Last week, I wrote that we were embarking on a 4-part series on umpiring. Turns out we had so many stories, it became a 6-part series. John, for those of you who don’t know, played college soccer and went on to play in adult leagues after graduation where the competition was, to put it lightly, fierce. He recalled a game very close to where I now live in Westchester in which his team beat the other team. Suffice it to say, the other team didn’t take it well. John and a buddy ran for their car amidst a hail of rocks and bottles, and good thing for John and this comic strip, he was parked very close to the field and he and his friend made it to safety. This event gave us the advice that Al receives at Umpiring School: park very close to home plate.

I only umped one time, at my daughter’s softball game, which I wrote about in last week’s blog. But I coached baseball, soccer and basketball up until 7th grade, at which time the middle school coaches took over. And forgive me for moralizing, but parents are becoming increasingly out of control. I was coaching a 5th and 6th grade soccer team, a rec team where every kid gets to play. It’s less competitive than a travel team, where only the best kids play. The idea is participation and fun. Not for some parents. This one mother was incensed that the referee, a high school girl and varsity soccer player herself, made a call against our team. And we ultimately lost by one goal. This mother of a player on my team rushed out onto the field at the final whistle and whacked the ball out of the referee’s hand! I rushed out onto the field (or the “pitch” as they say in soccer) and had to put both arms around the irate parent to restrain her from physically attacking the poor referee. In yet another incident, this time with a 3rd and 4th grade team, an unruly parent called for his son to break the leg of my son. He was shouting “Take him out! Take his legs out!” The referee was in over his head and when I told the guy to shut his mouth, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Go fuck yourself.” Thankfully, three of the dads of players on my team, went over to this guy, who was drunk, and forcibly took him to the other side of the field, where he remained, by himself for the remainder of the game. When I asked one of the dads what he said, my friend replied, “I told him if he opened his mouth again, he’d spend the rest of the game in the Hudson River.” Since it was November, I’d imagine the water would have been quite chilly, and the jerky man miraculously calmed down. This umpiring stuff is serious business because, in my opinion, parents have become wayyyyy too involved. Immediately after that previously mentioned one-goal defeat, the kids were on the sideline arranging play dates, “Mom can I go over to Billy’s house, puh-leeese?” They had no interest in smacking the ball out of the ref’s hands.

Which all goes to show you that Al is going to have his hands full. He may have bitten off more than he can chew. But keep reading next week and you’ll find out. It’s another example of the rule, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll be back next week with parts 4 and 5. And if you’re thinking of umpiring your grandchildren’s games, here’s a suggestion: please don’t.

Andy and John