The moment I get out of the car at practice tonight I’m confronted by one of the uber-moms, iPad under her arm, Bluetooth in her ear. Obviously, she runs an enormous corporation with three employees, sorry, kids.
‘My son can’t play on Saturday,’ she says, almost proud of the fact.
‘Oh yeah?’ I ask, wearily, knowing this could get ugly fast.
‘He was selected for the All-Star team in his Little League and they are going upstate to a tournament this weekend.’ Definite pride in that voice alright.
‘And?’ I’m still biting my lip, trying to play it cool.
‘Well, he has to go because it’s a huge honor to be selected.’ She’s smiling as she speaks, like this is really a good thing.
Shaking my head, I pause, inhale deeply and then let go.
‘Why is it a good thing?’ I practically shout. ‘He’s an All-Star in a sport where you only have to hit the ball once out of every three tries to be any good, where you catch the ball with a big, ugly glove rather than your bare hand, and, and here’s the worst part, where kids actually cheer for each other from the bench during games! What a joke!’
She just stares at me as if I’m speaking a different language.
‘You are kidding right?’ she finally asks, nervously clutching her iPad to her chest like a comfort blanket.
‘Look, your son is a half-decent soccer player who, if he listens to me, might one day actually be almost good. If he’s going to put baseball first I suggest you take him home and start him on the steroids right now. I don’t want him taking up space at my practice. And you better get him on the HGH and all that stuff as quickly as possible.’
More confusion on her face. ‘What do you mean steroids?’ she shouts as I turn to walk away.
‘Honey, he ain’t making it in baseball without chemical assistance so you better get to the pharmacy and get working on him. See ya in Yankee Stadium.’
Funny how a good argument like this can put you in the mood to really make the other kids suffer for an hour.
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