Baseball Blunder

When I played baseball – wait, allow me to rephrase – when I participated in Little League (I generally stood in the outfield aloofly, looking for four leaf clovers and chewing on my mitt), my dad was supportive. He came to most of my games and even volunteered at some by serving as the umpire. I had thought this position could be a conflict of interest for him, but I distinctly recall one time when he called a third strike against me while I was at bat. I was his kid, he couldn’t just call me out! (I should have swung.)

One day close to the end of the season, my coach pulled me aside. “Does your dad drink beer?” he asked. I froze with concern. Did my coach think my dad was showing up to my games drunk? Did he think he was doing such a poor job at umpiring that he must be drunk to make such calls? In order to defend my dad and squash that rumor, I lied and said, “No. Sometimes non-alcoholic beer.” My coach thanked me and that was the end of that – or so I thought.

At the last game of the year, my coach arrived with a 24-pack of O’Douls non-alcoholic beer, which he gave to my father. It was a thank-you gift for having umped several games that season. Immediately, I remembered that previous conversation I had had with my coach. He wasn’t accusing my dad of anything, he was just trying to be nice. Nevertheless, my paranoia prevented him from getting real beer.

Sorry, Dad.