We had Jake’s final Little League game of the season this morning. I have to say it is a bittersweet ending. I mean, on the one hand I will miss helping the coaches out at practice, sometimes even catching during the game. It’s coach-pitch and thus, coach-catch. Or in my case – coach-like father catching. I think I’ve played more baseball as the father of a Little Leaguer this season than I ever did as a kid, as an actual Little Leaguer myself.

On the other hand, I no longer have to agonize through weekly practices begging Jake to concentrate and pay attention. No more yelling like one of those maniacs who thinks their kid is going to be the next Derek Jeter. I mean, Jeter this kid is not. I yell at him to stop picking daisies or playing in the dirt. Or to stop squealing like a stuck pig in the dugout waiting for his turn at bat.

Who would have thought that I – quite possibly the least athletic kid ever – would grow up to be a sports Dad. Or just look like one.

Then again, my attempts to keep my kid focused are hopefully far less annoying one of those mega-chunker Wal-Mart Moms who yell at their kids like they’re on the couch in their double wide. You can see her now: One hand is dipping into the bag of Cool Ranch Doritos while the other is dutifully popping ephedra diet pills into her chubbed-up mouth. Despite the chill morning air she is sweating profusely in her floral print bloomer shorts featuring every tropical color but the lime green of her a-shirt.

By the way – when the diameter of your upper arm is closer to 2-liter bottle than 1-liter bottle (or, heaven forbid, a 3-liter) you should really consider wearing sleeves. Just a friendly suggestion.

But maybe it’s not fair to mock the size of these Moms when their real offense is the whining. The whining arguments they have with their children. Awful.

“What are you doing over there. Get on a helmet. You’re up to bat.”

“Nobody told me.”

“Yes they did, you’re not paying attention.”

“Yes I am.”

“No your not.”

“Keep it up and we’re not going to McDonalds after.”

“You promised.”

“I don’t care. Get your bat. It’s your turn to hit.”

“I’m going I’m going.”

“Go faster. Everybody’s waiting for you.”

“I’m GO-ing.”

“Then GO!”

“Errrrrr!”

“Chomp!”