Gaining altitude

My latest black-hole bout has been lengthy and annoying, if not particularly debilitating. Aside from a couple of "lost days" in the mix over the last, what, three or four weeks(?), I've remained functional and reasonably alert despite the dark cloud surrounding my mood and the extra effort required to focus on anything. These episodes generally don't last this long—three or four weeks is definitely an outlier—but these are not exactly normal times we're living through and I suppose I am cursed with the combination of awareness of our societal decline plus ethical standards that require commensurate outrage. Add clinical depression to the mix and I guess it's not a stretch to have a month-long span of sometimes-morbid ennui.

The incident on the ballfield near the end of January most definitely had a hand in this. The disrespect and insult from the league, however unintentional and clumsily communicated it may have been, has had me seriously considering quitting the umpire gig, which I used to enjoy quite a bit. Subsequent shifts were less fun, less engaging, regardless of what teams I drew on the schedule or the weather or whathaveyou. The reminder that I'm considerably older than anyone else on the field staff (and probably older than anyone working for the league in any capacity) contributed to feeling like maybe I ought to chuck it since I'm apparently considered an interchangeable cog. On the other hand, with my client base diminished post-COVID and my lack of enthusiasm for building it up again, I do utilize the $50 per game more than I used to, especially with Felon47 stealing from us all on a daily basis and otherwise wrecking the economy.

Thankfully, last night's ump shift was a return to fun. It was the start of playoffs, which can sometimes be bad depending on the level of machismo present, but everyone behaved themselves. I had one close game, where the defense came to play—I don't think I've ever done a game with so many double-plays in it, and highlight-reel-level outfield catches to boot—and one blowout. Some silliness and goofy interplay. And to a person everyone wanted me to ump their next games and were upset when I told them they were going to get someone else thanks to limitations of the schedule.

I needed it. It's a sad commentary on my state of mind that I needed it, but I did. Between the outrages in the news and the flak from the league, the various low-stakes problems with finances and stuff at home, and general depression being fed by it all, having the players all greet me by name and express thanks for getting me for their playoff openers, then play a fun game with no bullshit, then ask if there was a way they could twist the league's arm to get me to work their next games even though it's on someone else's docket, it all served to give my altitude orbiting the black hole a boost. Then I got to work a game with ichiban suki na senshu and her squad, after which she had me tag along for ice cream and insisted I be in a photo with her team. (Just don't show the league, lest they think I play favorites when making calls.)

I hate having to deal with the black hole so often, but it's something I just have to endure from time to time and I can thanks to psychopharmacology. And, in this case, thanks to the players on the field, who let me know in ways the people that pay me can't or won't ever do that it makes a difference to have me doing the gig.