Dipshit Sunday
That's what yesterday was. Dipshit Sunday. I feel that way because that's what I dealt with all afternoon/evening until I got home. My God, there weren't enough bullets for yesterday.Every year, our Babe Ruth Baseball teams host the league tournament. There are three levels, Preps (ages 13), Juniors (13-15) and Seniors (16-18). There are anywhere from 4-8 teams in each division tournament. The Mid-Kansas League board begs and pleads with me to come and do all the public address announcing for the games. That includes lineups, who's batting/on deck/in the hole etc., "advertising" for the concessions and overpriced BBQ, and anything of that nature. I also run the scoreboard and play the music between innings.
Lineups are easy, all you'd have to say is "Now batting, first baseman, number 99, Tim True. Smith on deck, Jones in the hole." At the end of the inning, I give a wrap up of runs, hits, errors and left on base. Pretty simple stuff, but the microphone is sensitive and picks up what's going on in the background.
That concept is hard to understand. I'm not sure why they don't get it. Now, we're up in the pressbox and there is a lot of commotion going on in the background a lot of the time with coaches coming and going. Most of the time, they pause when I'm saying what I need to.
Save for yesterday.
Now I make no bones about the fact that I don't like Lyle. In fact, I think he's just a jerkface asshole. He has this real nasally voice that grates on my ears, while he thinks he knows so much about the game of baseball. Well, he doesn't and he's kind of a condescending jerk to his kids. He's the coach of the 13 year olds. I've had run ins with him before and he's too stupid to know how I really feel about him.
Lyle was walking around yesterday in his "All Star" shirt because he was the coach of the All Star team. The only reason he walked around like that is because he wanted everyone to see how "important" he is. I wanted to smash his face with a brick.
That's not the only thing Lyle did. I'm not sure if I was introducing the lineups for the next game or what..but Lyle is standing in the background talking to people telling them about this unruly fan who came in swearing like a sailor. Now Lyle isn't being quiet about what this guy is saying and I'm trying to read these names and getting distracted because he won't STFU. Seriously, I wondered if I could hit him with an elbow to shut him up. I could go on and on about him, but I won't.
The second dipshit I had to deal with was the wife of the tournament director. Her name is I Don't Know When To Talk and When Not To Talk, or Gwyn. Gwyn has no sense. None. Not an inkling. Example: My father is trying to keep the scorebook for the game, and Gwyn is trying to show my father a picture on her phone of a boquet that her husband gave her. Now why did this matter? Oh yeah, it didn't. Not only that but she chirps. She just chirps all day and then tries to talk to me as I'm speaking on the mic. She brought me something as I was giving my after inning wrap up as I'm speaking and trying to tell me what to say about the concession stand. I'm trying to read this stuff and she's talking to me. I wanted to hit her in the mouth with the CD player.
Oh yeah, the we had Dipshit number 3, Gwyn's obnoxious daughter. Her name is Obnoxious Daughter. The OD had been away at camp and not a thorn in our side. But yesterday of course, she got back. She's just like her mom in the fact that she doesn't know when to shut up either. OD is about 14 and needs to be muzzled. She came flying up the stairs to run the scoreboard. Suddenly we had 5 people at the table, my dad who was helping the other 13 year old girl who we had taught to keep score, her friend, me, and the OD.
The OD was texting, talking, chirping, and just being a pain in my ass. She was touching me when it was 98 degrees outside. I couldn't get any of the fan because it was pointed at the scorekeeper and people kept walking back and forth in front of it. I even tried to get her out of the booth but her mother whined "You're not going to let her do the scoreboard when she was looking forward to it all week?" I just rolled my eyes. By now, I'm cranky, as it was too hot to eat, too many people, not enough stools, too hard of stools, and here I've got the OD touching me.
We finally got through game number 3 and she ran off. In the middle of all of this, I'm trying to do what I volunteered for and announcing names. Finally she pushed me over the edge and I snarled at her, "Get out of my face." "I'm not in your face." "Get. Back. You. Are. Too. Close. To. Me." There was fear in her face. And I didn't care.
We finally threw her out of the box in the last game. I played "Can't you see" by the Marshall Tucker Band and OD came up to give me grief about the music. My long time friend Jake was up keeping score and I asked Jake if there was anything wrong with some MTB.
"No," Jake said. "I like their second hit better too."
"Oh yeah?" I asked with the OD walking off.
"Yes. It was called Get the fuck out of here."
That sent me into gales of laughter. Well played sir.
After yesterday, I don't think I'll volunteer for that again. Ever. They can kiss my entire ass.
posted by Rusty @ 8:41 AM
Comments: 3
