Little Moby Homemaker: Domestic God

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Baseball has (not) been very, very good to me!

Moby Homemaker

I am an out of work "At Home Dad" who has risen from the ashes like an overweight, over worked, under paid phoenix to become a "Domestic God"

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Baseball season is in full swing again!  The Homemaker's are a baseball family.  We watch it on satellite, we follow our favorite teams religiously, despise our most hated teams intensely, attend big league games and , of course, our sons Colton (8) and Little Rusty (5) play little league.  This season, our oldest son (and his family) are truly blessed to be on a Chico Escuela Coach Pitch 7 & 8-year-old team with wonderful coaches, great teammates and nice set of team parents.   As I watched Colton's first game the other evening, my wife described this Domestic God's demeanor as nothing short of "orgasmic".

She was right--but I didn't soil my drawers because I was watching a group of  7 & 8-year-old boys (that's just sick), or because my son's team won their opener 30-0, nor was it because Colton showed great improvement at the plate and in the field.  Those things were great, but they were not the true reason for my exuberance.

My real reason for  unbridled glee was because my son was no longer a part of last year's team!  As a 7-year-old, Colton was placed on the most rag tag,  undisciplined, border line anti-social youth baseball team that I have ever seen.  This "team" that could not even muster up a name was kind of like the "Bad News Bears'--without an ounce of comedy, loveable characters or a happy ending.  And instead of a charming alcoholic coach like Mr. Buttermaker, it was I who was driven to drink by this group of sorry little fuckers!  Believe you me, I was left feeling alcoholic and not one bit charming.  In all my life of participating and being associated with youth sports, I have never seen a group of kids and parents like I did on my son's team last year.  I would now like to introduce you to some of the "stars" of this nameless team (who will now be referred to as the "Pukes" because their team color was green and it pretty much accurately captures the overall spirit of the team "leaders").

"Dallas"-Dallas was the coach's son. Not only did Dallas achieve the triple crown of  leading the league in  on the field tantrums, whining and bitching, he also led the team in swearing, spitting at other kids and rock throwing.  If there were a league for shithead kids, Dallas would be an all-star.  Hell, he would be a first ballot hall of famer.  And this was the coach's son!

"Britney"-Britney was the 7-year-old girl who was forced to play baseball by her parents.  I say that she was "forced" to play, because it was true.  She constantly screamed that she didn't want to play--and who can blame her? She had never played a game of t-ball or baseball in her life and now her a-hole parents were throwing her into hardball with kids (mostly boys, mind you) who had been playing  three of four years already.  That being said, every time she took the field it led to a new and tediously long journey in finding her position.  I will not even describe the scene of her at the plate.  And can you guess who was the first kid on the "Pukes" to be injured by a fast-moving hard ball?

"Shiloh"-Shiloh will have a nice career in excavation.  How do I know this?  Because all this little bastard did was dig holes and build sand mounds.  Whether on the field, in the dugout, in the on deck circle or just aimlessly wandering the complex during a game--this kid was digging.  He had a real kinship with the earth.  In fact, I saw him eat some while on sitting at third base during a game.  I only noticed because the hardest hit line drive I have ever seen an 8-year-old hit grazed the top of his head, taking off Shiloh's hat, mid sand dig/eat.

"Wilbur"-Wilbur actually had some athletic ability.  The world will probably never see it, though, because Wilbur's time was spent with feedings-every half inning.  The early innings started light-popcorn, then a little candy.  The 3rd & 4th usually moved into the main entrees, hot dogs, burgers and pizza.  The final inning usually involved a dessert-like some ice cream.  I have no idea how this kid could put down the latest scourge in youth baseball--the obligatory "after game treat".  All I can say id fuck that noise!  Anyway, this poor kid weighs 150lbs. and is only 4 foot tall.  Thank God, these games were only 5 innings and the "Pukes" usually had their games ended early because of the "slaughter rule"--or Wilbur could be a deuce, deuce and a half!

That's just a taste of the "Pukes" squad.  The bench looked like a scene from "Attica", the parents looked like extras from "Breaking Bad".  It was brutal to say the least.  And I know what you may be thinking right now, "Hey, Moby Homemaker, why don't you quit your bitching and coach that team yourself, if you're so goddamned smart?".  My answer to that is simple.  If I were to coach a team like the "Pukes", I may have been pushed to take out at least two of those stupid little shits, and this Domestic God doesn't need a double homicide on his rap sheet.  Thank you God that Colton had found his way on the "Blues" this season, who knows how many lives have been saved???



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1 Comment

Daisy said:

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HA HA HA! Great read, Moby! Both of my boys played Little League, and I was sooo happy when they finally reached the age when they were too old to play. :D

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