Good Job, Good Job, Good Job

If you’ve read more than one of my blogs, you probably have a pretty good idea that I love food, I love music and I really LOVE sports.

Pick any restaurant, concert or game.  I’m in.

Well, ALMOST any game.

I realize I won’t be getting any votes for father of the year for this blog, especially in my own house, but here goes...

Six-year old girls tee ball sucks.

I mean, it really SUCKS!

Don’t get me wrong, I would watch my kids perform in an opera if that is what they want to do.

But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fall asleep.

With three kids, my wife and I have moved into the zone defense when it comes to their activities.

So far this year, I’ve made it to most tee ball practices, but this past Saturday was the first game I attended.

OMG!

First, can we talk about the rules.

Everybody hits.  Every inning.  Nobody gets out.  

Not that anybody on defense can actually make an out.

The last batter in every inning gets to run all the bases after they hit the ball to give the impression that they did something right.

After every swing, hit or miss, you hear -- good job.

After every play, good or bad, you hear good job, good job.

Then at the end, while the girls are fighting for juice boxes and oreo cookies, the whole reason they came anyway, you hear it again.

Good Job, Good Job, Good Job.  

See you at practice.

Saturday, I coached third base in each of the three innings.

It was on me to somehow convince the runner on second base to put one leg in front of the other without getting distracted.

When they eventually got to third base, I became a stand-up comedian.

Keep them entertained until the next batter dribbles one six feet off the tee.

It usually starts with a high five.  Followed by a joke about racing them to home plate.

“That’s the base you are running to next sweetie.”


These kids have the attention span of a, six-year old.

Then ask if they want me to pour water over their head to keep them cool.

That’s always worth a chuckle and a smile.

Oh, and of course, Good Job.

Hopefully by this point, the next girl would have put a ball in play, which means I can cue up the same comedy set for the next runner.

If I sound like a sports snob.   Guilty as charged.

Excuse me for not finding a game between the T-Ball Chicks and Fire Flys as riveting as the Yankees and Dodgers.

Even if my daughter is playing.

The highlight of the game for me was when one of the hitters (on the other team) threw her bat and her coach had to jump out of the way.

The highlight wasn’t the first time she did it, but the second and third times.

Since we don’t keep score -- and everybody scores anyway -- there are no losers, just the kids who get this false impression that they are all winners.

At the end of the year each girl is going to get a trophy with their name on it to help them remember this most important season.

The coach will come up with some line about how little Susie improved or what a great attitude Hannah has or that hilarious moment when Jessie ran to third base instead of first.

And then everyone will giggle before we eat cake.

The truth is the kids are more interested in picking up grass than picking up grounders.

And the parents.  Oh, the parents.

They have basically hired a one-hour nanny to give them sixty uninterrupted minutes on their iPhone.

And if Saturday’s game wasn’t bad enough, the coach informed me that he was going to be out of town on a business trip and he needed me to run the next practice.

I went in with an open mind, but that open mind closed about three seconds after we started.

Can I play pitcher?  

Can I play shortstop?

Where is shortstop?  

I’m thirsty.  

I want to hit.   

Where is the Coach?  

I’m thirsty.   

Why do I need to wear a helmet?

The entire time the parents are slouched over their lawn chair texting away:

• can u b-leave i found another jack azz to watch molly for an hour?  lol.

Well text away Mr. and Mrs. Doe, the joke is on you.

My daughter had a blast and she went to bed tonight thinking that her father loves tee ball.

Good Job Dad!