Saturday, May 2, 2009

The Tee-Ball Chronicles #5

Entering our penultimate game of the season, the Rays were down two players and one coach. That left 100% of the cat herding up to me for the afternoon.

Pre-Game - Y'all remember m'man Kimo, right? The Rays' best player…never smiles…only five-year-old on earth with facial hair. Well, before the game, he was going up to each child on the Dodgers and telling them, "You're my enemy. You're going down." I am not making this up. One of the other coaches heard this and tried to play the "we're all friends here" nonsense with my best player. I hustled Kimo away before any of his killer instinct was snuffed out (or before he killed that meddling coach).

Bottom of the 1st - And, do you guys remember (My NAME is) Alexander? Insufferable…selfish…completely bereft of any tee-ball talent. He was playing shortstop today, when a player from the Dodgers just plowed through him while rounding second base.

Both kids picked themselves off the ground and when Alexander tried to apologize, the baserunner started yelling and screaming at him in a transparent attempt to pick a fight. I broke up the impending preschool UFC show and Alexander buried his head in my bony hip, fighting back tears. Not one adult from the Dodgers' side attempted to intervene. Oh, it's f*cking ON. No one does that to one of my kids. (Yes, Alexander is back in the "family".)

Top of the 2nd - By pure coincidence, the douche-boy who smoked my shortstop is now playing first base, where I've stationed myself as the first base coach. His name is Jonathan and he's standing directly on the bag. I briefly think about telling him to move, before realizing that Kimo will be batting later in the inning. The possibilities…please me. Unfortunately, the second batter – my son, Jalen – reaches base and Jonathan tries to push him off.

OK, when Jonathan is a little older, he'll notice things like "the only two Black guys on a baseball diamond are probably related" and act accordingly. For now, I just grabbed the little sh*t by his arm and told him where to stand when he's playing first base.

At the end of the inning, Jonathan got popped in the mouth with a throw from second base. I actually had almost 100 more words in this space before reconsidering the tone, so I'll end it by saying the kid was alright. The little bit of blood was washed away by a torrent of tears. How did I feel about it? Like this.

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