Here's a quarter, go and buy yourself a clue

Watching your kids play sports is one of the great thrills of being a parent. It is the unruly parent who puts his kid's needs above those of the team or the coach who must win at all costs who ruin this experience.

Last week Saturday, I took my seat on the 1st base line right next to the dugout to watch the Tigers, to whom my 8 year old, we'll call him All-Star, is a member of. A man and 2 women arrived late and sat not too far away from me. I recognized one woman as the mother of one of the Tigers. Her male companion, wearing all black and sporting a brand new SF Giants cap, nodded at me, stuck out his hand to shake mine and gave me his name. An uncle possibly? I wasn't sure. For our purposes, we'll address him as Dipshit. He asked me if I was the All-Star's father. I nodded in mock imitation of him.
"Good kid," he commented as he nodded to me again.
As we all settled to watch the game, Uncle Dipshit began voicing his displeasure at the way Tiger Coach was pitching to the kids (for Pee Wee Baseball, the coach pitches to his own team). Basically, he was heckling the team that he should have been rooting for! There was a palpable air of discomfort among the parents. A "WHO IS THIS IDIOT" look can be read on their faces as they shot glances at the antagonist.
"The pitches are too high." he'd mutter out loud.
At one point, he yelled, "Keep the pitches low!"
Uncle Dipshit leaned over to me and asked if I thought the pitches were high.

Bad Conscience poofed over my left shoulder:

(Who the fuck are you? Why don't you go out there and see how fuckin' easy it is to pitch to a bunch of 8-9-10 year olds?!?!)

Age, fatherhood and husbandry have softened me over several years. Good Conscience overcame me.

"Be a good example."

"Take the diplomatic route."

In other words, be a complete puss and reason with the fucker. Anyway, I told Uncle Dipshit that it's not easy to pitch to a small strike zone from that distance (approx. 30-40 ft.). If the ball is lobbed to the plate, the pitch comes in high. If you straighten out the ball and throw harder, some of the kids won't be able to catch up to it.
While he nodded in agreement with what I said, my voice of reason apparently did not resonate with Uncle Dipshit as he continued to voice his displeasure. This clueless nimrod just didn't get it.

It was with great relief among those in attendance that Uncle D.S. and his 2 companions got up to leave.
What brass this guy must possess! Arrive late, make a scene by criticizing Tiger coach out loud and then leave early. Nothing wrong with leaving early. If you gotta go, you gotta go. Just keep the whiney baby talk to yourself and let the game be about the kids. Oh, and take off the Giants cap. I don't want to be associated with knuckleheads like these.
The postscript is that the Tigers were given a ass-whuppin' by the Hurricanes*, 16-6, leaving them with a record of 5-5, on the cusp of falling out of playoff contention (8 out of 14 teams make the playoffs).
See: http://www.sanbrunopeeweebaseball.org/
*(What's the deal with calling your baseball team, the Hurricanes? And having the colors to boot. I realize that University of Miami baseball program is a successful one, but unless the coach or the sponsor attended the "U", I'd rather we stick to MLB team names or sponsor names, i.e. Cardinals, Yankees or Chico's Bail Bonds)

Bong on Bonds

Bong on Bonds? My thoughts on Barry are ambivalent. While he wears the laundry of my favorite team, the San Francisco Giants, he's still in my mind, a cheater. I know, I know, there's only been circumstantial evidence and he's never failed a drug test. Let's just use a little common sense here folks. A multi-fold increase in production after the age of 35, the freaky growth, the marked decrease in production after media fallout following court proceedings regarding BALCO and the release of the book, Game Of Shadows. While I'll never be able to separate the home run records from the 'roid use, I'll still root for the Giants and I'll give a tempered cheer for Barry.

My own little bambinos are old enough to see and hear the news of Barry's transgressions and have asked me, "Dad, is Barry using steroids?" (without actually knowing what a steroid is).

First of all, I let them know what a steroid is and then I explain to them that yes, Barry cheated and used steroids, when in fact, he was already a great player and probably didn't need them.

"Then why did he use them anyway?"

Because steroids helped him get better faster when he got hurt and yes, they do make you stronger.

"Then steroids are good then, right?"

In the short term, yes, but in the long run, your body will be break down sooner, you'll get a lot of pimples, your gonads will shrink and you'll live a short life*. Don't you want to live a long life and give me and mom some grandkids?

"Yeah, I guess."

Alright then.

"Dad...What are gonads?"

*(Ed. note: There has been no significant study which suggests that steroids actually shorten life span. If there has been one, please let me know)

Why Bong On Bong? Basically, because I could think of nothing original, except a parody of that so-called reality show on the 24 hour sports network which depicts the everyday goings-ons of a particular baseball player whose last name begins with a B and ends with an S. When you think about it though, I believe that the title is short, concise and to the point. While the subject matters of the TV show leaves a bit to be desired, so does this blog!