later in life."

The truly hilarious thing? A summer or two later, I was stringing for the local Happy Happy Joy Joy JRC Paper and we had to--you guessed it--cover Little League. One of the jackasses who was riding me in the summer of '93 was now coaching one of the All-Star teams. I don't think he recognized me, but the whole time he was feeding me cliches about how hard the kids work, I was thinking "you're a douchebag."

 

Well, my first game is over and done.

I thought for sure there would be a second umpire working the game rather than have the Boys and Girls Club completely throw me to the wolves. I hadn't even had a mechanics work session that's happening Sunday.

So much for that. At least there was an umpire supervisor there with helpful tips. At least no parents tried to kill me yet.

 

I already have my first forfeit.

Then again, it's because one team had eight players and their ninth guy never showed.

 

And ... today is field mechanics training.

I wish I would have had it before I worked my first game, but life happens sometimes.

 

- I just get an eight count here.
- I know, but it's okay.

I got the whole thing figured out. This is what I do.

I take my two outfielders, Henry and Thor... I play them right and left center.

-- Would you stop it! You're embarrassing yourself.

Three of my White Sox have got the flu. I got a goddamn little Jesus freak in Bakersfield at a revival meeting.

-- I am sorry! The White Sox are gonna have to forfeit the game. It's a forfeit. The White Sox have to forfeit.

Two, four, six, eight. Who do we appreciate? White Sox! White Sox!

 

But maybe throw games. Dismiss out of hand no potential bribe.

 

None of the coaches or parents is going to have enough money to even tempt me. This is East Bumfuck County I'm umping for.

Now if it were West Bumfuck County, that might be different. But unless someone's talking at least seven figures (including decimals), I ain't budging. But who is going to want to fork over that much moolah so their kid's team can win a baseball game?

 

People have killed and maimed for it. Why not pay for it?

 

On another note, I finally had that mechanics workshop tonight. Hopefully, I got my Don Denkinger-in-the-1985-World-Series moment out of my system.

It was interesting to note the umpire instructor's comments to each of us. The other two guys have some experience in the game (I think one guy used to be an umpire a long time ago; the other guy coached). He tells me "I know you know the game; I know each of you have done this before." Hell, I thought it was cool.

 

Nicely done

 

I passed the test, so I officially am an umpire.