Baseball, Community and Home Run for Chelsea

Rancho Bernardo is a small community tucked neatly inside the top of San Diego.  The always-accurate Wikipedia refers to it as "...an upscale master-planned community in [San Diego's] northern hills...". 

For me and my family, it's just "home".

But, who can argue with an adjective like "upscale" when our neighborhood is home to a three-stars-on-Yelp Chinese buffet and a reputable business endorsed by Robin Leach?   

Depending on your source, Rancho Bernardo's population is around 40,000.  This represents roughly 3% of San Diego's 1.3 million sun-drenched denizens.  And, our region never seemed smaller than on February 25, 2010.

17-year-old Chelsea King -- a high school senior from nearby Poway High School -- went for a training run at Rancho Bernardo Community Park along its well-known, trees-and-brush-hidden trails.  Tragically, she never came home.  Her disappearance led to the formation of local search parties -- comprised of both her peers and complete strangers -- that organized just down the hill from my house.  Five agonizing days passed before her body was found.  The victim of a horrific sexual assault was murdered 1 1/2 miles from my front door. 

Rancho Bernardo Community Park is also home to our local Little League's ball fields.  Days after Chelsea King's body was found, the park hosted Little League's opening day ceremonies.  I have no doubt that organizers wrestled with how to respectfully pay tribute to Chelsea in front of hundreds of children -- some as young as five-years-old -- without creating a pre-pubescent panic.  I remember that the ceremony was understandably brief, but moving.  My son Jalen asked about the large "CK" initials that were drawn on the infield dirt, but my awkward response was lost on his ears amid calls of "Play ball!" 

Since then, I've spent an ungodly number of hours at that park.  I've watched Jalen attempt to field everyone else's position in t-ball.  I coached him when he moved up to hitting off of the pitching machine.  I managed him in this, his first year of live pitching. 

Rancho Bernardo's Little League is a community all its own.  This is why I wasn't surprised to receive a text message from my son's Fall 2010 coach.  We regularly practiced together with our sons -- and several other fathers and sons -- on whichever open field could accommodate us on hastily-selected Sunday mornings or holiday afternoons or early December evenings.  J's old coach asked if he'd be interested in playing in a charity tournament. 

Last month, the second annual Home Run for Chelsea event was held at ball fields across San Diego County benefitting the Chelsea's Light Foundation.  Jalen reluctantly donned the uniform of the Cleveland Indians' short-season single-A minor league affiliate -- the Scrappers.  As his coach wryly remarked, "It's a good name for a kids' team."  Without missing a beat, Jalen replied, "Yeah, but, so is Rivercats!  And, RockHounds!"  (You'd have to be well-versed on the Oakland Athletics' minor league teams to get that.  It's probably best if you just move on to the next paragraph.) 

The tournament officials farmed us out to Encinitas -- a coastal community that sits about 25 miles northwest of Rancho Bernardo.  There was some grumbling from the adults -- naturally -- but, I thought it'd be fun to play on a different field and Jalen was excited about the prospect of a real "road game". 

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I wouldn't be coaching my son.  I hadn't been just a spectator at one of Jalen's games since Mrs. Bootleg literally banned me from watching from the same side of the field as her.  According to my wife, I'm too obnoxious, too intense and occasionally try to coach my son from the stands.  Pfft...balderdash.  Besides, if Jalen would just LISTEN TO ME... 

Seated down the third base line, my wife and I watched Jalen warm up with his teammates.  This was the only uncomfortable part of the event for me.  It was all I could do to stop from grabbing my glove (which I smuggled inside Jalen's bat bag), run onto the field and warm up my son.  Part of me was hoping that he'd see my glove in his bag and ask, on his own, for a little catch with his old man.  And, then, maybe the manager would say, "Hey, Aaron...we need someone to coach first base. You interested?"  Clearly, my evil scheming and nefarious planning need polish. 

Before the 9:00 AM games began, the mother of Chelsea King gave a short speech in front of the gathered players and parents.  I didn't really need such a nudge on what was already an emotional morning, but her words pushed my tear ducts past their natural capacity.  It was Mrs. Bootleg keeping the stiff upper lip for the family and her "Oh, here we go..." roll of the eyes at the sight of my tears was, admittedly, magnificent. 

Jalen's team played two games that day.  The first was against a travel ball squad that was clearly the stiffest competition any of our kids had faced to date.  J struck out in his first two at bats on letter high fastballs that I doubt he saw.  Jalen pitched the fifth inning, tasked with protecting a 3-2 lead.  Unfortunately, J's appearance was right in the middle of his worst Little League pitching stretch of the season.  He walked five and gave up four runs in just 2/3 of an inning -- the two outs recorded on a spectacular diving catch by the shortstop and a baserunner who crashed into the same shortstop just as he was fielding another ball.  My son had as much success fighting back tears as I did earlier in the day. 

In the sixth and final inning, though, the Scrappers (ugh) rallied and Jalen drove in the tying run.  With the two-hour time limit reached, the game finished in a 6-6 tie.  The second game followed 15 minutes later.  It was mostly an unwatchable slog of ball four-after-ball four between two tired teams with a discernible difference in ability.  The Scrappers won 18-8 and Jalen is still talking about his bases-clearing three-run triple in the first inning. 

I didn't spend much time with Mrs. Bootleg during either game.  When I'm managing my son, I'm a tightly-wound, mocha brown bundle of nerves who receives repeated reprimands from the umpire to quit pacing and stay inside the first base coach's box.  It's hard to sit still while rooting for Jalen.  It's surprisingly harder to sit still when you're rooting for a community.

TBG Eats: Cafasso Meatball Company

Current Weight: 168.0 lbs.

Some of you might've heard that I manage my eight-year-old son's Little League team. Two weeks ago -- after our squad gave up 20 runs in a humiliating mutilation at the hands of the Padres -- my wife approached me with a proposal for postgame dinner plans. Her timing, as always, was impeccable.

Our team's five-game undefeated streak had been snapped slaughtered. I'd just completed a half-hearted pep talk to the team in which we collectively marveled at the symmetry of surrendering five runs in each of the first four innings. In the dugout, my son and I were the only survivors in a sea of strewn sunflower seed exoskeletons and empty sports drink recyclables. (And, our conversation wasn't doing much for my mood.)

Eating out as a family? Why that's a much better idea than my preferred after-a-loss locale -- sitting in front of our open garage door, sipping pity beer while plotting lineup-demotion punishments for a few individual players.

Mrs. Bootleg suggested a restaurant called Cafasso Meatball Company. According to their website, "CMC" was established in June 2011. It's in the Carmel Mountain section of San Diego -- ten minutes south of Stately Bootleg Manor and an awfully pretentious appellation for a neighborhood that's dissected by strip malls, chain restaurants and big box stores. (To be fair, the homes are spectacular. I'm partial to the ones that abut BevMo.)

We arrived just after 6:00 PM. The restaurant was empty, which made me feel slightly less self-conscious about the three-and-a-half hours of "outdoors-on-an-80-degree-day" that my son and I were conspicuously smuggling under our clothes. CMC's menu is posted over the front counter on three flat screens. It's a neat little high-tech touch, I suppose, but as a newcomer, I felt a bit rushed with the cashier standing at the ready.

My wife ordered spaghetti (with two meatballs) because she ALWAYS orders spaghetti at restaurants that are even tangentially Italian. My son ordered pizza because he ALWAYS orders pizza at restaurants that sell pizza. I ordered the "CMC Special" -- choice of three meatballs, sauce, cheese and garlic bread -- because I (occasionally) blog about things and the name of the meal is begging for an "Oh, yeah? We'll see about that!" anonymous response.

I went with two of the beef and bacon meatballs and one spicy beef and pork. The simple, but appealing presentation was appreciated. I'm sure someone from the five boroughs could lecture us all on meatball protocol, but the look of the three meat spheres in a miniature serving dish -- topped with dollops of sauce and perfectly-placed provolone -- raised my expectations. Unfortunately, the food fell short.

The beef and bacon meatballs appeared to be overcooked -- a darkened exterior giving way to surprisingly dry meat on the inside. The only bacon characteristic I could find was a pervasive saltiness. The spicy beef and pork meatball was the better of the two, but the spiciness wasn't especially pronounced and the pork didn't contribute anything either texturally or in flavor.

The sauce at CMC was solid, though. The meat sauce outshined the meatball stars on the marquee and went great with the gloriously oily garlic bread.

CMC's interior appears to be a kitschy tribute to Sal's Famous Pizzeria from Do the Right Thing fame. Portraits of legendary Italian-American entertainers hang from the walls and the respective restrooms are labeled with "WISEGUYS" for him and "STARLETS" for her. The service at CMC was plenty friendly and their story -- which I just learned myself from the above link -- is interesting enough for me to come back and give them another chance.

If only the patrons at Sal's Famous had been so forgiving.

The LL Chronicles #17: The Worst Game Ever Played...and Won

Learned one of my players won't be at game today. He's performing at "Melody Makers" youth concert. I...should keep this from his teammates. -- From my Twitter feed, April 18.

Going into our game against the Cardinals, my Athletics were actually down three players.  Two of the three were Jason and Gautham -- who you might remember from the base stealing drill section in my last Little League post.  I may (or may not) have sent a celebratory text message to Mrs. Bootleg after hearing the news.  Unfortunately, there's no time to check my cell phone to confirm (or deny).

Top of the First Inning

My eight-year-old son Jalen was our starting pitcher and -- surely, to the surprise of none of you -- he takes this responsibility seriously.  The first batter for the Cardinals was a little boy named Joseph.  He just so happens to be one of Jalen's classmates.  As he approached the plate, Joseph waved out to the mound and exclaimed, "Hi, Jalen!"  The silent response he received from my son was akin to this.  I doubt Joseph had seen this side of Jalen during show-and-tell.  Three pitches later, Joseph had struck out swinging as Jalen punctuated the punch-out with a sudden, disdainful turn of his back to the vanquished batter.

The Cardinals' second batter witnessed the previous sequence from the on-deck circle and immediately burst into tears, refusing to come to the plate.  I initially assumed Jalen had actually intimidated someone, but as the game wore on, it became clear that this child cried before every at-bat and had to be practically dragged to the batter's box.  Knowing my son, the thought crossed my mind to run out to the mound and instruct Jalen NOT to throw a brushback pitch. Thankfully, the batter grounded out to shortstop on the first pitch.

Jalen got cuffed around by the 3-4-5 hitters, surrendering a single, a walk and a two-run knock.  But, his second baseman made a nifty diving stop on a groundball to stop the bleeding.  Cardinals 2, Athletics 0

Bottom of the First Inning

After our last game, I was told that my best hitter may have broken his finger.  It turns out it was only sprained and after a rainout the previous Saturday, he'd had more than a week to rest.  I don't want to imply that our roster couldn't withstand the loss of its most important offensive component -- at least not without referencing what happened to a team far greater than ours that lost its most offensive component.

My leadoff hitter singled and Jalen followed with a walk.  After a wild pitch moved both runners into scoring position, we tied the score on a pair of groundouts.  My team has gone through odd offensive droughts at inopportune times all season.  We needed a shutdown inning on the mound from my son so that our batters could build a little breathing room and...hey, where's that ominous music coming from?  Athletics 2, Cardinals 2

Top of the Second Inning

Jalen is back on the mound and bookends a pair of walks with a pair of strikeouts.  There are strict pitch count rules in Little League and two of those statutes were quickly becoming an issue.  As an eight-year-old, Jalen isn't allowed to throw more than 50 pitches in a game (unless he goes over during an at-bat to the last batter he'll face) and if he throws more than 50 pitches, the league mandates three calendar days of rest before he can pitch again -- making him unavailable for our next game.

On his 47th pitch, Jalen issues his third walk of the inning.  As I make my way to the mound, I'm unsure of who I want to bring in.  We just need one more out to escape the inning and with a potential force play at any base, I choose Jalen's teammate Kengo.  This would be his first pitching appearance since his reluctant relief role last month.  That inning left him in a catatonic state for the remainder of the game.  Looking back, I should've took Jalen's skeptical "Kengo?!" response more seriously.

As Kengo warmed up, I realized I f****d up.  The umpire had moved to the far right end of the backstop to drink from a bottle of water.  Kengo hit him with his first warm-up pitch.  The next few pitches were similarly nowhere near the vicinity of home plate.  When he finally threw a borderline strike, I attempted to make both of us feel better about my decision:

Me: "Kengo!  There you go!  Just like that!  Kengo! Pitchin' machine!"
Jalen [from second base]: "REALLY, dad?"

Me: "..."

(And, yes, I did shamelessly lift pep talk from Moneyball as my inspiration.)

The good news?  Kengo only needed 13 pitches to get out of the inning.  The bad news?  He used up his pitches on an RBI single, a 2-RBI single and a 2-RBI double.  At least he threw strikes.  And, fortunately, he had a supportive group of teammates who would put aside their own interests to console one of their own.  "Dad", Jalen said. "I think all of my runs should be charged to Kengo."  Cardinals 7, Athletics 2

Bottom of the Second Inning

The Cardinals were the last winless team in our division, but I resisted the urge to use that as a rallying cry for my kids.  Instead, I opted to incredulously mutter it to myself, repeatedly, with my arms folded and an occasional shake of my head.  If one of my players -- with their inquisitive little minds -- had asked what I was saying, it would've been impolite to stay silent, right?

With one out and runners on first and second, Jalen stepped to the plate.  My son tends to put too much pressure on himself in clutch situations.  From the first base coach's box, I shouted encouragement while concurrently worrying about a blown opportunity if we failed to dig into the Cardinals' lead.

On the first pitch he saw, Jalen lined a double to the opposite field.  The ball alternately seemed to hang in the air forever, yet it was low enough to the ground for me to see it pass right under my nose.  When it hit the chalk, Coach Aaron -- for some reason -- chased the ball down the line...and lost his mind:

"FAIR BALL! FAIR BALL! FAIR BALL! GO TWO! GO TWO! GO TWO!"

I'm screaming this while literally running into short right field.  When I turn back towards first base, Jalen is already kicking up dust with a slide into second.  My hysterics reminded me of a skit from Chris Rock's old HBO show.  (Fast forward to the 0:49 mark. Also, NSFW! NSFW! NSFW!)  One out later, Kengo(!) brought home our second and third runs of the innings with a double of his own.  Cardinals 7, Athletics 5

Top of the Third Inning

Garrett had been one of our better pitchers all season long, so I brought him in to start the inning.  It usually doesn't take long to tell which version of Garrett we're going to get.  There's "effective, pitch-efficient Garrett" and "ineffective, throws-a-million pitches Garrett".  I'll let the reader decipher the data based on the result of each opposing at-bat that evening: walk, single, walk, strikeout!, strikeout!!  We're not done!  Double, single, single, single.  Hang on...I have to move to the top of the next column in my scorebook since the Cardinals just batted around. Walk, single (runner out trying to stretch it to a double).  36 pitches.  OK, now guess which Garrett we got?  Cardinals 12, Athletics 5

Bottom of the Third Inning

Remember the kid who cried before every at-bat?  He's now in to pitch for the Cardinals.  Tonight's second-inning Kengo adventure notwithstanding, I've pretty much used the same three pitchers all season.  It seems like we're either playing from behind or holding the slimmest of leads in all of our games.  I'd love to be playing with a large enough margin to give my less-talented kids the experience of pitching.  And, as a bonus, it can be TOTALLY demoralizing to the manager of the losing team as he comes to the realization that...HEY!  This is demoralizing to me! 

My spirits were somewhat lifted after our team scored five runs on two hits and SIX walks.  (I needed a snarky sentence to end this paragraph and I couldn't decide between "Maybe the Cardinals should've kept their mop-up man in the bucket." or "It looks like the Cardinals' mop-up man was all wet."  They're equally awful.  Let's go with both.)  Cardinals 12, Athletics 10

Top of the Fourth Inning

I needed Garrett to throw another inning.  He's nine-years-old, so his pitch limit is 75.  He started strong with a strikeout, but then allowed three walks, two hits and two runs after that.  Garrett struck out the final two batters, but as my team left the field, I realized I'd forgotten to keep track of Garrett's pitches. 

Managers can get in serious trouble for violating the pitch count rules.  I approached the official scorer and with honest humility said, "Hey, I need to verify something on my scorecard. Can I borrow the scorebook?"  Since it's written in pencil, the data inside would be easy to era...er, verify.  Amazingly, Garrett threw exactly 40 pitches in the inning.  (No, seriously.  That's what was in the book before it was handed to me.  Really. I'm not being "cute" here.) He passed 75 while pitching to his last batter.  Acceptable!  Cardinals 14, Athletics 10

Bottom of the Fourth Inning

"No new after two."  That's the league catchphrase for the following rule at the 8 to 10-year-old level: no new inning may begin after two hours.  It's just after 7:00 PM, so this will be the last half-inning played today.  The lights on our field haven't worked all season, so we're basically playing until we make three outs or score five runs or the sun goes down.

The Cardinals bring in a boy named Prentice and he's built like a bipedal bull elephant.  His warm-up pitches produce the loudest pops of the night into the catcher's mitt.  Austin, my last-place hitter, is up to start the inning.  On his first swing, Austin is nearly 15 minutes late on the fastball.  On his second swing, Austin again misses the ball by a mile and...is awarded first base?!  Catcher's interference!  It's really a thing, non-baseball fans!

Unfortunately, the catcher -- who was hit in the hand by the batter's swing -- is splayed across home plate in tears.  I don't doubt for a second that this kid was legitimately hurt.  I also don't doubt that the Cardinals used this as an opportunity to...  OK, I won't go there.  But, after tending to the catcher's hand forever, the Cardinals announced they'd be replacing him behind the plate -- meticulously taking off each piece of his gear as if it were made of glass.  After the replacement catcher was suited up -- MIRACULOUSLY -- the original catcher was all better, so the Cardinals s-l-o-w-l-y switched out the catcher's equipment back to the first kid.  This sucked up a lot of remaining sunlight.

I'm not sure how this all played with Prentice's emotions, but he proceeded to walk the next four batters and most of the pitches weren't even close.  After an especially ferocious strikeout pitch -- that essentially disintegrated my littlest hitter -- Prentice walked two more, the last of which brought home the tying run.

Both teams are playing in twilight and the Cardinals' coaches could've made a reasonable case for stopping play out of respect for the safety of the players.  Our team has batted around as Austin is at the plate once again.  He works the count full and takes ball four on a pitch that sails over the umpire's head.  Athletics 15, Cardinals 14 -- FINAL

I'm a little embarrassed at my team's excessive celebration.  I'm a little relieved that we pulled this one out.  And, I'm feeling a LOT of compassion for the Cardinals players -- several of whom were openly excited at the prospect of their first win a few innings earlier.  This was one of those weird games that I'll always remember...even while hoping half the participants quickly forget it.

Last night, my son's Little League team scored 15 runs on 5 hits & 18 walks. Proud to play our part in killing off the national pastime! -- From Twitter, April 19.

The LL Chronicles #16: Winning, Losing & Other Big Organic Globules

Wife unhappy w/my explanation to my son on why he's not my starting pitcher in Little League tonight: "Your ERA is 24.00 vs. these guys." -- From my Twitter feed, March 29.

The Braves were our opponents on this evening and in the two games he's pitched against them, my eight-year-old son Jalen had allowed eight runs in just three innings of work. Now, I know some of you are rolling your eyes and wondering who in the world keeps stats at a Little League level for kids eight-to-ten-years-old. (And, to you I say: welcome, new readers!) But, the lone benefit to my son's hyper-competitiveness is that he GETS the game's fun-siphoning, inelastic statistical side. Here's how Jalen responded to Mrs. Bootleg's terse consternation: "No, Mom. Dad's right. 24.00 IS pretty high." Oh, don't look at me like that. It IS pretty high.

Without the pressure of starting pitching, Jalen was able to focus his early in-game attention on offense. Almost one month into the season and he still hadn't recorded a stolen base. Next to pitching, this was the aspect of playing in a higher division that Jalen was most excited about. After reaching base in the first inning, Jalen took an awkward, would-be Rickey-lead from the bag. He was trying to do this. But, he ended up looking like this. And, for some reason, he refused to take his eyes off the pitcher.
Me: [Between pitches, coaching at first base.] "Why are you staring at the pitcher, J?"

Jalen: [Still staring at pitcher.] "I'm trying to read the pitcher so I know when to steal."

Me: "You can't steal until the ball crosses home plate. There's no point in 'reading the pitcher'."

Jalen: "So...who should I read?"

Me: "..."







It was my first time coaching the bases this season and it didn't take me long to realize how much I missed these conversations with my son. We're still in the first inning. Jalen's still at first base.
Me: "Steal on the pitch after this."

Jalen: "Can I give myself the green light and steal after THIS pitch."

Me: "No."

Jalen: "But, I can make it!"

Me: "J, it's a 3-0 count. Let's see if the pitcher can throw a..."

Jalen: [Takes off for second base. Advances to third base on an overthrow.]

Me: "YEAH! ATT'A BOY, J!"

Coaching!

Son pitched in Little League tonight. 3 batters faced, 3 walks. He's seen "Major League", so he appreciated my "ball 4...ball 8" taunting. -- From Twitter, March 29.

Our team took an 11-6 lead into the final inning. It seemed like a large enough cushion and after two hours of glacially-paced baseball, most of the kids were looking ahead to postgame junk food and high-fructose faux-fruit fluids. So...I gave Jalen the ball -- with instructions to take his time and not overthrow. As I learned while standing next to him at first base a few innings earlier, Jalen wasn't in much of a listening mood. After four straight balls to the first batter -- and increasingly guttural grunts during each pitch -- I went out to the mound for a one-on-one with my son.

Eight pitches later, Jalen had walked the bases loaded.

This wasn't one of my finest moments as a father. As I stomped back out towards the mound to remove Jalen from the game, I felt more exasperation than empathy. Despite the fact that he's the youngest player on the team, Jalen is probably our best pitcher. As I stuck my hand out for the ball, Jalen looked up while mightily fighting back tears and said simply, "I didn't pitch the way that I wanted."

This also wasn't one of my finest moments as a coach. I replaced Jalen with a player named Justin who'd only pitched in one other game all season. Thanks to an interminable series of walks, hits, errors and altogether unwatchable baseball, we surrendered five runs in the inning, but held on for an 11-10 win. Justin practically collapsed in an emotional heap as he walked off the mound and I felt just as terrible for leaving him in to get pounded as I did for yanking Jalen mid-inning.

I made a point of apologizing to both of them after the game, but the parents of one of my players had sprung for postgame pizza. My contrition was lost beneath a circular sea of cheap cheese and victory.

Yesterday at baseball practice, one kid wouldn't do sliding drill. ("I don't like to get dirty.") Too young for me to order a "code red"? -- From Twitter, April 5.

During our win against the Braves, one of my players was thrown out on an attempt to steal second base. This is to say, he ran halfway to second base before inexplicably stopping to watch the catcher's throw and then was tagged out by the shortstop who casually walked about 30 feet to meet my player -- who still hadn't moved -- on the base path.

During our sliding drill, the only messages I attempted to impart were: don't worry about form -- just get low and get dirty. There are 11 kids on my team. Most of them either picked up the proper age-appropriate technique pretty quickly or had already been sliding into every damn base since tee ball (guess who?). Two of my kids, however, needed a wee bit more instruction.

Jason lined up with the other players at first base before begging out. As you might remember, he doesn't like to get dirty. Gautham, on the other hand, might've been better off using a similar excuse. He's one of those kids whose talent is lapped by his enthusiasm.

And, speaking of running...here's a Major League Baseball replica of what I'm working with. During our drill, Gautham began what I'll politely call a "gingerly slog" towards the vicinity of second base. Eventually, he came to a complete stop and simply fell on top of the bag. The dropping of my jaw was in perfect sync with the dropping of his entire body. Curiously, in certain circles, his technique could be considered quite electrifying.

Little League tomorrow vs. best team in division. My pitcher is playing 1st game after missing 6 weeks w/broken arm. This should end well. -- From Twitter, April 9.

Seeking to avenge our 11-4 loss to the Rangers earlier in the season, I sent a new pitcher to the mound. Austin had broken his arm back in mid-February and his cast came off at the end of March. In his first practice back with the team, he flashed a surprisingly strong arm. Not THIS strong, mind you, but I've been waiting eight weeks to work that reference in here. As a bonus, Austin hadn't yet let the Rangers get inside his head -- unlike the rest of my pitchers.

After the top of the first mercifully ended, Austin had surrendered five runs. Welcome to the psych ward, son.

Sadly, no storybook ending tonight. Although, watching 8-year-old Jalen bark at the 13-year-old home plate umpire was GOLD. -- From Twitter, April 10.

I've railed against the umpiring in our Little League division all season and the race continues to see whether father or son is the first one ejected from a game. On this night, the matchbook-sized strike zone gave both teams fits. Jalen took the initial squeezing silently -- if not sportingly -- by extending both arms, scowling down at the umpire from the top of the mound and shaking his head in condescending disgust. After a few more tight "ball" calls, Jalen mixed in a squeaky "Come ON!" and "That was a STRIKE!"

I pulled Jalen from the game with a half-hearted lecture on respecting the umpire's authority and adjusting to whatever strike zone he's calling that day. Of course, Jalen responded just loud enough..."But, before, YOU said the umpire was terrible, Dad!"

Despite 14-8 Little League loss, I should get credit for my head not exploding when my baserunner walked off base to pick up a live ball.. -- From Twitter, April 10.

Coach Aaron is STILL recovering from this game. On an overthrow from the opposing catcher back to the pitcher, my baserunner strolled off of second base to pick up the ball. We'd plated three runs in the inning, but he became the third out. On top of that, the ongoing horseplay in our dugout belied the results on the scoreboard. Midway through this massacre, I might've gathered the team together and reenacted several parts of this recent movie scene. I will, of course, deny it if pressured by Child Protective Services.

The proverbial last straw came towards the end of the game when one of our players was beaned in the helmet by an errant pitch. His teammates rose to his defense from the dugout. At the Major League level, this might be considered admirable. But, from children? 

"You're next!"

"We're going to remember this!"

"You better not be batting next inning!"

Ugh. We had a l-o-n-g team meeting after the game to address this nonsense. 

Just learned that my Little League team's best hitter may have broken his finger. My eight-year-old son's reaction: "We're doomed." -- From Twitter, April 11.

NOOOOO!

The LL Chronicles #15: Dejection and Ejection

My eight-year-old son as he entered the dugout after giving up five runs in one inning: "Dad...can you not put this on your blog?" -- From my Twitter feed, March 10

Before I realized that it would become a season-long theme -- and the likely title of our team's season highlights DVD -- there was no offense to be found on this sunny Saturday afternoon. My A's were playing the Braves and both teams entered the bottom of the fourth inning without a run on the board. I'd made a pitching change to start the inning, going with Jeff -- one of the top three arms on our team. He's a VERY good pitcher whose talent is inversely proportional to his luck.

Sure enough, our defense collapsed behind him and the home plate umpiring imploded in front of him. The end result was tragically cinematic (and NSFW) as Jeff finished his one inning of work after 34 pitches and a 2-0 deficit.

After the A's plated a run in the top of the fifth inning, I handed the ball to my eight-year-old son Jalen to start the bottom of the frame. Entering the game, Jalen had surrendered just one run in four innings with -- as he'd be the first to tell you -- seven strikeouts. In hindsight, his hubristic house of cards was due for a dramatic collapse. Back-to-back first pitch singles were followed by a booming double that reached the wall and scored two runs. Jalen seemed overtly irked at his outfielders' time-released reactions, so I visited the mound in an attempt to calm him down.

Me: "Settle down, son. Relax and finish your pitches. We're still in it. They're not going to hit another ball that hard all day."

Jalen: "OK."






On the very next pitch he threw, Jalen gave up a run-scoring triple. Say what you will, but at least he was efficient with his self-immolation. He'd give up two more runs before finishing the inning and trudging off the mound trailing 7-1. Long after the game, with Jalen off to bed, Mrs. Bootleg told me that she'd recorded our son's pitching performance. We watched about two seconds before collectively agreeing to erase it...y'know...in exchange for putting this on my blog. I presume.

After he gave up 5 runs in 1 IP on Saturday; my son is starting pitcher tonight. Should be fun. Also, potentially ruinous, psychologically. -- From Twitter, March 13

This was a make-up for our game that was rained out back in mid-February. Against the Braves. Jalen wasn't sharp, but he kept us in the game and we held on for a 7-6 win. While the seven runs were the most we've scored all season, the real fireworks came in the first inning -- as this postgame tweet helpfully illustrates:

Highlights from Little League game tonite: (1) Son pitched OK. (2) He went 3 for 3. (3) I received a warning from ump & threat of ejection!





Trailing 2-0 in the bottom of the first, our leadoff hitter tapped an infield dribbler to the right of the pitcher. The pitcher pounced off the mound, bent over across his body, spun and fired a laser to first base. My runner clearly beat the throw, so I allowed a haughty smirk to cross my face while channeling the "...all for naught..." premature celebration of the Spaceballs captain. I was THIS close to bringing my hands together for a condescending "good try" clap for the pitcher, when the umpire yelled, "OUT!"

My immediate reaction was so obviously NOT an attempt to embarrass the umpire.

I silently struck this physiologically appropriate post with but a quizzical look on my countenance. From there, out of respect for the umpire's authority, I turned my back on him -- hands on my hips -- and graciously hid my thoughts on his obvious incompetence. When I turned around, I was surprised to see the umpire all up in my civil grill.

Umpire: "I'm ALWAYS going to reward the effort from the kids."

Me: "Even when you're wrong?"

Umpire: "OK...that's enough."

Me: "You just told me you don't care about getting the call right."

Umpire: "That's a warning. I will run you in front of your son if I have to."

In all seriousness, the whole scene was discreet enough for no one to be the wiser. And, yes, this was the same umpire who'd previously given me grief over my son's preference for jersey #5, instead of #42. Where would you set the likelihood of my eventual ejection this season? 60/40? 70/30? Perhaps, parlay me AND Jalen in the same game?

Rainy day, but HAD to get my son out of the house. I probably could've picked a better destination than Best Buy. -- From Twitter, March 17

Our St. Patrick's Day game against the Pirates was rained out, so I took Jalen out and about and ended up at "the free arcade"...as my friend Carrie described it. And, when you look at this picture, it's hard to argue. We, of course, regret nothing.

Finished with first Little League umpiring experience. Confrontation with coach, players mocking me & I made a child cry. All as I expected. -- From Twitter, March 20

At this level, every manager is required to umpire at least 10 games in the upper divisions. We're also required to complete an eight-hour umpire clinic which I've yet to sign-up for. My excuse? It's an eight-hour umpire clinic. Not surprisingly, the league looked past this "mandatory" requirement when it came time to assign adults to the umpiring rotation.

I arrived 30 minutes late to my first assignment, as the managers agreed to an earlier start time without informing me. Two other umpires were already working home plate and first base, so I was dispatched to third base. I had NO idea where to position myself or when I needed to rotate in time with the baserunners or game situation. The first base umpire helpfully, silently gestured -- with increasing frustration -- throughout the game to ensure I was in the right spot.

It was an uneventful affair until the bottom of the fourth inning. There was a runner on second who reached third base after evading a tag on the basepaths from the third baseman. This brought the manager storming out of the dugout and running right towards me.

Manager: "Are you sure he wasn't out of the basepath?"

Me: "Uh, no. He stayed in. I had a good look."

Manager: "Come on. How many feet out of the basepath does the runner get?"

Me: "Uh, two?"

Later that same inning, I called another runner safe at third after he slid under the tag. The third baseman immediately burst into tears, pulling his cap over his eyes. The runner sure looked safe, but I still felt terrible. Was I too emphatic on the call? Did I miss the call? Was there a chance the runner was tagged out before he got to the bag? My guilt lasted long enough for the shortstop to sidle up to his third baseman and say:

Don't cry. It's not your fault the ump blew the call.

I should've ran that kid in front his dad.

Surprisingly, watching MLB equivalent for past 5 years didn't make my son's Athletics 1-0 loss in Little League any easier to sit thru. -- From Twitter, March 21

Against the Padres, our pitching and defense were terrific...until the fifth inning. When Jeff came in to pitch...and the potential third out of the inning was booted -- by Jeff. We made 18 outs and 14 were by strikeout. The game started at 5:00 PM and we were all back in our cars before sundown. Jalen got the start and pitched two scoreless innings, but as he came out for the second inning, the following conversation unfolded between one of my coaches and his wife:

Coach's Wife: "Is Garrett going to pitch today? Uncle Lou came all the way down from Carlsbad to see him pitch."

Coach: "What do you want me to do? I'm not the manager."

Coach's Wife: "Well, can you talk to Aaron? Uncle Lou needs to leave soon."

This conversation took place no more than five feet from the back of my head, by the way.

11-4 loss in Little League. Son not scheduled to pitch, but threw 48 pitches in mop-up role. Adult equivalent = child labor law violation. -- From Twitter, March 24

Entering the top of the fifth inning, we trailed 10-0. We hadn't even recorded a hit to that point. With the 10-run "mercy rule" just three outs away, the A's rallied for four runs, salvaging a modicum of dignity from the belly of defeat. Jalen threw 2 1/3 innings after my starter got torched for five runs in the first. Eight-year-olds are limited to 50 pitches in Little League and Jalen stood at 35 when he started the fourth. And, then... this happened. It was time to take him out.

Me: "I'm proud of you, Jalen. We needed innings and you gave 'em to us. Great job."

Jalen: "Can't I face one more batter?"

Me: "No, son. You're done."

Jalen: "Well, can I walk to the dugout and see if I get a standing ovation and tip my cap to the crowd?"

Me: "No. You're switching with Drew. Go to second base."

Jalen: "Aww."

TBG Eats: The NEW Doritos Locos Tacos from Taco Bell

Current Weight: 167.8 lbs.

This past December was the five-year anniversary for this lightly-read blog. I hopped into the way-back machine and pulled this quote from my very first TBG post:

I have NO idea what this blog is going to turn into or even how long it'll last. But, if you liked...any of my previously published stuff, you'll like this.

I'm not sure if I kept my "...you'll like this..." commitment -- although, if you're still reading this, I'm going to consider myself positively prescient! -- but, I can confirm that five-plus years and more than 200 "Food n Drink"-labeled posts were most assuredly not in my original mission statement. Of course, other than the never-ending adventures of my eight-year-old son, I'd argue that the food reviews are most responsible for keeping my infinitesimal piece of internet real estate open for business.

With the much-ballyhooed debut of Taco Bell's new Doritos Locos Tacos, I started wondering where the hype ranked with my personal list of most-anticipated empty-calorie eatin' in the TBG era.

(3) Maple Bacon Donut -- I found out about this decadent confection last year, just 24 hours before my annual intestine-extending adventure at the San Diego Fair. After conquering it, I wrote: The bacon's contrast in both saltiness and texture with the soft sugary spread allowed the flavors from each bite to linger for several extra seconds. Finally...fair food worthy of my obligatory grading hyperbole.

(2) Slater's 50/50 -- My friend Smitty first introduced me to the glory of "50% ground beef, 50% ground bacon". Last April, I drove roughly 90 miles one-way for the Slater's experience and couldn't contain my excitement in the gastronomic aftermath: When my 50/50 burger was brought out, the bun was practically glowing with an impressive showroom finish. I cut it in half and noticed the beautiful red tint in the meat just before the ubiquitous bacon aroma hit me flush in the face. In my first few bites, the bacon gloriously overpowers everything else.

(1) KFC's Double Down -- I don't believe I've written any other fast food review that included the words "I left work early...", but damned if I didn't make a dash for the four-door sedan before quitting time was official. From my office, the nearest KFC is 20 minutes away and in the next city over, but the journey was worth it: Thick, but not overly dense. Meaty, but not overwhelming for my mouth. The KFC flavor retains its gloriously guilty pleasure salt n' pepper taste. The bacon, cheese and Colonel's sauce starts off strong, but begins retreating into the background after the first few bites. Halfway through, their subtle(!) notes lent the chicken a smoky, peppery kick that brought the Double Down across the finish line and into "5 out of 5" territory.

All three received my highest rating, with the maple bacon donut and 50/50 burger reaching the coveted, exaggerated "500 (out of 5)" status.

I couldn't, however, seem to get excited about the Doritos Locos Tacos. It's felt like an unnecessary union from the beginning as arguably the two most recognizable faux Mexican food brand names have come together to produce the greatest...inauthentic gimmick-ethnic food of them all? To be clear, I'm a fan of both Doritos and Taco Bell, separately. But, who was begging for them to be combined? At least the maple bacon donut and 50/50 burger could hang their respective hats on the nationwide bacon fad. And, the Double Down was an obvious nod to American excess. Doritos Locos Tacos seem more like an exercise in effective marketing. Proof that an ad campaign can make you eat something you never wanted.

Last weekend, I pulled into my Taco Bell drive-thru and ordered two Doritos Locos Taco Supremes and another two without the "supreme" sour cream and tomato accoutrements. Since my son Jalen adores Doritos (trust me, the italics are his) I thought I'd drag him along for this bit of blog fodder.

At first glance, the Doritos Locos Taco Supreme looks like a regular Taco Supreme, save for the nacho/Hulk Hogan-colored shell. Surprisingly, the taste is almost identical to the regular Taco Supreme, too. The Doritos taco shell lends next to nothing in added flavor, as the Taco Bell ground beef remains the most prominent taste on the tongue. The rest of the ingredients -- shredded cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and reduced-fat sour cream -- are, as usual, superfluous.





I broke off several pieces of the Doritos taco shell to eat by themselves and found the flavor to be almost muted by snack chip standards. This tasted like a plain ol' Taco Bell shell that was lightly rolled around in the residue of an empty Doritos bag. Even my Doritos-loving son lamented, "It doesn't taste like anything different." Hell, this isn't even the most visually appealing shell that Taco Bell has turned out over the past few years.

Taco Bell should be commended for creating genuine buzz around such a run-of-the-mill meal. But, while the advertising certainly brought customers in, I doubt that the Doritos Locos Tacos -- on their own -- will bring those same customers back.

Grade: 2 (out of 5) Calories: 200 Fat: 11g

TBG Eats: Doritos Dinamita Nacho Picoso & Chile Limón

Current Weight: 171.0 lbs.

Over the next 24 hours, you are going to be inundated with tweets, news and reviews for Taco Bell's soon-to-debut Doritos Locos Tacos. It is inevitable. It will be inescapable. And, since Doritos are my eight-year-old son's favorite snack chip; I'm already anticipating his participation in his first hype-filled fast food "event".* However, the kind-of-contrived union between Doritos and Taco Bell isn't the only faux Mexican roll out from our friends at Frito-Lay.

* -- MY first fast food "event" was in the fall of 1985. McDonald's introduced a "lettuce and tomato" hamburger -- the McDLT -- to their ubiquitous menu of off-flavored meat and famously overrated fries. The obese, pre-teen version of me had previously been a Quarter Pounder with Cheese loyalist. But, I fell the catchy ad campaign and allowed myself to stray. A fat kid, his allowance and McDonald's access that was five minutes away. Around the same time, the Pizzazz Pizza debuted at Taco Bell (10 minutes away!)

This past weekend, I discovered Doritos Dinamita chips during my weekly post-haircut junk food foraging at the gas station/convenience store adjacent to my barbershop.

I presume every review of this product must include a condescendingly-delivered translation of Dinamita, so here goes: for those of you wondering, Dinamita is "dynamite" in Spanish. And, I can only imagine how much funnier reruns of a certain 1970s sitcom would be with the addition of the SAP button.

Dinamitas are the familiar Doritos triangles rolled -- think taquitos -- into the shape of a common explosive. To the naked eye, they're more "firecracker" than "dynamite", but I'm guessing "Doritos Petardo" didn't test as well in the focus groups.






Doritos Dinamita comes in two flavors: Nacho Picoso and Chile Limón.

I really enjoyed the subtle heat and better balance of flavors of the Nacho Picoso. The front of the bag identifies jalapeño as the taste they were targeting and -- like the pepper -- the spices here are mild and not overpowering. There's the tiniest hint of cheesy-creaminess on the back end of each bite that reminded me of one of my favorite recent Doritos flavors.





Admittedly, it's a bit silly to throw around edible adjectives such as "nuanced" to describe salty empty calories, but compared to the Chile Limón flavor, Nacho Picoso is positively complex.





Visually, the brick-red color of the Chile Limón chips is actually appealing. Just on looks, these could stand alone under a "Firecracker" sub-brand, if Frito-Lay ever wanted to put someone in a decision-making capacity who just so happened to earn his marketing degree from San Diego State University.




The taste, unfortunately, was an overly-assertive mix of spice and citrus. The idea that Hispanic-inspired food -- or its junk food facsimiles -- has to be obnoxiously hot is an ill-formed archetype not far removed from the Frito Bandito. Similarly, lemon and lime are best used sparingly in any dish, save for pies of the key lime and lemon meringue persuasion.

It takes a few bites to get used to the texture of Doritos Dinamita. They're firm and a bit stiff on the teeth, initially. If the seasonings had been dialed back a bit on the Chile Limón flavor, the texture might've been my only nit to pick. Now, I can only hope that Chile Limón's reputation doesn't sully the good name of Nacho Picoso.

Grade (Nacho Picoso): 4 (out of 5)

Grade (Chile Limón): 1 (out of 5)