Dodged a Bullet, Sort of .....

Last night, I was assigned to work a NABF 18U game at Cene Park.  I arrived to find out that it was the championship game of the tournament and I was given the opportunity to work the plate on a 3-man crew.  The first batter of the game, in the middle of his at bat, asks for time.  I came up to call and signal time out, pointing to the batter.  For some unexplained reason, the batter took a step out of the box and one or two steps back, then proceeded to take a full swing.  The bat struck the right side of my wrist.  I don't remember my exact words - they may or may not have been family friendly.  However, the pain was excruciating.  As I looked down at my wrist, it had already swollen to nearly twice its size.  I was sure it was broken until I realized that I could move my fingers and flex my wrist in every direction.  Nonetheless, after some ice and the profuse apologies by the batter, I decided to carry on for the time being - with my hand obviously well behind my back.  It turns out that the batter was the starting pitcher for the other team.  No wonder the profuse apologies!!!

With the ache now traveling up my entire arm, I made it through the first batter.  The second batter came up and around the third pitch, the catcher called for an outside curve ball.  The pitcher had other ideas and fired a fast ball over the inside part of the plate.  The catcher didn't move as the ball whizzed past him and struck me in the dangling throat guard and then my collar bone area.  The throat guard was ripped off by the force of the pitch as the crowd groaned quite audibly.  Somehow I survive this batter, too.  The third batter, with me now in pain in two places, carelessly uses his back swing to throw a massive gob of dirt into the face of the catcher and me.  After a minute of wiping off my face and clearing my eyes of dirt, my partner on third base loudly asks, for all in the park to hear, if I have my cup on.  The crowd roars with laughter.  I'm still in pain.

Finally, the half inning ends and I call my partners in for a chat.  I tell them I'm fairly concerned about my wrist and both encourage me to get to the hospital.  One of them trots off to change for the plate.  My other partner and I finish out the first inning with no further incidents.  In the locker room, I take off my gear as a fellow ump, who just happened to be watching the game, helped pack my bag and carry it the car.  I call my wife and meet her at the emergency room.  Fortunately, the ER is not too busy and I get in to see a doctor within 10 minutes.  I get an x-ray and wait about an hour before the doctor comes back with the diagnosis.  To my relief, it is just a deep bruise that needs to be wrapped and iced for a few days.  I need to take an anti-inflammatory medicine as well as not move my wrist around a lot for a few days (yep, I am indeed using my hand/wrist to type this missive - so much for being a good patient!).  The doctor also says no umpiring for the rest of the week.  That's ok with me - the summer season ends this coming weekend.  Hence, I'm retired until August 16th, but ever so grateful that I still have the chance to become un-retired.

Hamilton - There and Back

Entering Hamilton, Ohio (photo by Karen Cooper)

As I previously noted, Karen and I traveled last Friday to Hamilton, Ohio so that I could umpire a few games in the state Majors Little League Baseball tournament.  Actually, we drove to Mason, Ohio first and stayed at the Hyatt Place - about 30 minutes away from Hamilton.  Why? Because I had enough Gold Passport points to get a free room for two nights.  I was too cheap to pay for a hotel closer to the fields.  Besides, we like that particular Hyatt Place.  We've stayed there several times while in the Cincinnati area.  The only problem we experienced during this stay was the literal hordes of people in the hotel who acted like barbarians when it came to the free breakfast.  You had only to take one look in the eyes of the Hyatt staff and you could sense their anxious desperation.  They had no control over the multitude of soccer/baseball moms, blow hard dads, and their mutant spawn terrorizing the other "regular" hotel patrons.  My inner thoughts were constantly being jarred by the cacophony of shrill young voices, moms shouting across the lobby, and dads bragging how well Junior did in yesterday's game.  What little food that was left consisted of drippings on the floor, splattered milk, torn remnants of bread, and that strange mixture of yogurt, cereal, and battered fruit laying in a bowl next to the toaster.  Worse of all - NO COFFEE!!!  The thermal containers were completely void of the elixir of life.  Damn animals!!!  Obviously, we were desperate ourselves.  Therefore, we narrowly avoided being trampled or worse and escaped the lobby to have coffee and scones like civilized people at the Starbucks down the street.

On Friday evening, we managed to find our way to Walt's Barbeque on Main Street in Hamilton.  We arrived early to have dinner before that evening's coaches meeting to be held in the restaurant.  I must say we were very pleased.  Literally, within two minutes of ordering, our food was delivered hot and tasty to our table.  I had delicious brisket - nearly as good as I have had back in our adopted hometown of Austin, Texas and its immediately environs.  Overall, an awesome meal and genuinely great service.

We finished our dinner early and headed over to Hobby Lobby for Karen to shop for trinkets.  We soon returned to Walt's and met up with Roger Fox, the District Administrator of Ohio District 9 [Facebook].  Others began to arrive including Shannon Walker, the District Administrator of Ohio District 8, and her husband Steve - himself a most excellent umpire and on his way to the Junior League Baseball World Series this August.  Joining us, too, was Jeff Stokoe - Little League World Series umpire in 2009.  Collectively, we had a wonderful conversation and sharing of information.  Both Jeff and Steve were particularly helpful with advice for my visit to Williamsport.  Unfortunately, I would not have the opportunity to work with these gents since neither would be available for the state games this weekend. Nonetheless, their advice and support were so truly appreciated.  To round out the evening, not only did I meet new folks, but Walt's provided spicy chicken wings to snack on.  Yummm!!!!!  Most definitely, I love Walt's!!!

Entrance to West Side Little League,
Hamilton, Ohio. (photo by Karen Cooper)

Saturday morning, after dodging the breakfast riot and slurping down some Starbucks, Karen and I made our way to West Side Little League in Hamilton.  While watching the opening ceremonies, my old umpire friend, Jay McNeely, came by to welcome me.  I had not known that he was going to be at the tournament.  Jay is on his way to the Central Regional next month.  It was great to see him and renew our friendship.  Jay, Bruce Cline, and Stu Hartenstein, all umpires in Ohio District 8, had joined me several years ago at the Field of Dreams in Boardman, Ohio, to umpire the Junior and Little League Baseball State Tournaments.  They still haven't forgiven me for the 500+ pitch Junior game - and I don't blame them!  Jay, Bruce, and Stu all crashed at our house that week.  To say we had a blast would be a woeful understatement.  And here was Jay, and with me knowing that Stu would be arriving soon, it was beginning to look like another wonderfully awesome weekend of umpiring, telling whoppers, and generally heckling the heck out of one another - you know, typical male bonding behavior.

Eventually, Stu arrived and soon began the razzing.  Stu had the plate in a Central Regional championship a couple of years ago.  He is truly a great umpire, though he does have his idiosyncrasies  that, of course, we all felt obliged to note!  Many, but not all, of the remarks focused on Stu's teenage-like appearance, his predilection for perfection, and his obsession with fashion in men's clothing, particularly shoes.  There were other things noted as well, but this blog is meant to be family-friendly.  I'll save those things for my memoirs.  Naturally, Stu gave as good, if not better, than he received.  I have a few emotional welts from his caustic, yet irreverently funny comments about my chiseled good looks, manhood (or lack thereof), and my svelte build.  And then there were the stories.  Some were about me, some about Jay, some about others, but many more about Stu.  My all time favorite Stu story is when he, serving as "ball boy" in the 2005 Central Regional, came onto the field between innings not only to deliver new balls to me, but also a popsicle.  That's a story for another posting.

Sunday's first game umpires (L-R): Jay, Lee, myself, Dan, Stu,
and Bruce (photo by Karen Cooper) 

Over the weekend,  I met some new umpire friends - Dan, Steve. Lee, Brady, and Tyler.  Tyler is Jeff Stokoe's son.  Bruce Cline joined us on Sunday having just returned from umpiring in the Central Region Senior Baseball Tournament.  Soon, Jay, Dan, and I joined up to umpire two games that day.  On Sunday, Jay, Lee, and I worked the first game, and the second was officiated by Brady, Lee, and myself.  I had a plate on both days, which were as hot and humid as I remember during my umpire days in League City, Texas.  Collectively, we worked very well as a team, and any mistakes we made in mechanics or coverages were only noted by us - and perhaps Roger watching from the score booth.  I don't recall any significant umpire errors being made, save one possible glitch that was readily resolved.  My plate games, at least in my thinking, were relatively solid.  Yes, I missed a couple of pitches, but who doesn't?  Overall, the managers/coaches were well behaved, though a couple of players did become slightly emotional at times - but nothing that was over the top or unexpected.  The parents treated the umpires very well, I thought.  At least, I didn't pick up on any surly remarks.  My spy in the stands, Karen, reported mostly gracious comments and only the occasional "ooh" or "ahh".  The only pointed remarks I heard occurred while I was holding down first base in my last game.  It seems that some of the dads standing along the fence in a miserable one-side game were loudly voicing their dissatisfaction with the manager's capabilities.  If I heard it, I know the manager and coaches did too - which was the point, obviously.  My only regret - I didn't get to work with Stu or Bruce.

Though my time there was brief, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  Roger Fox and his folks in Hamilton did an outstanding job.  They took excellent care of Karen and me.  Their generosity and hospitality were genuine and limitless.  Of particular note was Saturday night's tournament dinner.  (The main meal was donated by Walt's with homemade desserts from the Hamilton parents.  I'll say it again - I love Walt's Barbeque!)  On the long drive home Sunday night, Karen and I constantly remarked to one another what a truly wonderful time we had in Hamilton.  We were able to fully relax, forget about our responsibilities at home, and enjoy each other's company - something that is far too uncommon these days.  Too bad I had to return to work on Monday morning.  Even better, upon turning into our driveway at home, the garbage had already been placed at the curb for Monday morning's pick-up.  Wow!  Our daughter took out the garbage!  (She said she really missed us, but being Dad, I suspect a yet to-be-revealed hidden agenda!).  

To date, that weekend in Hamilton was the best I had all summer.  If this was the state tournament, I can't imagine the fun that awaits in Williamsport.  Again, hat's off to Roger Fox and the Hamilton folks, and to my good buddies in blue - Stu, Jay, Bruce, Dan, Lee, Tyler, Jeff, Steve, and Brady.

World Series Pin

Late yesterday afternoon, I was able to finalize the details of my World Series pin.  This is the first public viewing of the design, albeit without the original artist's approval.  That artist is my son, Chet III.  He has an eye for details and possesses artistic talent that eludes everyone else in the family. With just some general ideas from me, he came up with this marvelous pin design.  I could not be more pleased.  I think Chet did an incredibly awesome job.  Of course, the company from which I ordered the pins, PinSource, touched up some of the art a tad bit - under Chet's keen instructions and constructive criticism.  He wanted some other changes, but if we kept going back and forth I feared not getting the final product before my travels to Williamsport.  However, the company assured me of a three week delivery deadline.  We'll see .....

Hamilton or Bust

Tomorrow, I'll be on my way to work a few games at the state Majors Little
League Baseball tournament being held in Hamilton, Ohio (District 9). I
tried to form a District 2 four-person crew, but none of my regulars could
make the trip. However, I hope to get to work with Stu Hartenstein. He's
truly a fine young man, a most outstanding umpire, and a very wonderful
person. Wonder if my daughter would be interested? Hmmmm......

Also along for a mini-vacation of sorts is my darling spouse, Karen. We're
looking forward to sleeping in an air-conditioned room for a couple of
nights. Our home doesn't have any and the heat wave of the last two weeks
has been nearly insufferable. Next week, it will be 31 years of marital
bliss with this awesome woman. Anymore, I can't remember a day without her,
but I'm sure there are a few involving me that she'd like to forget!

Something's Happening Here .....

Over the past two weeks, news of my impending stint at the Little League World Series (LLWS) is spreading rapidly and rampantly.  Much of this is due to "word of mouth" by family, friends, work colleagues, and fellow umpires. Moreover, a big part of the "hoopla" can be attributed to Gary Williams, the District Administrator for Ohio District 2 Little League.  He has been my major supporter in this journey.  Somehow he has this idea that he is also my agent and in for a 25% cut of the profits!  He doesn't seem to understand that "volunteer umpire" involves no exchange of funds whatsoever.

Then there is my loving wife, Karen.  She has been my very best friend throughout all of this and understandably proud.  I sure hope she is enjoying the journey as well.  She certainly seems to be.  We're looking forward to our Williamsport trip and spending some time together after a long, busy summer.  However, Karen's Facebook postings are embarrassing!  Lately, she's posted a gazillion pictures of me, mainly while I am umpiring.  This is another way word is spreading given that Karen seemingly knows everyone in the Western Hemisphere, .... well, at least in the greater Youngstown area.

"Behind the scene" of the WFMJ interview by
Jennifer Baligush and her photographer, Paul.

In April of this year, Gary somehow managed to get a local TV station, WKBN, to interview me prior to a high school game.  There's a link to that story below.  Last week, Gary again managed to another local TV station (WFMJ), as well as the local newspaper, the Vindicator, to interview me prior to the 12 year-old district championship game that I was umpiring.  The latter two stories have yet to appear, but I am told they will soon.  I will post links to these stories as they become available.  Moreover, the folks in the athletic department at Youngstown State University (YSU) put out an announcement on their web page this morning.  A link to that story is also provided below.  I really do appreciate Gary's efforts in "spreading the word" as well as the enthusiasm of the YSU athletic department.  [Why would the YSU sports folks take notice, you ask?  For those of you that don't know, I serve as YSU's Faculty Athletics Representative to the NCAA.  Besides, it's the offseason - they need a story, obviously, any story!]

Then, yesterday, while umpiring the dish in a Connie Mack tournament game, unknown to me the coach of the Ohio Yankees (a team from outside the Youngstown area) told his team that I was on my way to the LLWS.  The subject had come up in our pre-game meeting.  Yet, I was surprised, and humbled, that each of his players offered me their congratulations as they came to bat.  I was touched by this gesture - but not enough to alter the strike zone!!!

The attention I am getting for being selected to LLWS umpire crew is something I'm not use to having showered upon me.  Keeping this all in perspective is a challenge.  I keep reminding myself that baseball is just a game and the real stars of Little League baseball are the kids.  The parents, coaches, and especially the umpires, are to stay clear of drawing attention to themselves as much as possible.  In this regard, my mind keeps wandering back to when I was young.  My parents had friends who thought every little thing that they accomplished, acquired, or experienced was "better than sliced bread."  Their entire self-esteem was wrapped up in making their lives worthy of excessive glory and gloating.  Of course, a bit of self-esteem is necessary not only in everyone's daily life, but without it an umpire would be subject to being eviscerated by coaches and players.  The trick is to be confident, not arrogant.  Hence, ever since realizing that my parent's friends represented the epitome of egregious self importance, I vowed never to be that way.  I do my best everyday to accept success humbly and to lose graciously.  I intend to keep this pledge, particularly with the whirlwind of well wishes and interviews all about me.  I leave it to others to judge how well I am keeping this vow.  For now, I need to keep remembering that no matter how much attention that is thrown my way, I will still have to pay $2.10 to get a large cup of coffee at Starbucks.  Fame is indeed fleeting; infamy is forever.

Gary, my "agent",  just texted me.  He says more interviews are on the way.   Sigh ............

In the Beginning ........

I clearly remember how my first game as an umpire became reality.  It was a warm, dry day in League City, Texas.  My wife and I were sitting in the stands at the baseball field located on the grounds of the local elementary school.  It was a bit of a rough field consisting of a  dusty, worn grass infield, rusting outfield chain-linked fence, bare patches both in the outfield and coaching boxes, and the dry, splintering, gray-painted wood bleachers along the first base side.  Ah, those bleachers!  I can still recall feeling the pinch of splinters through my shorts as my thoughts turned to imagining the hellacious infections that might eventually reside in my derriere.

It was in the bleachers that I decided to escape to the diamond.  The reason wasn't my splinter-traumatized buttocks.  Rather, it was the constant cacophony from other parents sitting near my wife and I.  To me, the chatter itself mind numbing.  The topics of conversation typically consisted of self-serving agendas, malicious gossip, or generally senseless utterances.  For instance, I didn't want to answer hypothetical questions from the burly macho dad on how the coach should move his players around, with the gist of the matter being that his son ought to be the team's shortstop.  I didn't want to weigh in on local politics (especially knowing my generally liberal views would not sit well among a crowd that favored carrying rifles on gun racks in their "pick-em-up trucks" while legally driving with open containers of Lone Star beer).  I could care less about the upcoming debutante ball of the third baseman's older sister and that her strapless, chiffon gown cost $750, but her Gucci shoes were a bargain at $175.  I was wholly uninterested in the fact that the concession stand receipts didn't match the money in the cash box.  I thought the dollar hot dogs sucked anyway.  And I certainly didn't want to know which team mom was holding extra practice sessions with the Minor league all-star coach.  Now, I do admit being mildly interested in knowing which middle school teacher wore inappropriately low buttoned blouses and excessively short skirts.  After all, as a father, it was my responsibility to ensure that my son's vivid imagination didn't run rampant.  In short, however, being surrounded by stereo babbling was driving me crazy.  All I really wanted to do was watch a baseball game in relative peaceful silence - a game involving my son.

Of course, like many local leagues, there was a single umpire assigned to my son's game to work the plate.  The opposing coaches had to recruit someone from the stands to work the field.  The timing this day could not have been more perfect.  Just as I was about to utter the word "moron" in response to being asked what I thought of the new governor of Texas (hint: his daddy liked people to read his lips), the coach of my son's team approached the bleachers loudly requesting "We need an umpire from the stands.  Any volunteers?"  It took all of a millisecond for my hand to go up and several more before my splinter-spiked tush elevated from my bleacher seat.  In less than a minute, I was standing next to the "real" umpire getting basic instructions.  I was soon positioned behind first base as the game began.  It didn't take long for me to realize not only was this a great place to get away from the Bleacher of Babel, but being on the field was THE best seat in the house.  It's that last part that stuck with me all these years.  That, and the fun I experienced being an integral part of that first game - a sense of ultimate enjoyment that continues to this day.

I don't remember much, if anything, about the calls I made during my first foray into umpiring.  I know that I looked like the typical "dad on the field" umpire.  We umpires have seen many of them over the years.  They're clearly recognizable.  Like them, I'm sure I looked awful with regard to positioning in that first game.  Certainly, I must have used my thumb to signal out and I likely signaled safe by stooping so low as to almost sweep the ground with my flaying arms.  Yet, that day, a very good thing did happen to this "umpire dad" - I was bitten by the umpire bug.  For the last 17 years, the bug has raged like a fever spreading throughout me.  The bug transformed me into a competent official as well as a better person.  Well, ..... at least the latter, ... I think so, .... better ask my wife.  Nonetheless, little did I or anyone else realize that the short journey from the bleachers to the field that day in the Spring of 1995 would be the beginning of a grand odyssey - one that would be greatly impacted by countless people and experiences both on and off the ball field.

Why this blog?

I've been pondering for some time how to communicate with the numerous folks who have approached me with countless questions and tremendous well wishes - all because they heard that I am soon to be umpiring in the 2012 version of the Little League World Series.  They have been enthusiastic in their support, even those who don't know me well.  The compliments and encouragement I have received have been all positive - except for the one curmudgeonly individual at my church who repeatedly makes it a point to tell me that I'm too fat to umpire baseball!  This status of being a so-called umpire 'rock star' (mockingly anointed as such by my fellow officials) actually is very humbling, especially when the young players look at you and ask "Are you really a World Series umpire?"  For example, after last night's Ohio District 2 Majors championship game, which I umpired behind the plate, I was about to enter the dressing room when a pair of starry-eyed young boys sheepishly approached me to ask if the 'World Series umpire' had a game ball to give them.  How could I say no?  I just happened to have two left in my ball bag which they joyously received, then ran off shouting with glee.  Seriously, isn't that what Little League is all about?  Humbling, ... truly humbling.

Norman Rockwell's classic
painting: "Three Umpires"

Among the various interactions I have had with folks recently, they typically ask me a common series of questions - "How many games will you umpire?", "Do you know which games you'll umpire?", "How did you get selected for the World Series?"  My answers have been standard for all three - I have absolutely no clue, particularly regarding the latter question.  And I guess that's one of the reasons for this blog: to answer these questions, and others, for all my supporters (and detractors, particularly the church curmudgeon).  More so, I hope sharing my odyssey to Williamsport will not only provide answers to the numerous questions that folks raise, but also help promote the ideals symbolized by America's pastime.  Given the current cultural and political climate in our country, we need baseball more than ever to remind us that while competition is generally a good thing, sportsmanship (i.e., civility, tolerance, compromise, and compassion) is a vital hallmark of our society.  Finally, I want to record my experiences while I still remember them, particularly the details of my umpiring journey from the dusty ball fields in League City, Texas to the mecca of all of youth baseball, the Lamade and Volunteer stadia in Williamsport, Pennsylvania.  I have come to realize that as I get older, my memory rivals that of the old Commodore 64 computer!  And like that old classic, there are probably no memory upgrades for my eroding mental faculties.  Hence, I gotta get busy putting stuff down in writing.  But, as the title of this blog suggests, I believe there is more than just memories to record and questions to answer.  I would like to continue this discussion beyond my two weeks at Williamsport this coming August.  I'm sure my odyssey won't end once I step off the ball fields of Lamade and Volunteer.  I truly hope there will be many years more to enjoy the umpire experience, make memories, provide answers, share advice, and positively impact a new generation.  I hope you'll come along for the journey.  In fact, there's a seat for you on the "Williamsport and Beyond Express" - right beside the church curmudgeon.  I hope you are skinny!

Yes, I will admit, this blog is a bit of an "ego thing" as well.  I'm sure, however, that my friends, colleagues, fellow umpires, the church curmudgeon, my family, and especially my long-suffering, umpire-widowed wife will use every tool at their disposal to keep me as humble as possible.  And if all else fails to do so, someone should break out the secret weapon - send along a couple of wide-eyed, giggling young ball players to chat with me.  Assuredly, they will not only deflate my ego, but moreover melt my heart.

Please, stay tuned................