Bubba's Backdoor Homerun

I am so proud, I'm bursting. My little girl is a veteran tee ball player. She played out her first season and while they never really played a game, they did learn a few basics like touch the base with your foot before proceeding to the next base; don't skip bases; go potty before practice; catch the ball in the hand with the mitt and throw the ball with the ungloved hand; if you want to pick dandelions, left field is the best place; put the bat down before running to first; and the best part of tee ball is the snacks after practice.

Reilly Kate had so much fun and her coach, Coach John, must be one of the best human beings on earth. He was so excited and peppy and genuinely happy to be there every Saturday morning. He listened to Reilly Kate's numerous complaints, everything from her shoes don't fit to the sun was too bright and her brother was distracting. He'd listen, nod, and redirect. All with a ray of sunshine on his face and happiness in his voice. Okay, granted I don't know him off the field. He could be a prick. But I know his wife and she is sweet and says he is just like that at home, too. No wonder they have four kids. I honestly would have put good money on him not having any children. I personally find it hard to believe that anyone who spends much time with small children can maintain that level of pep. But apparently he does.

He even arranged for the kids to meet professional baseball players. He had two American guys pitching for the Doosan Bears come out and mingle and pose with the kids. It was amazing. Now, the three and four year olds are still too young to be all that impressed, but I know for Reilly Kate it made her realize that some people are good enough at this game to make it their full time job. She still wants to be a runner, a dolphin trainer, and a mommy. But you never know when baseball player may make the list. This guy's name is Matt and he's actually a friend of my friend Dave's. A very friendly guy, good with kids, and nice enough to let Dave think he could someday hit off him without laughing hysterically at him. At least not to his face.

It really was an all peaches and cream kind of experience with the exception of one bad, rotten to the core, worm infested, gonna-make-you-vomit-all-night-and-wish-you-were-dead apple. We'll call him Bubba here, not because I want to maintain his anonymity but because I didn't bother to find out what his name was. I couldn't care less. And he looks like a Bubba: Fat, arrogant, ignorant, obviously from a red state with a penchant for fucking is blood relatives. Okay. So I'm not entirely sure of the last one. But given what I do know about him, I'm pretty certain.

Every Saturday morning he'd be out there with his boys (only one of whom was on the Dodgers), warming them up. His idea of warming them up was to ridicule their every move. "What kind of a throw was that? A toss? A sissy throw? You're throwing like a girl." "Keep your eye on the ball. That's why you can't catch." "Go and get that ball. You should have caught that. Go! Run! Hustle!" The worst part was that he'd throw a shitty ball to the kids and then go off on these kids for being unable to catch it. Once I saw his older son throw a really good, fast ball to him and he couldn't catch it in time. It was kind of high and it hit him in the face. I'm sure if I hadn't been standing a few feet away from his kid, he would have come after him. He was that furious.

By the way, Bubba's boys are, I'd say four and maybe seven.

When the other kids would come and they'd start pairing up to play catch, he'd keep his boys off to the side to continue playing catch. Or, if his four year old got paired with a fellow Dodger, Bubba would stand there to do some more ridiculing. Oh, and batting practice! He'd stand right behind Coach John and if his kid tipped the ball (as most of these really little kids do), he'd grab the ball and put it back on the tee with a "Hey now. You can do better than that. Keep your eye on the ball and put some meat behind that swing."

I think it is his lack of any meat between his legs that forces him to be such a frigging arse to his kids. And in public, too. Can you imagine what this Daddy Dearest must be like at home? He reminded me of the jock's dad in Breakfast Club. I really thought tyrant dads died off or were castrated by some covert government program. Isn't that on the feminist agenda? I'm a feminist and I thought I saw it somewhere.

The final day of the season, he almost got hit right in his miniature gonads and hard by a kid (not his) batting. It was this kid's turn to bat and he was in the batting box, getting prepared to swing. Bubba, being the misunderstood genius that he is, walked straight through the batting box and when he felt the wind from this little kid's swing, he turned around with a fury to berate this kid. Old Bubba, though, he's quick and caught himself before he backhanded the kid. "Hey! Watch it!" Then softening, "You always need to look around you before you swing a bat. You need to be much more careful."

Yeah, Dicklick, and you should not be walking in a batting box with a runner at first and third and a batter up. Even I, the unjock, the gym class flunky, the fat fucking housewife know that. Go fuck your sister.

Ahhhh.... better. I just needed to get that off my chest. A whole little league season of him and if I bottled it up one more day, I'd probably take aim at him with my mamamobile the next time I saw him on post.

The highlight of the season was the awards at the end. Coach John, the amazing coach that he is (should I start a fan club?), had ordered trophies for all the kids and had their names engraved on them. Not just that, though. Oh, no. He ordered them from Jersey because this small little company in Jersey is the only one he found that had girls on the statue and he wanted to make sure that the girls had girls on theirs. How sweet is that? I was so excited, I got a bit misty. I'm 35 years old and have never been given a trophy for anything. I have gotten two awards in my life. One for a literary contest I won when I was 5 (it was a book) and one for completing a 5K in the Seoul Women's Marathon (it was a cheesy gold medal on a ribbon).

Reilly Kate is also proud of her statue. So much so that she takes it everywhere she goes. Everywhere. I had a rather in depth but cockroach quick discussion with her as she was about to take it up to the altar for communion at mass on Sunday. She's sleeping with it next to her right now. She loves her trophy.

Good thing, too. If she didn't, I think I'd take it and shove it straight up old Bubba's ass.