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Monday, May 16, 2005

Embarrassing Moments #421 and #422 for your reading pleasure

Some people have the gift of candor, wit, and sarcasm. While I'd love to claim them as mine, I have been marked with New Balance disorder. It seems that my mouth is just big enough to fit in one if not both shoes when I say/blurt/comment on events that would better be observed in my silence.

Today's TWO examples are set at a t-ball field. There I am, minding my own business as usual (Tish trademark, do not copy),and the coach asks me to be dugout Mom. Fine, but this ship is running my way SO I'm lining these four to six year old children up for batting. Some are kicking the dirt, some are spinning in circles, and one is eating his boogers. GREAT. After the other team scores the maximum allowed five runs, it's our turn.

Now you tell me, aren't wouldn't you root for your team even in the dugout? And wouldn't you scream with joy when your team hits not one, not two, but THREE runs? Well, of course you would.

For those uncomfortable with confrontation - it's time you should sink back in your chair.

It wasn't my son on third base, but a tiny spit of a boy waiting for his turn at glory. The third baseman, a blonde headed child, turns to him and says with what can only be described as hateful: "So what? We are still gonna beat ya'll."

Now I ask you, do you just stand there and let a formerly premature baby stand there and be harangued by some brat? Of course you don't.

Tish: HEY! We don't talk like that in T-ball, do you hear me? Do not speak to the runners." I will admit I was using my not so nice voice, and may have pointed, but someone had to do something.

Feeling a moment of regret when they retired the inning, I approached the very large, very muscular Coach Mom now at the third base side.

Tish: Coach, you should know I got onto your third baseman.

Coach: What for?

I tell her the circumstances and end with "I just didn't want some Mom coming after me with a hammer."

Coach: That's my son.

She thanked me, said she would talk to him, and that t-ball isn't the place for that type of behavior. Most people would sigh with relief and vow never to speak again at a t-ball game. Most people.

Fast forward to Saturday's game. The umpire is young, slightly goofy, and suffering from conjunctivitis or retinal tears demonstrated by his horrible officiating.

Tish: This has to be the worst ump I've ever seen. He sucks.

Guy next to our player's mom: That would be my brother. It's his first time to ump, though.

Tish:(never flinches)Well, I'll cut slack today but he's got to read the rule book.

Now that I sound like a complete psycho mother, let me say this: I cuddle each player, I cheer for every great catch made no matter what team, and I laugh when the kids run backwards around the bases.

Is there t-ball in jail?

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