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Take me out of this ball game…


Besides it being Father’s Day it is also more importantly the last day of baseball.

It really couldn’t come fast enough.

I came home this afternoon and dumped the kids trophies off in the trophy room and felt like a weight was lifted off of me.

trophies

If you are currently thinking “Wow  – your kids must be amazing 7 and 8-year-old athletes to receive this many trophies!”

The answer to that would be “No – they suck…but this is the amount of trophies and awards that children receive in today’s world of overindulgence excessive accolades.”

I am so tired of 4-5 nights of practice/slash games. I am tired of taco and chicken nugget dinners night after night because we don’t get home until 8 PM. I am tired of stripping down the children and daily scrubbing and washing of baseball pants.

More than once I have woken up in the night in a cold sweat realizing that I forgot to wash the game pants and run down to the basement with a stain stick just in time.

Sam’s league is filled with kindergarteners who shit their pants and don’t know how to run bases and Michael has not played well this season – so sitting in a hot field to witness these games doesn’t interest me much.

With all of that aside – what I am most excited to be rid of as the season comes to a close is the BASEBALL PARENTS!

I think it’s not all that surprising when you come across Dads that are coaching and trying to live vicariously through their sons.

You know the type – the balding guy who coaches all the teams and screams and swears and acts like a complete douchebag.  The guy that makes an example of his own kid because you know…..his kid is the best ….and you know…he’s totally going to the majors.

I have an announcement to make Goopville:

NOBODY IS GOING TO THE MAJORS!!

GET A FUCKING HOLD OF YOURSELVES.

YOU DIDN’T MAKE IT TO A MAJOR LEAGUE TEAM. NEITHER WILL YOUR KID.

ACCEPT IT AND BEHAVE LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN.

These people act like complete maniacs.  They clutch their heads in despair as they watch from the sidelines, they pace back and forth and yell at their kids as thought their lives and futures depend upon their performance on the baseball fields filled with nine year olds.

Several sources (Ad Counsel, etc) have suggested that 1 in 16,000 HS players make the Majors. In most towns less than half of 12 y/o’s make the HS team. That would suggest a number somewhere upwards of 1 out of every 32 thousand kids that play in youth leagues will make the majors!!!

Nobody knows this.  Or nobody wants to believe this.  They have private baseball lessons and have their kids play baseball in the fall and spring and summer.  Some kids are in more than one league so they arrive to their second games tired and winded.

What is the point of all of this? If it’s not to make it to the big leagues than for what?

While I expect crazy dads in the youth sports arena – I was not prepared for all of the crazy baseball moms.

It starts the first week when you get an email from the “TEAM MOM” who is busy organizing the drink assignments.  This is when you get assigned a week when you are in charge of delivering a humongous cooler filled with Gatorade to the team to keep them “hydrated.”

I’m sorry – do we live in Cancun or Connecticut?

Are children so tired and thirsty that they need these huge chemical-ridden beverages?

Are children’s electrolytes that depleted that they need to consume large lemon lime beverages filled with poison?

I don’t believe in sodas and sports drinks and they are banned from my household – but magically just because “TEAM MOM” fails to read or watch DR. OZ – she has arranged things so that my children are suddenly downing flame retardant disguised as a “sports drink” necessary to getting through the game.

Our kids are soft Connecticut kids that are playing spring baseball for an hour.

They don’t deserve a sports drink.

 

If your son looks like this with blood, sweat and tears dripping down his face - then give him a Gatorade...Otherwise water will suffice.

If your son looks like this guy -with blood, sweat and tears dripping down his face – then give him a Gatorade…Otherwise water will suffice.

 

Now after all of the beverages are organized there’s the actual watching of the games.

I usually bring a chair and some magazines to sift through while I pretend to watch the game, but I end up reading the same page over and over again because I am surrounded by mothers that won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Last weekend a monstrous beast that had clearly escaped from the women’s prison mom was shaking the fence while screaming at the children during the game, and then at the end of the game got in a fight with the umpire!

I can’t even think straight with all of the noise these women make and inevitably end up with a blinding headache from all of the chatter.

“Choke up!” “Good swing!” “Shorten up!” “Oh -don’t swing at that!” ” See the ball!” “Bad call!” “Hands Back” “Stay down!” “Nice spot!” “Oh- you gotta hit that!” “Oh – you gotta catch that!””Nice throw!”

It’s never-ending.

I feel like I am sitting next to like 5 Harry Caray’s…..

Literally this is what I have to listen to while I am TRYING TO READ ABOUT TORI SPELLING’S BROKEN HEART!!!

 

 

One of the mothers actually gets a babysitter to stay home with her two young children so that she can pay attention to the game!

I asked her why she would do such a thing.

“Well – when the baby is here – I miss parts of the game.  I am busy watching her and I can’t concentrate on the game,” she explained.

“Well, luckily you are not George Steinbrenner -so it’s really not so imperative that you watch every minute of the game…” I answered smartly.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“What the hell?” I stared at her to see if she was kidding but she clearly wasn’t.  “I can’t believe you act like Annie Savoy from Bull Durham and you don’t even know who George Steinbrenner is….” I said in disbelief.

“What’s Bull Durham?” she asked innocently.

Then I realized.

These bitches don’t really know anything about baseball except what they learned in Goopville!!!

It’s so easy when you I am surrounded by mothers that are giving play by plays and acting as though they know everything there is to know about America’s favorite past-time to feel as though maybe I should care more.

Maybe I should put down the US Weekly and take a little more interest in watching these 9 year olds play baseball.

But probably not.

It’s just a game after all.  Somehow parents across America have lost sight of that and it’s sad.

 

 

 •A good friend of mine used to say, "This is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains." Think about that for a while.


A good friend of mine used to say, “This is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains.” Think about that for a while.

 

And with that all I am worrying about is getting through the last week of school!

Goodbye baseball fields and hello BEACH!!!!!

PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME FOR THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA!!  Happy Father’s Day to my dad and to MR. GAGA and to all fathers!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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9 responses »

  1. I feel the same way about the end of soccer season. I do watch the game but I don’t tend to cheer much and most people seem to behave. I mostly chat with the very few women I can tolerate. I did, however, learn to trash talk in French so that no one would know what I was saying and it would sound nicer. “Assomer bas et briser les jambes” sounds so much nicer than “knock him down and break his legs”. Which I totally don’t want to happen. I just need to get my frustration out in an acceptable way. Unfortunately for me, this year, as luck would have it, our coach was french. I had to yell far away from him. Oh, and our team doesn’t do trophies. Yay!

    Reply
  2. The trophy and gatorade thing kills me. Enough already!!!

    Reply
  3. Rings true for soccer, football, dance & even bands parents. Yes, band. Great blog!

    Reply
  4. We honest-to-God had one of the parents from “the other team” threaten (in front of all 20 kids from the two teams) to kick my husbands @$$ because he and a handful of the kids weren’t participating in the scrimmage; and were using 1/2 of one of the fields. (For the record: My husband has many amazing attributes; at 5′ 8″ and 155#, his size is not one of them. So when a 6′, 300# guy tries to kick his butt, it’s a pretty quick fight!)

    Now, these kids are 4(!!!), and half the team is still in full-on daisy picking mode. They are not there to play soccer; they are there to roughhouse with their friends, and maybe kick the ball a few times. They don’t care about running drills, or playing scrimmage games, or any of the other things the “coaches” are screaming at each other about.

    Always good to know where the a-hole kids get it from.

    Reply
  5. Hilarious that she didn’t even catch the Steinbrenner or Bull Durham references… WOW. give her a Reggie next time and watch for the blank look… ;)

    Reply
  6. I’m not even a mother and I’m cracking up at every post out loud!

    Reply
  7. This is AWESOME!!!

    Reply
  8. OMG, this rings so true. Here it’s more hockey – hockey moms and their endless fundraisers, hockey dads coaching and running drills and paying for private coaching and all the kids kitted out in thousands of dollars of team swag to run around at the park with their friends. Insane.

    Reply
  9. Pingback: The Sunday of Summer | Lady Goo Goo Gaga

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