The ball is hit. J.T. takes off from first rounds second and doesn’t tag the base. He is almost to third when the third base coach yells and motions for him to go back, he can’t go to third without tagging second. J.T. turns around, heads back to second, and stops there. No foul. It was a madhouse. People were screaming. Parents were going nuts. Everything rode on this unexpected and explosive play. It was a T-ball game.
I was in Martin. Martin is a community just outside of the Jasper area down around Parish, Alabama. Martin is an interesting place. The folks there don’t get out much. I won’t say too much more for fear of my life. They are good people, but…never mind.
Cindy Robinson had asked me to go to J.T.’s game with her. My friend, her husband, Frankie was going to be out of town. She didn’t want to go by herself. I totally understood. I agreed to go, big mistake.
T-ball is great. The kids have a great time. It’s the freakin parents that screw it all up. They are insane. They yell, curse, and make dramatic displays. This day was especially animated and crazy. The minute that a ball is hit, everyone stands to their feet and starts yelling individual instructions to a 6 year old. Now that makes sense doesn’t it? At this point, the coach is simply another person attempting to yell the loudest so that the 6 year old will hear him. Good luck, huh? I believe that most of these off the wall parents are kids trapped in adult bodies who probably had the athletic prowess equal to that of an albatross and had the popularity of, well, someone who wasn’t popular in school. They are not attempting to live life large through their kids. To them, the kids athleticism and popularity is a direct reflection on them.
Remember when J.T. missed second base? Well, this is what happened. The minute that it became obvious that J.T. missed the base all of the yelling, cursing, and instructions were immediately focused on him. You would have thought that J.T. had his finger on the button to start nuclear war. He was just playing in a game. Poor little J.T. was doing the best he could. You could tell that the barking was confusing him. Somehow his coach managed to out shout the others and get him back to second base. Everything was fine on the field. But, it was too late in the stands.
There was a lady, Donna, sitting by the fence. Evidently she and Cindy had not always seen eye-to-eye. So, the waters were already stirring. Well, Donna said something to J.T. that didn’t meet Cindy’s approval. Cindy and I were in the stands. Cindy looked at me and said about Donna, “I wish she would shut her fat mouth.” Little did Cindy know, Donna evidently could read lips. I could tell by Donna’s expression that she knew what Cindy said. Cindy was unaware.
The game ended shortly after the fat mouth exchange. Cindy says, “I have to go get J.T.” I see Donna folding up her chair and heading our way. I am thinking, “How can we avoid a confrontation in this ball park?” Cindy is trying to get J.T. I said to Cindy, “You go to the car. I’ll get J.T.” Cindy is still not aware of the impending crisis. Donna is getting closer. Cindy and I argue about getting J.T. I say, “Donna is coming.” Cindy says, “I don’t care.” Quite frankly, I did care. I did not want to be in the middle of a catfight, especially when one of the cats was large, more like a lion. She was also mean.
There was nothing I could do. Donna reached us. Now, I am standing in the middle of these two women. Cindy is behind me. I am facing Donna attempting to peaceably diffuse the situation. Donna is yelling and cursing past me to Cindy. I happened to notice on her rather large chest the words streeeetched across her t-shirt that said, “Farmstead Baptist.” I thought that was fitting. Donna’s husband is passively protesting his wife’s behavior. He keeps quietly saying, “Honey, come on. Don’t do this.” You know, a real man. He made me sick. Now I was only about twenty-two. I didn’t have much experience with mean women. I was getting very tired of being made a spectacle. So, I thought I would try to shut it down. I was growing angry. I looked at Donna and said, “You need to mind your husband.” Do I have to tell you that this was not the diplomatic way to reach peace?
Immediately the anger focused on me. Now, she was yelling at me. It got bad. I decided to walk away. I grabbed Cindy and J.T. We headed for the car. The husband came over to apologize for his wife’s behavior. He said that sometimes women do that. I looked him and said, “Not where I come from. You need to control your wife.” I got in the car. We left.
My advice: Don’t go to t-ball games. If you do, remember that some people read lips.
I was in Martin. Martin is a community just outside of the Jasper area down around Parish, Alabama. Martin is an interesting place. The folks there don’t get out much. I won’t say too much more for fear of my life. They are good people, but…never mind.
Cindy Robinson had asked me to go to J.T.’s game with her. My friend, her husband, Frankie was going to be out of town. She didn’t want to go by herself. I totally understood. I agreed to go, big mistake.
T-ball is great. The kids have a great time. It’s the freakin parents that screw it all up. They are insane. They yell, curse, and make dramatic displays. This day was especially animated and crazy. The minute that a ball is hit, everyone stands to their feet and starts yelling individual instructions to a 6 year old. Now that makes sense doesn’t it? At this point, the coach is simply another person attempting to yell the loudest so that the 6 year old will hear him. Good luck, huh? I believe that most of these off the wall parents are kids trapped in adult bodies who probably had the athletic prowess equal to that of an albatross and had the popularity of, well, someone who wasn’t popular in school. They are not attempting to live life large through their kids. To them, the kids athleticism and popularity is a direct reflection on them.
Remember when J.T. missed second base? Well, this is what happened. The minute that it became obvious that J.T. missed the base all of the yelling, cursing, and instructions were immediately focused on him. You would have thought that J.T. had his finger on the button to start nuclear war. He was just playing in a game. Poor little J.T. was doing the best he could. You could tell that the barking was confusing him. Somehow his coach managed to out shout the others and get him back to second base. Everything was fine on the field. But, it was too late in the stands.
There was a lady, Donna, sitting by the fence. Evidently she and Cindy had not always seen eye-to-eye. So, the waters were already stirring. Well, Donna said something to J.T. that didn’t meet Cindy’s approval. Cindy and I were in the stands. Cindy looked at me and said about Donna, “I wish she would shut her fat mouth.” Little did Cindy know, Donna evidently could read lips. I could tell by Donna’s expression that she knew what Cindy said. Cindy was unaware.
The game ended shortly after the fat mouth exchange. Cindy says, “I have to go get J.T.” I see Donna folding up her chair and heading our way. I am thinking, “How can we avoid a confrontation in this ball park?” Cindy is trying to get J.T. I said to Cindy, “You go to the car. I’ll get J.T.” Cindy is still not aware of the impending crisis. Donna is getting closer. Cindy and I argue about getting J.T. I say, “Donna is coming.” Cindy says, “I don’t care.” Quite frankly, I did care. I did not want to be in the middle of a catfight, especially when one of the cats was large, more like a lion. She was also mean.
There was nothing I could do. Donna reached us. Now, I am standing in the middle of these two women. Cindy is behind me. I am facing Donna attempting to peaceably diffuse the situation. Donna is yelling and cursing past me to Cindy. I happened to notice on her rather large chest the words streeeetched across her t-shirt that said, “Farmstead Baptist.” I thought that was fitting. Donna’s husband is passively protesting his wife’s behavior. He keeps quietly saying, “Honey, come on. Don’t do this.” You know, a real man. He made me sick. Now I was only about twenty-two. I didn’t have much experience with mean women. I was getting very tired of being made a spectacle. So, I thought I would try to shut it down. I was growing angry. I looked at Donna and said, “You need to mind your husband.” Do I have to tell you that this was not the diplomatic way to reach peace?
Immediately the anger focused on me. Now, she was yelling at me. It got bad. I decided to walk away. I grabbed Cindy and J.T. We headed for the car. The husband came over to apologize for his wife’s behavior. He said that sometimes women do that. I looked him and said, “Not where I come from. You need to control your wife.” I got in the car. We left.
My advice: Don’t go to t-ball games. If you do, remember that some people read lips.
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