We’ve now made it through 3 baseball games. Phew. Only 728 to go. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration…but not by much. At least, not in how it feels. I have to say, though, Jake is showing tremendous improvement. I mean, for a kid who has never watched a baseball game, even on TV, a kid whose Dad is me – as unathletic as they come – he is doing pretty well. We’ve invested in a decent bat and half a dozen balls, and he’s actually hitting the ball. Sweet.

The beauty is that he is still young enough not to care that there are kids who actually do watch baseball games on TV, kids who actually do know the fundamentals and actually can hit an overhand pitch and who actually can catch a pop fly. But this is what they are interested in more than anything else, and like I said, Jake really doesn’t care. He has plenty of fun squealing girlishly and running around like a maniac, and he’s totally cool with that. 

The thing is, there is this family. There’s Robbie the superstar and his parents the jag-offs from Long Island or Manhattan or wherever who have a weekend house in Northern Dutchess. The father is kind of meek and passive aggressive, but the mother is a loud, obnoxious douche nozzle who just doesn’t get it. She yells at her kid and contradicts the coaches. She argues about fouls and where the play is. At this time let me remind you that this is coach-pitch baseball for 5 to 7 years olds – every kid hits and runs one base no matter what. The standard rule in the field is for the kids to get the ball and throw it to first.

Still, psycho douche pony Mom starts berating her kid for throwing it to first, arguing in shouts with her husband when he tries to explain that in this league, the kids are just supposed to throw it to first in this fashion: “What do you mean throw it to first? The kid’s on first already. The play was to second. What are you, stupid?”

Let me mention at this point that there is a 5 year old girl on the team who is barely 3 feet tall. She is exceedingly cute and brings her own 13 ounce composite bat. After 3 weeks of practice she hits the ball at every at bat, and occasionally hits it right to the coach on the pitchers mound. It’s awesome. She’s tiny and she is kicking ass with progress.

Then these assholes weekenders show up with their over achieving bull, a well-drilled 7 year old who never attends practices but is supposed to be the team all star (on a team in a league with no winners) and act like it’s major league ball. The coaches are pissed because this father just walks out in the field and stands behind his kid like a coach. Fathers are pissed because the coaches on the field are supposed to be back ground checked and, let’s face it, if this guy is on the field, we don’t get to go out. And mothers are pissed because this woman is a basket case.

Did I mention that she has a 2 year old daughter she brings to the games that she plays catch with? The mother throws overhand to the two year old and wears a glove. And when the 2 years old drops the ball or throws it back weakly, the mother actually chews her out.

Carol and I call people like this leafers – a nod to an episode of the Family Guy about similar types. A wife of one of the coaches calls them City-ots, as in idiots from the city. It’s funny, because these jerks act like this is Green Acres or something, even though half of the parents are from Westchester, Long Island, or Manhattan. I mean, it’s not like I’m Farmer Fred up here.

But this area, particularly around Millbrook and Rhinebeck, are big weekend sites for city peeps. And you can tell on the weekend. On Saturdays in the Summer I see more vehicles with Manhattan Jeep license plates than when I worked in NYC a couple blocks away from the Manhattan Jeep dealership. Seriously. But when you have wineries and historic hotels and pick-your-own farms and low taxes, it’s hard to keep those trust fund graduates away.

At least this past Saturday Robbie and his psychotic entourage didn’t show. I hope that it’s permanent thing. I mean, maybe the over achievers will look for some more competition for their clearly unhappy little almost-all-star and let all the rest of us mediocre fun-seekers start our weekends off right. And I got to catch. It was probably the most baseball I’ve played in, well, ever. But it was fun. The kids were hitting great, I got to cheer for my son’s teammates, and I just felt like everyone was smiling just a little bit more.

And today my knees are a little achy because, well, I’ve always had problems with my knees. But who cares. Put me in coach!