Analogies to Doug Fister and Lucille Bluth

A couple of topics today, starting with last night's umpiring.

As on Monday, we were joined at the field by Alfred the amateur photographer and former Army medic. Unlike on Monday, we had no need for his medic experience, though it was a close thing. This time I was the one that went down in a heap.

About midway through our first game of the night, a batter for the team that calls themselves...I want to say Pushing Bunts, but I think that's wrong; they're a new team and their name isn't on the official documentation yet. Anyway, their batter took a cut at a fat pitch right down the middle and juuust got under it a smidge and fouled it straight back. At speed. At me. I instinctively began to turn and duck away, but I was nevertheless struck flush on the temple. I hit the turf and stayed there for maybe 10 or 15 seconds, during which time half the players on both teams were rushing toward home plate. I got up with a painful impact reminder above my ear, but otherwise none the worse for wear. I was good to go after a minute or two and thankfully didn't need to prevail upon Alfred's Army expertise. But it wasn't fun, and I felt it a bit more painfully later in the night well after I'd gone home. I took a couple Tylenol caps and I could ignore it again. Today it's pretty much fine, though I can still feel a phantom sting.

In retrospect, this was not a bad thing for my ego. Because all those players were concerned and one of them—I don't know who, I was still down on the turf, but it was a guy—said, "shit, dude, you can't get hurt, you're the good ump." Anyway, the rest of the night when several of the players came to bat they checked in. "You still OK, man? Only one pitch coming in at a time, right?" I waved them off. "I'm good, no worries. Occupational hazzard." Which is true, but I may be losing a step, because even though I've taken several errant pitches or foul balls to the shins or the sternum, I'd until now always been quick enough to get out of the way of anything at my head. But I think it must have looked pretty bad from the perspective of, well, everyone else, because there seemed to be real concern that we'd have to stop the games. I was reminded of either a World Series or playoff game several years back wherein pitcher Doug Fister of the Detroit Tigers was hit on the side of his head with a line drive back through the box. Everyone was rightly worried, but Fister just waived off the training staff and his manager, or tried to anyway, and shrugged it off like it was nothing and went back to pitching. He seemed annoyed by the attention. Of course, I also thought of Billy Wagner getting similarly tagged with a hard liner to the side of the head and he had to be carried off the field on a stretcher, so...yeah, there's a range of possibilities. At least (a) this is softball, where the ball isn't so dense and the speeds it travels aren't extreme; and (b) this was a foul tip with no extra velocity added to it by the swing of the bat. Really, the time a pissed off soccer player kicked a soccer ball at me was worse.

So we moved on and finished out the games without much other drama. The second game featured less experienced teams, which meant more errors, more weird plays, and, interestingly, a walkoff comeback victory by the team I figured would lose handily at the outset. I had to explain both the infield fly and obstruction rules to newbies, but nothing outlandish.

Alfred again shared some of his photos with me, so I'm including some here. Sadly, he did not get any shots of my close encounter with a foul ball.

Stephen and Colin celebrate finally throwing different options in rock-paper-scissors to determine which would be the home team. I think it took five tries?

 

I don't recall what this was about, but I'm probably saying something like, “yeah, it's an out, what do you want me to do?"

 

Here is when I and one of her teammates had to explain to the inexperienced first-basewoman why I called obstruction on her and ruled a runner who appeared to have been forced out to be safe at second base.

 

This and the next are actually from Monday, but I like them in sequence because this one shows my usual move of running with the batter toward first base in order to be in better position to both see a play at first and hear the pop of the ball being caught...

 

...and this shows my usual move when Joel is batting; I know he's not only going to be safe at first, but if there's a play to be made on him it will be at third, so I'm hurrying there instead. Typically I can get there by the time Joel's around second. He's not Barry Allen, but he is faster than most.

 

Onward to topic number two, our demented president.

The felonious moron occupying the White House held one of his mock Cabinet meetings today, wherein nothing of consequence was discussed. In fact, Felon47 was so uninterested in discussing substance that at one point he meandered off into one of his stupid "sir" stories. You know, a story he tells in which some other person addresses him reverently as "sir," which is a sure tell that it never happened. This one was about, I kid you not, Sharpie pens.

Of all the many many things this pathetic excuse for a human being says and does that are horrifying and imbecilic, this rates near or at the bottom of the list, but it still sticks in my craw because what he did with this story was have a Lucille Bluth moment on camera.

Apropos of nothing, he complained that the pens presidents have generally used in signing ceremonies, the ceremonial pens that are then typically given away as souvenirs to people attending the signing, are "thousand dollar pens" and "don't write very well" and that he really prefers the Sharpies. So he found himself talking to someone at the Sharpie company (sure, Donny) and said he'd prefer to use the Sharpie for these things but couldn't possibly use a commercially branded pen in front of the press and so on (sure, Donny), so the imaginary Sharpie guy told him they could make special Sharpies just for him, ones that say "the White House" and even have his signature on them, and that he could have them free of charge. Ever magnanimous, Felon47 insisted on paying for them (I mean, it's not his money, right, it's our money, who gives a damn about our money?) and that he used his "art of the deal" skills to buy them for five dollars a pen. "Five dollars instead of a thousand dollars, and the pens are better."

OK, two things: The ceremonial pens were nice pens, probably a couple hundred bucks a pop, but not a grand per pen. That's one of the fictitious numbers he pulls out of nowhere like when he says there are 15 points in his peace plan (that has zero points because it doesn't exist). And, the retail price of a Sharpie pen, when bought in a box of 36, is sixty-four cents. Even if we factor in the custom branding of "The White House" and all that, you can buy them retail—as I'm sure some White House staffer actually did—for a little more than a dollar apiece if bought in bulk. Good deal-making skills, you idiot. It's no wonder you don't care about inflation and the affordability of goods to American consumers, you've never pumped gas or bought groceries.

Of course, the interaction never really occurred, which means that even in his made-up fantasies about his alleged great deal-making he still fucks up and doesn't know it.

 

 

Topic three: Opening Day!

I did not get tickets to this year's opening day game, but will be at the park in person to see your Seattle Mariners on Monday night. Tonight I watched on TV, and for the first time in years did it without having to resort to skirting the system. We now have a local streaming option for the M's, and it's not all that pricey given the nature of inflation and the current economy. Of course, one could argue that the current economy means you don't add new expenses no  matter how reasonable, but the difference between the MLB.TV package I'd been using for years and that plus the new Mariner streaming product is basically the cost of one in-person game. So I put my tickets for tomorrow night on StubHub and assuming they sell will pay for it with the proceeds. It's going to be cold out there tomorrow night anyway and everyone I asked to go with me either said no immediately or bailed later, so this seemed a good option.

Meantime, the M's did play tonight and lost to the Cleveland Guardians. Because the only way the Mariners could score tonight was to hit solo home runs. Jesus, guys, I thought we'd been over this already: There are other ways to score in baseball. Put runners on base and move them along. To be fair, none of the four homers hit by the M's appeared to be "on purpose," it wasn't a case of swinging for the fences, just happy accidents on well-struck liners. But they also struck out 14 times, and the combo of four solo shots and 14 Ks and nothing else (their only other hits were two-out doubles, and not in the same frame) is not a promising way to begin the season.

Well, there's time to turn it around. 161 more to go, after all.

Tagged Umping, Baseball, President VonClownstick, Politics, Softball, Posted on March 27, 2026 at 1:41AM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Bloody Monday

Another umpiring shift at Capitol Hill, another game shortened due to lacerations.

Am I bad luck for teams playing at Cap Hill? Consecutive shifts there now have seen a player—two yesterday—get smacked in the face with a thrown or batted ball and have to leave the game. Last week it was a split lip, last night it was a forehead gash. And a bloody nose earlier. And an oblivious bystander got clocked in the head by a deep foul hit into the darkness as well, although that one I was unaware of at the time (I was informed later by the left fielder, who witnessed the impact).

Of course, I've done plenty of games there that didn't feature any blood or injury, so I know this is just the random nature of sports. But it does seem like I've seen more than my fair share of blood on the field this year, and we're only in March.

Also, we had a couple of interesting spectators last night. One I initially put in that Cap Hill Bingo category of "guy talking to no one as he stumbles by the field," but instead he was on a hands-free bluetooth phone call. His side of the conversation was audible to the catcher and myself and we agreed that this guy had some stories, probably invented but at least distorted in his telling. This youngish guy was complaining to whoever was on the other end of the call about how "Trump gave [his] ribbon to some asshole" at the State of the Union, that though he had the medal, the ribbon went to some undeserving shmuck who got feted for it on national TV. He went on about other things too, like how he was barred by a court from seeing his mom in the hospital and that's why he didn't have money to fly back to DC. He seemed quite the character.

The other spectator was a different type entirely (though it turned out he was also a veteran). He introduced himself as Alfred and was taking photos. He said he wanted to take the opportunity to get some experience shooting sports as that wasn't something he had in his portfolio. Nobody minded, so he hung around the sidelines with his camera and promised to share the pictures later. Nice guy.

In the first game, a fly ball carried to center field and the center fielder, Josh, drifted under it to make the catch, only he somehow missed it with his glove and instead took the ball right off his schnozz. He left the game bleeding. He stuck around in the dugout, though, and by the time that game was over and his team was heading out Josh was no longer losing blood and was in good humor. His team lost, too, which added insult to injury. Alas, but I'm sure he's fine now.

The second game ended abruptly on an ambitious infield play trying to nail a runner at second for a double play. The throw from third to second sailed a little bit and struck the second basewoman in the forehead and down she went. She was lucid and alert, but blood was pouring from the wound.

Enter Alfred.

Fortuitously, Alfred was an Army medic, so he offered his assistance—which we all gladly accepted, especially since my first aid kit was truly unhelpful in this situation. It was not a serious injury, just—as any head wound is—rather bloody, and when I got a look at the gash (peeking over Alfred's shoulder) I could see it wasn't particularly long, but it was deep. Though it would likely have healed fine if merely treated with a couple of butterfly bandages, Alfred nonetheless recommended stitches so it would heal faster, so the player and her fellow-player partner left for urgent care. We called the game at that point.

I'm grateful to have crossed paths with Sgt. Alfred the amateur photog and ex-Army medic on this occasion and look forward to seeing the pictures he took, though he made sure to note that he wouldn't send photos of the bloody injury to anyone but the player involved. [EDIT: Alfred sent me some of the pics, but just the ones with me in them (two posted below). Much more curious about the rest of them.]

Not sure "bloody injury" or "made use of Army medic" will make it onto the Cap Hill Softball Bingo Card anytime soon, but we can add them to the potpourri of incidents at that particular field. It's been quite the week.

 

 

Tagged Umping, Softball, Posted on March 24, 2026 at 3:19PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Am I getting too old for this?

Yesterday was a full day of umpiring for me, and as is usually the case when I have to get up before, say, 11:30am, I was going on short sleep and was maybe a little bit cranky. I was also creaky—for whatever reason, I got out of bed with a sore lower back, just feeling really stiff and achy for no discernable reason other than being well into my fifties. I found myself wishing that it had rained overnight so the field would be unplayable, but that was not this reality.

Even so, things started out fine. My first game featured a number of players who also play against me in my Wednesday night summer league with the Smiling Potatoes of Death; one of them was catching when a particularly errant pitch came in. My call was, "low, outside, flat, generally bad, ball one." This got a chuckle from the batter and this comment from the catcher: "You've been hanging out with [Spuds teammate] Mack too much." I disagree. Anyway, it was a crisply-played affair with good defense and no troubles; we burned through all seven innings in under an hour and even though I had said we'd do extra frames if needed, the home team pulled out a run in the last of the 7th to walk it off in regulation. So I had 30 minutes or so to wait around for the next teams to file in for the 1:30 game. If you're going to have a 58-minute game, I said to no one, can't we have it at the end of the shift instead of the beginning? Alas, no.

Generally speaking, the teams that play in this bracket of the league at Northacres park are all good folks, we all get on well and things are usually copacetic, but there's one guy that bucks the trend. He was there for game two. I ignored him best I could, especially since his teammates all were enthused to have me on the field for them and since we'd finished the prior game early a couple of their early arrivals had time to chat me up a bit. I like the rest of them a lot. But this guy is one of the few players I've ever ejected from a game, and when he's pitching he pushes all my buttons. Sometimes I think on purpose. I really, really dislike him. He tries trick pitches, he snorts and scoffs at my strike zone, he even shouts at me, as when he responded to my call of a low pitch with "LOW??!!" and I replied, incredulously, "yes, it hit the plate, so LOW." And his catcher jumped in to say that it did, in fact, hit the plate, so move along. It crossed my mind to wonder if he was trying to provoke me to throw him out again. Can't imagine why, but I don't grok the macho nonsense some of these guys live with in their little minds, so who knows. When the game was over, he tried to bullshit me about why he was challenging my calls, but I knew it was BS and he likely knew I knew it was BS and again I was befuddled and annoyed and just wanted him to go away. Which he eventually did, because I had to get the next game rolling with different teams, ones with no troublemakers on their rosters.

Aside from my back stiffening up even more, my stomach starting to rumble that breakfast was many hours past, and my feet demanding some downtime, the rest of the games were good, though I did screw up once: in an infield fly situation, a batter lined to the shortstop, who caught the ball—I immediately called "OUT!"—only for the shortstop to intentionally drop the ball in the next instant to turn a double and potential triple play, the entire reason the infield fly rule exists but for good or ill the rule exempts line drives. In the end I allowed the double play but awarded the batter first base safely as he had stopped running as soon as he heard me say "out." In retrospect I should have disallowed all of it, just said, "no, batter is out and everyone else back to your bases, because that was a dick move." And that I had already called the out, so play should have been over. But really I was too quick on the draw, it's my only bad habit (I think) as an ump. I need to learn to take a beat before making those calls just in case.

Then the real fun of the day. As the final game was in its late innings, someone came down to the backstop and asked me if I had a key to the gate. "Gate? What gate?"

It seems someone—the consensus was "probably kids. Meddlesome, troublemaking kids."—closed the gate-like barrier to the parking lot of the park and slapped a padlock on it.

Of course, I did not have a key, nor did anyone else, but I was still working the game, so while we finished up I called the league office and asked if they might call the parks department for us and get someone out to open it up. Game ended, I packed up, and no parks people. One of the players had called the police as well. No help there. Ultimately, one of the players who had parked outside of the gate drove to Home Depot and bought bolt cutters. She returned and I attempted to aid a few of the burlier players in cutting the lock off the gate. In the end, I was no help at all; it took some physics ingenuity and muscle from Brent, one of the late-game pitchers, with the aid of a metal tube that was lying around as part of the parking lot's security apparatus (which he covered one arm of the bolt cutters with to get more leverage), to snap the lock off. We and a smattering of non-softball people could all then leave with our cars and I arranged with the office to have the player reimbursed her outlay for the bolt cutters. The whole thing took an hour or so, by which time I was truly and thoroughly Done With All This for the day. When I got home I made one of my rare uses of the bathtub to soak my aching back before spending the rest of the evening reading a brain-candy Star Trek novel and trying semi-successfully to get to sleep early (for me).

Unfortunately I have to go back out there tonight. Cap Hill this time, so different kinds of wackiness is bound to ensue. My back still hurts some; better but not really better, if you know what I mean. At least it's only two games, and at least ichiban suki na senshu's team is on the docket.

Tagged Umping, Softball, Posted on March 23, 2026 at 3:51PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Rain, blood, and laughs

Kind of a weird night on the softball diamond last night. I arrived way early, as the last time I had a shift at Capitol Hill on St. Patrick's Day parking was so impossible I didn't find a space for an hour and then had to pay at a commercial lot and beg the league to reimburse me for it. Wasn't going to let that happen again, so I factored in extra time. Of course, this year was different—it was rainy and cold, for one, but also it's a lot harder to be festive in 2026. So the crowds at bars were not what they were. Nevertheless, parking was worse than is typical and I had to park blocks away, but I still had gobs of time.

I spent some of the excess checking in with Marty on the phone and looking in on the WBC finale game, which was in progress (yay for Venezuela beating the jingoist Team USA, too bad it wasn't an 18-2 shellacking). Then we set to work. I had a good group for the first game, and as always I was greeted by name as I approached the field. (It is nice to be everyone's favorite.) The weather made things somewhat unpleasant, but the flip side at Cap Hill is that rain also keeps soccer hooligans away, or at least more subdued, and the only people I had to shoo away were some very accommodating LARPers who were content to stay in deepest left field.

Game one saw some lively back-and-forth both with runs across the plate and with words in the form of a lot of good-natured banter between players and me. It ended in what would have been an exciting 16-15 finish if not for some minor injury drama in the final frame that turned it into a more sedate 16-15 finish. Nothing really serious, a hard grounder to someone's ankle that required giving him some assistance to get off the field and undoubtedly left a nasty bruise. It also delayed things for a while, so when a player from the upcoming game three stopped by on her way to a pregame meal at a local bar and asked when I thought her game would really start—knowing as she does that Cap Hill schedules almost never stick to time—I told her "probably 9:45." This was as we were starting game two, with one team I like to draw and one I have mixed feelings about. We were moving along OK until the bottom of the second, when on a play at home plate the catcher took a one-hop throw from the outfield that glanced off the tip of her glove and into her face. She went down in a heap bleeding profusely from a split lip. Ultimately she left the game with her husband and teammate to go to urgent care for a couple of stitches, which left her team with just seven players—insufficient for a legal game. So that game ended right there in a forfeit, her team dispersed, and the other squad and I just hung around for a while as that team had a doubleheader and was awaiting their opponent for game three to show up. Only I had just told their representative that we'd probably start late.

Fortunately, another of that team wandered by on his way to the bar and we corralled him to explain the situation, hoping he would find his entire team at the bar and they would come back to the field sooner than later. Not to be, though. We had a good 45 minutes or an hour to kill. Some of them practiced on the field, I hung out with some of the rest in their dugout under a tarp talking about the WBC and other stuff. When we got going again it was less bantery and more okay-I'm-tired-of-being-in-all-this-rain, but still fun and saw the ultimate winners come back from being down 7 in the first to make a game of it and eventually pull ahead to victory, thanks in large part to some great play by their first-basewoman. As a fellow first baseman, I appreciated (and envied) the skills.

Then this morning I received a rather thoughtless text from the league regarding something trivial from last Sunday, when I had two games of four on the schedule (the prior two being handled by someone else, whom I am pretty sure did not get a similar text despite identical circumstances), which annoyed me and added to the growing pile of less-than-pleasant interactions I've had with the league office this year. I swear, if not for the players letting me know how they feel I'd have quit by now. And it's a good thing I haven't, because when I calm down and think it through I realize these interactions are all most probably because of poor communication within the office and get distorted when they get down to me. (To be clear, it's not that today's missive was particularly bad, it wasn't, and in isolation I'd think nothing of it; it's just that these things are cumulative and each time they erode my patience a little bit more.) We had different personnel there when I started this gig and there was a changing of the guard, as it were, a bit more than a year ago when it comes to field staff liaisoning. Have to keep all that in mind when this shit goes down.

At some point I need to update the Cap Hill Softball Bingo Card to include some new squares: Foul ball off the light pole, threats from misogynist spectators, and cop on a bullhorn to vagrant elsewhere in the park saying "Wake yo' ass up." The latter happened last night.

 

Tagged Umping, Softball, WBC, Posted on March 18, 2026 at 7:38PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Umpire Diary

I had two games to work last night and they both involved players I like to draw on my docket. You'd think, therefore, that it would have been a lot of fun and provide some tales for the blog.

You'd think, but not so much. Mostly because my little black hole episode referenced the other day is still hanging around. I'd managed to gain some altitude the day before, but apparently not a lot, because I got tired and dropped down a bit and was basically powering through last night. Which is a shame, because it was the first time I got to work a game with The Leftovers this year and I didn't make the most of it. Still, things went OK. I might not have been "all there," but it's still nice to see Neal and Cerissa and the gang.

Both games were blowouts, with the team playing a doubleheader scoring 38 runs in each while holding the opponents to the teens. Some of the players on the winning side were present on the night I got "policed" by the league, so there were questions, good-natured ribbings, further discussion of that incident; that likely didn't help my demeanor, but I still appreciated it. The players deserve to have an idea of what kind of business they're supporting, and I don't want to be opaque or, on the flip side, unreasonably critical or leave such impressions. Still, I prefer to just ignore that fiasco at this point.

One bit of administrative nuisance that came up was about our league's lineup rules, which require a minimum gender ratio be followed (no more than two men for each woman or non-binary player in the lineup or on the field). One group was lobbying for an exception to the rule and even though I like these people, and even though I have been known to, under extenuating circumstances, allow for a deviation from the edict, on principle I support the rule and want to enforce it. Doing so didn't win me any new friends, but in this area I don't mind being a hardass so long as the rest of the field staff are consistent with it. We're a coed league, we're not a men's league, and making allowances for teams that show up with a too-skewed ratio of men to women or vice-versa (though that's yet to happen) is counter-productive. When I was a team captain in this league I had to deal with it and deprive myself and one or more of my teammates from at-bats because one or more of the ladies didn't show up. It's annoying, but the rule exists for a reason and I agree with it.

The issue that gives me even a little pause is that apparently some of the other umps choose not to enforce the rule and therein lies potential chaos. There have been piddly rules I've chosen not to enforce now and then, just to avoid arguments on things that I consider inconsequential (generally these have been rules about a specific pitching distance or concerning the pitching rubber, the enforcement of which once resulted in an epic meltdown of a player who turned out to be on the autism spectrum, or the scope of the batters' box, which on dirt fields especially can be tricky due to lack of field maintenance) but every time such things come up I make it clear—the rulebook says this, but I'm choosing not to enforce it today because of X. Others will likely choose to enforce it, I may choose to under other circumstances next time, so never assume this to be standard. But if others are just ignoring things like the ratio rule (which maybe they believe to be inconsequential, though I'd disagree) and giving teams the impression that they have at least a 50/50 shot at ignoring it on a given day, then the teams may plan for it or at least not prepare for working within their limits. I just ask for consistency—keep the rule or change it, but don't leave players wondering what it'll be every time out.

I'm not recalling in great detail how well I handled that problem last night—the black hole made me a bit foggy and I remain so today—but it was enforced and there wasn't a lot of pushback, so it must have been OK.

I've got a couple more games on Sunday afternoon and then two more Monday night. Hopefully I'll be more clearheaded and in a higher orbit by then.

Tagged Umping, Softball, The Black Hole, Posted on February 13, 2026 at 9:11PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Umpire diary

Tonight was my first shift back on the field after Monday's very weird experience with bad management from the league. You know me, I was mildly obsessing about that encounter all week and was curious to confer with a fellow ump about it, so before taking over from the guy who had the early games today I mentioned it to gauge his reaction to being policed; we agreed it was weird, negative, and had to be based in some context we are not aware of.

The more I process it the more I think this is two people from the office not talking to each other very well resulting in either correctly-understood bad and counterproductive instruction or misunderstood intentions being relayed in an unintentionally misleading way. Knowing the personalities involved it could really be either one.

I have been and still am considering writing something to the office with detail that expresses just how petty and disrespectful this instruction turned out to be for both us the officials and for the messenger, but I'm also reluctant because even though I can see how such feedback would be useful and help to repair the alienation they've managed to create with staff, and how a couple of others would also see it, I don't think the person who really needs to hear it would accept it in the manner intended. I may try to bring it up with someone in particular next weekend at an event, we'll see. But I don't think I'll put it in writing as it might make things worse for the messenger, who is already being treated poorly. At least, it seems that way. Again, context would help, as this remains a big fat WTF? mystery.

Onward. My games tonight were rather unremarkable save for three calls that I may or may not have gotten wrong. Two I did not see, one was just super-close (tag play at third base). The ones I didn't see are just the way of things when there's only one ump and lots of possible plays on the diamond; I get set in position for what I think is the most likely play to be made and then the team goes and tries for a different play and I'm suddenly at a terrible angle to see it. The questionable calls went one against each side and I got some pushback on just one, from the losing team (the other team cut me slack for only having one set of eyes), who insisted that a runner not be allowed to score because she missed third base; I did not see her round the bag as I was watching other runners, but her team insisted she did tag it and really one run wasn't going to make a difference here. But the defensive player insisted that she couldn't have touched the bag because he'd been standing right on it.

"You sure you want to go with that argument?" I asked. He looked blankly, so I elaborated. "In that circumstance she'd be awarded home because you obstructed the basepath by standing on the base without possession of the ball." He threw up his hands and retreated to his dugout, unsatisfied. Oh, well.

It wasn't anything that festered beyond the moment and we moved on and all was well. A few of the players were also present for the game on Monday that had The Incident, and one of them made sure to greet me and say, "hey, I'm glad you didn't quit after whatever that was Monday."

Though the league may or may not respect and value me, the players do. For now, that's enough. I'll take it.

No BINGO again tonight.

 

Tagged Umping, Softball, Posted on February 1, 2026 at 10:53PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Umpire Diary

I'm a week into the Winter League with my umpiring gig. I thought I might start posting notes on the experience this year; we'll see if it remains interesting enough to continue as the year progresses. But for now, some bits and pieces...

• Firstly, unlike prior winter league seasons, it's not just me and basically two other guys vying for shifts. Everyone wants hours now, even though it's 39 degrees and wet out there. Hard to argue with that, everyone needs extra dough in the age of the Felon47 crash-and-burn economy. But it's disappointing to me because I'm getting two shifts a week, which translates to four or five games. I'd rather have three, or six or seven games; I could use that extra hundred bucks a week and I would get to see my favorite players more often.
• Speaking of favorites, last night I got to see some, including boku no ichiban suki na senshu, who generously provided me with hot cocoa and baked goods. She's awesome. (She also homered with a fly ball that hit the foul line and evaded the left fielder. Sugoi.) The evening prior I had another fave team, called Pitch, Please!, and razzed the Orioles fan wearing the Jim Palmer jersey for striking out and thus batting like a pitcher. Which, unfair, as Jim Palmer had 13 extra-base hits in his 19-year career, which is likely 13 more than any of us on the softball field could manage in the bigs. Anyway, great to see Megan, Joel, Wyatt, Ray, Aidan, Owen, Emma, "Oil Can" Boyd, and the rest of the gang from Sunday and Monday evenings.
• Last Wednesday night's action I don't remember much of, because that shift was dominated by my having to call paramedics to the scene. A gal playing third base took a line drive to the face. It was pretty scary (mostly for her, there was panic for a bit) and very bloody, as many facial lacerations can be. It was severe enough that the paramedics decided it was more than they could handle and they called a "real" ambulance and had her taken to Harborview. Fortunately, I rarely have to call for medical help; I think this was the fifth time(?) in however many years I've been doing this, and I would like for it to be the only time this year. Yesterday afternoon while at the league office I asked if we'd heard from anyone on her team as to her status and no one had followed up! Holy crap, someone dropped the ball there.
• Weird for winter league, I've already had three teams I didn't know, including two that were what we call "indy teams," people that sign up as individuals and are thrown together, many of whom haven't played much softball in their lives. Generally, these are fun groups because they signed up to be social rather than be competitive, and even if they play like they could only ever aspire to the relative success of the 1899 Cleveland Spiders, they have fun doing it. Winter league has historically been near-exclusively populated by the die-hards, the teams that sign up all the time and have been around for years, so it's strange to have so many newbies. I can't recall the last winter I had to give the Opening Day Speech more than once, but I've given it three times already.
• The day after my first shift I was seriously feeling my age, as my legs were ridiculously sore. Shows just how sedentary my "off-season" was. Get fitter, you lazy bum.
• Sunday was rainy and unpleasant, which for games at Capitol Hill is actually a good thing in the sense that few other people are using the park. So there was no BINGO! this week:
  

  

No new shifts until Sunday. Stupid economy making people want my hours. Alas.

Tagged Umping, Softball, Posted on January 13, 2026 at 6:13PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Softball finale

Slightly Washed Up, the Capitol Hill Sunday softball champs

Today was my final umpiring shift of 2025, and it was a pretty good one. Three games, so not too many, not too few. Teams I generally like to ump for. Good weather. Pretty nice evening to end the year's ump work on. Playoffs and the championship game, and yet nobody brought any extra machismo, which is unusual and very much appreciated.

It was at Bobby Morris Field on Capitol Hill, though. Good field, nice location in some ways, not so nice in others because of the inevitable interference from outside forces. You remember the Cap Hill Softball Bingo Card, right? Well, we had our hecklers, we had our drunk hecklers, we had our various sirens. Foul ball to a vehicle. People wandering onto the field mid-play. But a new one tonight was this: Thrash metal concert in the adjoining skate park.

I could do with never having one of those show up ever again. Two of three games with this noise for a soundtrack:

 

 

The recording doesn't do it justice because my phone-camera emphasizes sound it picks up nearest to the mic—usually a nice feature, but cross-purposes to this bit. Trust me, they were loud. Not PA-at-the-stadium loud, but still.

The three games were fun, especially given that the first one was an upset victory (though sad to see the Grounders bounced out early), the second was a dramatic come-from-behind squeaker win, and the third a blowout that everyone had a good time with despite the score. (When you lose by 20 it's good to reflect on the fact that you made it to the last game at all, right?)

The champs were a team known as Slightly Washed Up, living up to their name—if they were more than slightly gone they'd have lost, right? They're a fun bunch and even helped me pack up afterward, always something I remember for when I see them again.

One highlight was a player on the runner-up team that hit two of the longest home runs I've ever seen in a softball game. If you're familiar with Bobby Morris field, you know that there are two softball diamonds on opposing sides of the park; the first of this guy's homers cleared the backstop fence of the far diamond. Not straightaway, but near enough. The second was in a more traditional left-center trajectory but cleared the skate park and landed on the street by the apartment building. The pitcher that served up the first bomb, after her outfielder retrieved the ball and threw it back to her, did a classy thing and gave the ball to the hitter as a souvenir. (I mean, technically it wasn't hers to give, but still, if I'd thought of it instead I would have given it to him too, and since these were the last games of the year we had plenty to spare.)

I didn't eject anyone this year, though there were a few I maybe should have. There were a few truly bad days on the field with complainers and hotheads. But by and large it was a fun time and a good way to earn some scratch. And, of course, it's always good to be out at the park with people I enjoy being around.

So, as we bid adieu to 2025 umping, I say thank you to the players, especially: Megan C., Neal C., Amy B., Frankie E., Chuck H., Woalter G., Joel N., Wyatt C., Ray L.,  Pat W., Chase S., Connor K., Mal G., Gwen M., Alex Z. ("Mr. Atoz"), Rachaele M., Celena O., Emma C., Aidan S., Carrie A., Annabel T., Aaron K., Troy L., Brent P., Brandy B., "Blue Jean" Brandon B., Ed F., Robin D., Aaron Y., and a whole bunch of others I'm not recalling names for just now—oh, and Lewis, the Jasons, Cerissa and the rest of the Leftovers, Abe, other Meg, other Emma, Boyd, Tess, hell, even Kevin, who is sometimes a jerk. 

Not Marcus, though. If I never see that guy again it'll be too soon.

And shout-out to my fellow umps Laz and Ben, you guys have fans too. But just remember, I'm the favorite. :)

Tagged Softball, Umping, Posted on September 22, 2025 at 3:38AM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Trickle-down bitterness

The other night I had an umpiring shift that included something I'm not accustomed to these days—hostility directed at me from a player.

You'd think I'd have been in a better mindset to recognize/deal with such a thing; before the shift began, I and my fellow ump Laz, who was working the other field, had been comparing notes on difficult teams and conflict with players since Laz had some issues the previous day. But no, none of that stayed in my upper consciousness once I got going with the game, so when I had a close play at second base in the early innings and called the runner out, his irritated backtalk didn't really phase me and I just moved on. Then every subsequent time that player was involved in a play, offensively or defensively, he had something to say about me. Not directly to me, he had things to say to his fellows in the dugout—just making sure he was loud enough that I'd hear him.

After the third such remark I got it that he wasn't somehow trying to be funny, that he meant things literally, and it started to bug me; it also confused me, though, because I've gotten a little full of myself in this gig. I'm used to being everyone's favorite umpire. (Not everyone's, obviously; I mean, Laz has fans despite his newness to the league, which he should since he's good.)

Most players that have been around for a while know me by name and are glad to have me working their games. It's an unusual shift if no one asks me as they're getting ready to leave if I'll be doing their next games or not and if not asking me if I can't switch things around so I will. Once I was running behind schedule and texted Laz that I was going to be 10 minutes late or so to the park and would he please tell my teams to hang in there; Laz's reply was that they were "willing to wait without making trouble, but only because it's you coming." Banter even before I was there in person. Even in cases when a player argues with me about a call, most often after the game ends that player wants to make sure I knew it was just a heat of the moment reaction and s/he gets that it's a tough gig and close calls are part of the deal, no hard feelings. And if I blow a call and know it, I always own up to it even though most times it can't be undone; nine times out of ten, that goes over well and buys good will.

The guy the other night would have been the tenth out of ten had I actually got something wrong and knew it and said so. Makes me wonder what his life must be like elsewhere, can't be much fun.

Anyway, after that game was over I went up to this fellow and asked him what was up. "You've been badmouthing me the whole game, it can't just be from that close call at second, so let's have it. What's going on?" It was an attempt at conflict resolution, but either my tone was off or he just wasn't interested in coming to any understandings (maybe both). He then reminded me of the last time I had his team, about three or four weeks prior, when I also called him out on a close play at second base. Once he mentioned it, I recalled it was an almost identical play, including him sliding in and kicking up so much dust as to make the view of the tag questionable. He was still pissed off about that, had been holding a grudge about it. I told him that close plays were part of the game, they're bound to happen, and they always inevitably go against someone. He just doubled down on his hostility, offered me $100 to never umpire again, told me I sucked at it, and wanted me to know he was better than me in every way. OK, goodbye, then, conversation over. I turned away to get prepped for the next game and heard him continuing to badmouth me to others (but not as loudly this time). One of the players waiting for the next game, having heard some the exchange, came up to me and let me know that he and his team would have my back if necessary, which I appreciated but also dismissed—this guy wasn't looking for a physical fight and I wouldn't let him have one if he was. Too much machismo was the whole problem, after all, no need to add to it.

It's a nothing incident. A comment from another witness player reminded me of something else that happened after that game weeks ago that the hostile was holding a grudge from, when after the dustup someone asked me from the bleachers how often grown men yell at me about a rec-league game with no stakes at all. "More often than anyone would think appropriate," or something like that, was my reply.

Shit like that happens. Like Laz and I were saying before the shift, sometimes some people are asshats and the worst part of the gig is finding the line where competitive macho asshattery crosses into unacceptable abuse asshattery that ruins things for the rest of the participants and requires ejections or other means of reminding people who has authority.

Being me, of course, it took me a good hour or so to process the experience out of my head to the point that I was clearheaded for the rest of my shift. I always replay things in my head, puzzle over what I said, think of better things I could have said, wonder if my ego is so needy that this should bother me, then eventually just conclude that sometimes some people are asshats.

Fortunately, the rest of the night was filled entirely with players of good cheer and fun attitudes that didn't take things seriously even though their games were (a) a tight one that came down to the last batter of the game and (b) a lopsided trouncing that resulted in a 36-0 shutout.

Since then I've alternatively completely forgotten about this incident and pondered the why of sometimes some people are asshats. In this particular time in the world, I think people have shorter fuses, have more frayed nerves than ever, and are quicker to explode than what had been normal. Me included. There's so much threatening us on a daily basis from our alleged leaders that it's hard to remember we're supposed to be civilized. Or, for those on the other side, there's a new and intoxicating permission structure to lash out, to take responsibility for nothing, to make anything and everything into a grievance that personally offends and demands retribution.

It's like the GOP has finally found a scenario where the "trickle-down" theory works: Supply-side spite, anxiety, and antagonism.

Tagged Umping, Politics, Softball, Posted on August 20, 2025 at 8:00PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Attention Overload!

Wow, is there a lot going on right now. Big things, little things, consequential things, trivial things, nerd things, political things, sporty things, personal things, many combinations thereof.

Now, the personal things tend toward the nerdy and trivial. Don't want to get anyone's hopes up. But between the news, pop culture, and baseball/softball, my brain is jam-packed with musings.

Some, about the latest debasing of Major League Baseball by its own commissioner, were posted yesterday, so no need to rehash that except to just say once again—because there's never a bad time to say it—that Rob Manfred is horrible. But related to the All-Star Game are musings about the gathering I hosted here for it; I invited a bazillion people, but knowing it was for an event that has lost its luster and that started at 5:00pm on a weekday, I figured maybe seven or eight people might show. I overestimated by a few, but we had fun and I ate way too much junk food, including some oddly-made pizza from Spiro Not-Agnew's down the street and so-so store-bought guac. (Always worth it to make your own guac, dummy.) Thanks to Abe, the one person from my umping world to pop by for a while, and Mack and Erik for bringing some of the junk food. (Abe didn't know my dietary preferences, so I skipped his, but still thoughtful.)

That was Tuesday night. Last night was my softball team's final game of the year—we play a really short season, for better or worse—which was typical: We lost by a lot, only got to play a little over half a game because of the enforced mercy rule, and in my one at-bat I swung blind as the sunset was happening right behind the pitcher and tapped out 1-3 but still managed to tweak my ankle running to first. Kind of fitting, really.

Meanwhile, I went to see the new Superman film and enjoyed it. If you want a good rundown on it, I recommend Erik's review, I basically agree with everything he says there. I now want to see it a second time to better gauge my feeling abut it as it was somehow both really good and kind of a drag and I can't quite put my finger on why. It's very comic-booky, for lack of a better description, as opposed to the gritty/angsty Zach Snyder version of Superman or even the operatic Richard Donner Superman; in some ways, that's great, kind of my wheelhouse, there was a lot of funny stuff in it that required that sensibility. In other ways I thought it was maybe too fast-and-loose with conceptual reality with its "pocket universe" and off-hand inclusions of semi-intelligent "troll monkeys" (though that made for one of the biggest laughs) and an unexplained kaiju-like giant monster that was the least effective sequence for me. But on first viewing, I'd say Superman (2025) ranks below Superman (1978) and Superman Returns (2006) but way ahead of Man of Steel (2013).

Also, the long-awaited season three of Strange New Worlds premiered last night with two episodes. Both eps were good, neither was great, and there was plenty of good character stuff and smart dialogue to meet my high Trek standards.

Those all fall in the pop-culture/trivial/personal buckets. As for the big political world-affecting stuff, I find myself navigating a mix of outrage, hopefulness, hostility, schadenfreude, anxiety, callousness, and trepidation. Which is, let's face it, the new normal, but with new dimensions given the latest info:

• The MAGA civil war is fascinating as some of the cultists belatedly realize that their champion actually is a lying garbage person who gaslights them and thinks they're stupid. The fact that they see this only because they bought into a conspiracy theory he and they promulgated for years that he is now denying hasn't sunk in yet, but hey, baby steps.
• Today's publication of an article in the Wall Street Journal, of all places, that reinforces what most of us already knew—that Donald Trump and Jeffrey Epstein were two peas in a pod in their depravity and criminality—is outstanding, as it is causing the wannabe dictator and his minions to panic and dig themselves deeper into the hole they're in with the cultists. I've oft wondered what it would take to get the cult to turn on this subhuman stain when none of the prior atrocities seemed to make a dent, and it figures that the answer is apparently reneging on an implied promise to inflict cruelty on people they don't like.

• With all that creating chaos for the White House, official spokesmodel Karoline Leavitt told the press corps that our wannabe-dictator has health issues—which, again, duh—that she plays down as minor but actually might well prevent him from finishing his term of office.

  The demented occupant of the Oval Office has Chronic Venous Insufficiency, which in and of itself is not a big deal. Lots of senior citizens deal with it. But the patient in question is not "lots of senior citizens," he's an obese rage factory who doesn't believe in exercise and maintains a fast-food diet. And this has progressed enough to include Stage 5 or 6 elements, e.g. venous ulcers (evident from photos of POTUS47’s hand and the lie from his press secretary that he was bruised from aspirin and an overabundance of handshakes). Whether the hand wound is from the CVI directly, a complication of it, or from something else, it indicates something more serious than swollen ankles. Add to this the daily evidence of cognitive decline and one has to wonder if the CVI is severe enough to have hindered blood not just to the extremities but to the brain.

  What makes this especially hinky is that the White House—in the first term and in this one—never reveals anything about Dear Leader's health. They give bogus doctor notes from their very own Dr. Nick that say he's the healthiest person that ever lived. We got no information when he had COVID. We got no information after he was mildly wounded when someone took a shot at him last summer. They never reveal anything about his health, yet today Leavitt said he has CVI, probably the most innocuous explanation for the photo of his swollen ankles.

  It's probably true as far as the CVI goes, but what's not being said? Is he looking at heart failure? What about vascular dementia? Has he had a stroke? It sure fits the observable circumstantial evidence that long-standing CVI (pun not intended) correlated with lack of circulation to the brain begetting vascular dementia accounts for a lot of his nonsensical rants and wandering tangents and inappropriate dozing off. (Then again, this is the laziest, stupidest, most emotionally stunted public figure in the world, so all that crap might have nothing to do with his blood flow.)

  Might this health admission be the first step in a soft coup by the oligarchs that want JD Vance to be emperor? Might it be a first move in a fallback contingency should the Epstein mess actually catch up with him—he could resign for health reasons, get pardoned by Vance, and completely avoid any accountability for anything?

  And why am I conflicted about the prospect of PseudoPresident Convicted Felon dying of heart failure soon? Frankly, that's a better scenario than a pardon.

Oh, and CBS canceled Colbert because they need to not piss off the regime in order to get FCC approval on their corporate merger with SkyDance. That's just lovely. (Skip the below video to about the two minute mark for more context.)

 

Tagged Politics, Movies, Star Trek, President VonClownstick, Baseball, Softball, Posted on July 17, 2025 at 9:02PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Bring us the finest muffins and bagels in all the land

My softball team, the Smiling Potatoes of Death, is old. Yes, the team in one form or another has existed for a very long time—one or two of my teammates were on the team in the 1980s, if I'm not mistaken—but what I mean is, our current roster skews "mature." I'd guess our average age is around 52 or so (with outliers at either end of the spectrum), while the rest of the league is generally around 30ish.

Thus, we routinely get pasted.

Our first game this season was a 21-3 loss, which was fairly typical. Our league sadly has a mandatory mercy rule, meaning that if you're behind by 15 runs after, I think, four innings, the game ends, so we usually feel pretty good if we get to play five-plus frames. Last week we lost 12-0, but since we got a full seven innings for the first time in god knows how long it felt like an achievement.

Yesterday, though, the Spuddies actually were smiling when we left the field, because we won a game. It's the third time in the 7-8(?) years I've been with the team that we've been victorious. It's almost like a genuine bigfoot sighting in its rarity.

True, we were playing against a team on the lower end of the talent meter in Bat's Amoré, but a win is a win, especially when you're the league's analogue to the last few years' editions of the Colorado Rockies. More than one of my teammates claimed they would be celebrating the event—and using it as an excuse to slack off on other things—for at least a month.

The world sucks right now. We're contending with an attempted fascist takeover of our Federal government, U.S. Senators are being assaulted and handcuffed by security staff working for a cabinet secretary, our legislature is debating how cruel they want to be in robbing and endangering the public in order to give billionaires more money and build up secret police forces (and that's just today).

So we'll take our joy where we can find it.

Tagged Softball, Posted on June 12, 2025 at 4:33PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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Sunday activity

Yesterday saw POTUS47 commit yet another impeachable offense by illegally deploying the National Guard to put down a protest and incite violence in Los Angeles. That's just par for the course in 2025, though, so it might not have made your particular newsfeed. But it happened. Since it happened 2,000 miles away form me, though, and this sort of thing doesn't move the media needle anymore, I wasn't aware of it because I was otherwise occupied on the ballfield.

We're having record-breaking heat here, so it was a taxing day for me. Fortunately, I am well-liked by the teams I umpire for (mostly), so I was kept well-hydrated when I ran out of my own water and gatorade by players tossing me bottles from their own coolers. I got through my games without any real difficulties. (The one time there was a problem no one complained; a batter hit a popup with runners aboard that was deeper than the infield dirt and not immediately near a defender, so I didn't call the infield fly rule; I should have, though, because the defending shortstop had proven himself to be quite good and in fact he did get under the pop and let it fall, proceeding to attempt a double-play. So I did the unusual thing and called the rule after-the-fact, owning my mistake and placing one of the runners back on base. Everyone was cool with it.)

The final game involved The Leftovers, who as readers know are among my favorites, and though they lost in a squeaker, 10-9, they always make a game more fun for me to work and this time they even invited me out to the bar with them after the game. So I joined them for a short while and shared tales from the umpiring side while they told of their experiences with other umps and other teams. We talked about the Mariners latest slide in the standings, our respective elderly parents, and how I am frankly so much older than all the other umpires in the league yet also the most active on the field.

It was a nice time, and when I returned home the heat of the day had caught up with me and I developed a gargantuan headache that was probably building all through the afternoon under the direct sun and I took some ibuprofen and read until I finally conked out. 

Tonight I have a briefer shift, tomorrow a standard three-gamer, Wednesday I'm playing, Thursday back for three, and Friday for two before a killer 8-hour day on Sunday. Here's hoping I can stave off the heatstroke.

Tagged Politics, President VonClownstick, Softball, Umping, Posted on June 9, 2025 at 5:06PM   |   Permalink   |     |  

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