It is summer ball. It’s meant to be lighthearted and fun. Get the kids some work and get on with things. This coach doesn’t get it. I call dead ball, raise my hands – the batter is hit by a ball. He’s over there yelling to make a play. He finally looks to see my hands raised and has the audacity to ask me if I’m going to make a call. THEN he tells me “not to be afraid to say something.” I’m glad I keep a cool head. The visiting team’s coach is dying laughing at this guy.
“Is this guy serious? This is summer league.”
“I know coach.”
Seriously. I’ve got at least one more game with this home team. I really hope I don’t have to eject this guy, but dammit, he’s way past due. The good news was no new scratches on my truck.
In other news, the first base coach from the visiting team was a Michigan ball player which was awesome. Apparently he played in the 78-79 teams before tearing up his knee. I wish I’d caught his name, but I’m pretty sure the last name was Bolton. It was pretty cool getting to talk about Michigan with an old timer. The tradition with baseball, his disbelief in Rich Rod (he’s a Les Miles guy). It was pretty interesting. I get tomorrow night off, but it’ll be used to study for Calculus 3 exam #1. Wednesday morning exam, woo.