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.
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