There is crying in baseball.
A lot of crying.
There is also playdate crying, LEGO crying, swim crying, bike riding crying….it’s endless.
That’s all these whinge-bag boys do around here is cry.
Growing up I remember once playing with the kids on my street, and my brother was getting pushed around by one of the older boys (today we would say he was “being bullied.”) One day, my brother couldn’t take it anymore and he started crying while doing a crazy windmill like motion with his arms towards the bully.
I don’t remember how it ended, but the only thing I remember is the crazy windmill move (it was weird and kind of funny) and the crying (it was rare.)
Today little boys cry with reckless abandon. They don’t gives two shits. They just cry and cry.
They don’t care who sees them.
They don’t care if people think they are cry-babies or sissies.
I think little boys should cry if they have a valid reason, as they are young children and clearly shouldn’t have to hide their emotions because they are boys.
Valid reasons include: injuries, legitimate fears or concerns, hurt feelings by a friend, etc.
Invalid reasons would be I don’t know……not liking swimming lessons or getting a strike at baseball.
We started a new swim school a couple of weeks ago. My thinking was last time I spent $400.00 and Sam cried every single day, and perhaps if we tried a more low-key program for half the price we would have better results (emotionally, anyways – I have pretty much given up on the swimming part.)
The kids were in separate classes so upon arrival, Michael headed off to the deeper end of the pool and Sam stayed in the shallow end with a younger group.
Michael is a much better swimmer than Sam, with 18 months and an extra year of swimming lessons on him, so I was most concerned with Sam’s abilities on the first day.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Sam waved at me with a huge smile and jumped into the pool. I sat down to relax a bit in front of the viewing window.
But wait, why was Michael being escorted by his teen swimming coach towards the viewing window in tears?
I stood up to greet him and the college girl at the door.
“What’s the problem Michael?”
“I’m sinking!!! I am going to sink!” he cried in hysterics.
I looked at the teacher expectantly – who was frankly doing nothing to help the situation.
“Is he sinking?” I asked.
“No – he just needs to calm down…..” she said hesitantly.
“He can swim, he must just be nervous.” I assured her. I looked down at Michael and spoke in my famous “fake nice mommy voice.”
“You can swim, your teacher won’t let you sink – you are just rusty, now go to your lesson.”
5 minutes later they were back.
“What now?” I asked impatiently as I whipped open the door.
“He has to use the bathroom.” the teacher explained.
“No you don’t – now stop it and finish your lesson,” I said to Michael between gritted teeth.
“Yes – I really have to go!” he said wiggling around.
I grabbed his arm so hard it almost came out of the socket and dragged him to the door to the boys bathroom.
“Get inside and go to the bathroom and hurry up. You better be out here in one minute.” I yelled at him.
I stood waiting outside the door with smoke pouring out of my ears.
A couple of minutes went by. I opened the door and called inside, “Michael what is the hold-up?”
“Michael – so help me God – you better hurry up and get out here or you will be punished for a month.” I screamed like a lunatic with no regard for young men walking by me and witnessing my insanity.
“MICHAEL!!!” I screeched.
“What????” he answered.
“I’m pooping.” he called back.
I actually looked around for something I could smash into a million pieces, but couldn’t find anything, so had to resort to more inappropriate screaming.
“Michael – you better hurry up – this is not an appropriate time to poop!!!!” I screamed.
He finally moseyed out in tears again about sinking.
I dragged him by the arm over to the teacher. She was in for it too.
“Oookaaayyy, he is no longer allowed to speak to me during swimming lessons.”
“Well if he says he needs to use the bathroom we are obligated to bring him.” she answered curtly.
“Well he just took a huge shit for twenty minutes so he’s good. Do you think he can like learn to swim or something?” I answered shortly and turned on my heel.
Needless to say his pooping and crying landed him in Sam’s class. He got demoted.
At least he doesn’t cry anymore.
And at least I have straight vodka to drink when I get home from these little activities.
And thank you Jesus for giving me a job that requires me to work a lot on weekends. Because of this I have missed a lot of Michael’s baseball season.
I was recently able to catch a full game.
Let’s just say it is very lucky that it is MR. and not MRS. Gaga that is the coach of this team of fat and lazy children.
Many of these losers can be frequently found laying down or “looking for mushrooms” in the outfield actually during the game!!!!
You are probably asking “what do their parents say?”
Their parents say nothing!!
Their parents are very busy on the sidelines on their Blackberries and Iphones playing “Words with Friends” and updating their Facebook status to read “At Ethan’s baseball game!! We are so proud of him!! “
The thought wouldn’t cross their minds to actually look up and WATCH THE GAME and NOTICE THEIR WRETCHED CHILD’S INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR!
The moms who are off in the shade watching the game quietly – are the ones who kids are actually good.
The parents who show up in Vineyard Vines attire and a huge Tommy Bahama beach chair with a matching sun umbrella are the ones to watch out for.
Those moms in the Lily Pulitzer attire at the game are the ones who will say “Oh we are so busy with Hunter! He has tennis and golf on Mondays and Tuesdays, karate on Wednesdays and baseball on Thursdays and Saturdays!!”
I am quite tempted to say “Oh really – is that Hunter? The fat kid who just ran from 3rd base to 2nd? The one Mr. Gaga told me pooped in his pants during the last game?” That’s super that he plays 3 sports!! You must be the best mother in the whole town!!!!
These kids not only shit their pants, and look for mushrooms instead of catching the ball. They are known for crying when they get tagged out and crying when they don’t get a hit. They also will refuse to leave the field when they are clearly out, because they DON’T WANT TO, and if they do leave the field against their wishes, they will take their batting helmet and smash it as hard as they can (which isn’t very hard because they are pathetic, doughy wusses) against the fence or onto the ground.
To add insult to injury – at the end of this horrorfest – the score?
It’s a tie.
No matter what.
“If you had fun….you won.”
Can you believe this horse shit?
THAT’S NOT TRUE!!!!
DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S NOT FUN?
WHEN YOU SUCK DONKEY BALLS…..
YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS NOT FUN???
WHEN SOME STUPID LOSER KID HAS A TEMPER TANTRUM BECAUSE HE CAN’T HIT THE BALL SO HE THROWS HIS BATTING HELMET OVER THE FENCE AND IT HITS MICHAEL IN THE HEAD…..
At some point these children in America are going to have to experience a loss, to understand what it is to be defeated, to possibly be inspired to do better or to stop looking for mushrooms, so that they can WIN!!!
Because in real life when you spend your entire lesson time or game time taking a shit and crying – guess what?
YOU SINK TO THE BOTTOM OR YOU LOSE THE GAME.
I think fellow mom blogger Momma Kiss said it best when she was shocked to find that most parents wouldn’t let their 7-year-olds play dodgeball because it was “too rough.” She wrote:
“I mean really – the pussification of boys these days.”
If you like this loving blog post about how I scream at my children and call other children fat losers, then please share on Facebook!! ALSO -ANY LIKES ON FACEBOOK WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! XOXOXO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA