Wednesday, May 19, 2004
T-Ball is Fun, Right? (Part 1)
Ok, last night my 4 year old had a t-ball game, which normally isn't any big deal. I mean, the kids go out onto the field. Some of them pick their nose, some of them play in the dirt or grass and some of them actually pay attention to what is going on. My boy always pays attention. He has a passion for playing baseball exactly like I did when I was a little guy.
Anyhow, we weren't at our home field, we had a game "on the road." My son and I were the first ones to arrive at the field, as usual. I parked right next to the third base dugout, which wasn't so much like a dugout as it was just a bench behind a fence. I got our stuff out of the truck and put it down against the fence. Shortly thereafter, more of my team started to trickle in. We were throwing the ball around the infield when the "coach" of the other team showed up. Normally, that's not any big deal either. Most coaches know what they're doing. The first words she utters to me are, "Um, excuse me. Coach? Uh, well, um, errrrrr, would you mind changing dugouts? Our kids are used to sitting on this side."
I gave her my best, 'you're totally kidding me, right?' look. I said, "Um, well, errrrrr, I'm not understanding something here, does it make a difference where your kids sit? I mean, really, it's the same game from both dugouts, right?"
Boldly and totally cluelessly, she presses on, "Well, it's just that they're USED to this dugout. You know how it is."
I thought to myself, ~actually, Rain Woman, I don't know how it is because my kids will sit where I tell them to with no questions asked.~ but I didn't say it. After all, I don't want to get into an argument in front of my team. So I just said, "Well, I guess if it's really THAT important to you, I can pack up all of our crap and cart it across the field, just so you and your kids won't feel uncomfortable."
She then proceeded to act like she won something, "Yeah, if you could just pack up and go over there that would be great. My kids aren't comfortable sitting over THERE." Meaning, she's a dimwitted control freak and can't handle change of any sort. Should I feel more sorry for myself, or her husband? I've only got to interact with this freak for an hour, her poor bastard of a husband has to live with THAT.
This all happened at 5:40. The game was scheduled to start at 6. So, not sensing any urgency, I kept throwing the ball around with my team. Not two minutes later, Estrogen Mary is on the field saying, "I thought you were moving your stuff."
I said, "I am. Considering the fact that the game doesn't start for another 20 minutes, I thought that me leaving our stuff where it's been sitting for another 10 minutes wouldn't be that big of a deal."
"Well, how will my kids know where to sit? I mean, they'll see your stuff here and become confused." Was her reply.
I must have looked totally floored because my son said, "Dad, that vein is sticking out of your head again. Just like the time I dropped your X-Box after you told me not to pick it up. Wemember?"
I think I hesitated for a full minute before I responded. "They won't become confused because you'll be there to tell them where to sit, right? I mean, you're not going to be wandering around the field aimlessly until I move my stuff. Or at least I hope you're not." What I really wanted to say is ~lady, do you coach a bunch of "special" children? Because that's how you're describing them. I mean my kid's only 4 but not only does he not care which side of the freaking field he sits on, but he has the actual cognitive ability to realize that if his coach and the rest of his teammates are sitting on a certain bench, that maybe he should be sitting with them.~ but I didn't.
She looked at me quizzically and said, "Well, it's just that your stuff is in our dugout."
At that point, I probably could have dropped this wench like a frickin used condom, but I said nothing. Instead, I dropped the ball I was holding, walked directly over to my "stuff" and carted it across the field to the other dugout.
Having felt somewhat vindicated by not totally going Jackie Chan on Special Olympics Sally, I thought to myself, "as soon as the game starts, it should get better."
As you'll see in my next installment, I couldn't have been more wrong.
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Anyhow, we weren't at our home field, we had a game "on the road." My son and I were the first ones to arrive at the field, as usual. I parked right next to the third base dugout, which wasn't so much like a dugout as it was just a bench behind a fence. I got our stuff out of the truck and put it down against the fence. Shortly thereafter, more of my team started to trickle in. We were throwing the ball around the infield when the "coach" of the other team showed up. Normally, that's not any big deal either. Most coaches know what they're doing. The first words she utters to me are, "Um, excuse me. Coach? Uh, well, um, errrrrr, would you mind changing dugouts? Our kids are used to sitting on this side."
I gave her my best, 'you're totally kidding me, right?' look. I said, "Um, well, errrrrr, I'm not understanding something here, does it make a difference where your kids sit? I mean, really, it's the same game from both dugouts, right?"
Boldly and totally cluelessly, she presses on, "Well, it's just that they're USED to this dugout. You know how it is."
I thought to myself, ~actually, Rain Woman, I don't know how it is because my kids will sit where I tell them to with no questions asked.~ but I didn't say it. After all, I don't want to get into an argument in front of my team. So I just said, "Well, I guess if it's really THAT important to you, I can pack up all of our crap and cart it across the field, just so you and your kids won't feel uncomfortable."
She then proceeded to act like she won something, "Yeah, if you could just pack up and go over there that would be great. My kids aren't comfortable sitting over THERE." Meaning, she's a dimwitted control freak and can't handle change of any sort. Should I feel more sorry for myself, or her husband? I've only got to interact with this freak for an hour, her poor bastard of a husband has to live with THAT.
This all happened at 5:40. The game was scheduled to start at 6. So, not sensing any urgency, I kept throwing the ball around with my team. Not two minutes later, Estrogen Mary is on the field saying, "I thought you were moving your stuff."
I said, "I am. Considering the fact that the game doesn't start for another 20 minutes, I thought that me leaving our stuff where it's been sitting for another 10 minutes wouldn't be that big of a deal."
"Well, how will my kids know where to sit? I mean, they'll see your stuff here and become confused." Was her reply.
I must have looked totally floored because my son said, "Dad, that vein is sticking out of your head again. Just like the time I dropped your X-Box after you told me not to pick it up. Wemember?"
I think I hesitated for a full minute before I responded. "They won't become confused because you'll be there to tell them where to sit, right? I mean, you're not going to be wandering around the field aimlessly until I move my stuff. Or at least I hope you're not." What I really wanted to say is ~lady, do you coach a bunch of "special" children? Because that's how you're describing them. I mean my kid's only 4 but not only does he not care which side of the freaking field he sits on, but he has the actual cognitive ability to realize that if his coach and the rest of his teammates are sitting on a certain bench, that maybe he should be sitting with them.~ but I didn't.
She looked at me quizzically and said, "Well, it's just that your stuff is in our dugout."
At that point, I probably could have dropped this wench like a frickin used condom, but I said nothing. Instead, I dropped the ball I was holding, walked directly over to my "stuff" and carted it across the field to the other dugout.
Having felt somewhat vindicated by not totally going Jackie Chan on Special Olympics Sally, I thought to myself, "as soon as the game starts, it should get better."
As you'll see in my next installment, I couldn't have been more wrong.
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