Because both my kids are playing Little League baseball this spring, I’ve been spending a lot time in the bleachers lately. A very much lot of time. And what I’ve discovered during these endless games, while my fingers chap from obsessive peanut eating and my butt numbs from the hard aluminum benches, is that there are two types of people in the bleachers: those who clap and cheer when appropriate, like myself, and those who never, ever, ever shut the hell up. Like most of the other parents. For example, here’s a recent exchange:
The Mom I Sat Next to Last Night: “Whooooo, Leo! Get ready, Leo! Take some practice swings, Leo! Look at those pitches, Leo! Pick out a good one, Leo! Wait for your pitch, Leo! Here it comes, Leo! That’s a boy, Leo! GO LEO! LEO! GO LEO! HERE COMES THE BALL, LEO! SWING, LEO!!! WHOOOOO LEO!!”
Me: “Excuse me, but what’s your son’s name again?”
Then we have the Tea Party grandparents. I don’t know their names, but they show up at every single game in their Fox News jackets and never really seem to know anyone on the teams. Probably not a bad way to spend retirement, I suppose. Beats sitting at home and falling for telephone scams.
Anyway, these two sit in the bleachers every night with their bottles of Rush Limbaugh tea and keep up a steady stream of baseball patter. In their thick Texas accents. And for some reason, their patter only consists of the following five sentences yelled in no particular order:
“That’s how you swing a bat!”
“Now you know what a strike looks like!”
“Give it a ride, cowboy!”
“Pitch a striker!”
and
“Throw ’em out at third, Rusty!”
Note: There is no one named Rusty
Now, I will fully admit that I only pay attention to the game when my kids happen to be doing something. I know, that’s horrible, where’s my team spirit, I’m such a jerk, stupid Wendi, gotta support the kids, you moron, what the hell’s wrong with you? But you know what? There are only so many times I can watch Joshy B. bobble a ball at first base before I want to push his mother off the top row and yell, “HE SHOULD BE ON A CHESS TEAM, LADY! YOU’RE COSTING US THE PENNANT BY MAKING HIM HAVE A SPORTING EXPERIENCE! AUGH!”
Oh, Joshy B. Use your glove to catch the balls, man. Not your tummy.
Now, I used to keep myself entertained during the games with my iPhone, but I’m not allowed to do that anymore. At least, not since I almost got beaned by a foul ball while I was preoccupied by a video of a badger drinking Sprite. Then my husband said no more phone because there’s no way he wants to deal with me appearing on the local news with the headline: MIRACLE STORY: SUBURBAN WANKER GETS CONCUSSION AT BALL FIELD. SAVED BY THE 15 PEANUTS SHE HAD SHOVED IN HER MOUTH. Which I guess I can sort of understand.
Therefore, I have to keep myself occupied in the bleachers in other ways. Since my husband also won’t allow me to bring a book or a foot bath to the fields, I usually do one of the following for nine or more innings:
– Gossip about the PTO if I see one of my friends in the stands.
– Gossip about the HOA if I see one of my neighbors in the stands.
– Gossip about the FedEx woman if I see the UPS woman in the stands.
– Gossip about myself if nobody will sit by me because of all the gossiping I’m doing.
– March up to the snack stand and tell them I found a hair in my HubbaBubba and demand a full $.10 refund.
– Send texts to my husband in the dug-out that say things like, “Scouting report: Ethan C. has a good swing, but a weak bladder. Seriously, center field smells like a dog park.”
– See how long I can stare at a mom’s Tweety Bird ankle tattoo before its wings begin to flap.
– Yell things like, “Run to the end zone!” to impress the other fans with my charming and ironic sense of humor.
– Tell the toddlers who are scraping the aluminum benches with car keys that I’ll buy them beer if they stop it RIGHTHISSECONDDOYOUHEARME?
– Calculate how rapidly my eyes are wrinkling as I march toward death.
Obviously, all of those things make me very, very popular in the bleachers. So popular that maybe I’ll have to consider going to more games over the next few years. In fact, maybe I should even plan on going to games when I’m retired.
I really hope Rusty’s still playing then.
This is my first year as a bleachers mom. My kid is playing T-ball. I’m really excited about yelling out TOUCHDOWN whenever someone hits the ball.
And thanks for the warning. I was planning on spending the time on my phone or reading a book (not a sports fan here). Might have to wear a helmet, just in case.
At least Leo’s and Rusty’s folks are positive and happy while they make you deaf, and interfering with any chance of the kids being able to hear DIRECTIONS FROM THEIR COACHES.
The ones that gravitate toward me tend to start out with “The ref/umpire is blind/stupid/’on their side’.
To mix it up, they might add at eardrum bursting decibels that the mascot/cheerleaders/concession food are awful/hideous/stupid/induced diarrhea last time they attended.
Then they start to get derogatory. They occasionally elevate it to threats against other parents, children, officials etc.
I try to think about the poor kid that gets to live with them.
Props to you for even sitting in the bleachers! I was that mom who parked the car so I could see the game from the front seat.
I feel like I should come to Texas and sit in the bleachers with you. Think about all the gossip we could share about Rusty’s mom!
I think I should give this whole Texas mom thing a whirl. I’m really good at gossip and talk to myself all the time! See you at the next game 🙂 p.s. I might need to borrow a kid so I don’t get confused with Rusty’s crowd…
This post has given me a tad bit of anxiety considering that this will be me in a few short years. I think Leo’s mom would drive me to drink.
Ohh, Wendi. You complete me.
I’m the mom that sits there and wonders how all the loser kids got on our team.
Cause my daughter is obviously the best player out there and the team is just holding her back.
So basically I sit there in stunned silence.
I JUST finished putting my kids’ baseball/softball/soccer schedules in my Google calendar and am having major palpitations anticipating my own Bleacher Butt. I need to bookmark that badger drinking a Sprite video. I’ll swap you for the river otter playing with a poodle.
It’s my 5th year as a Bleacher Creature. I also serve the role in the summer/fall (football) and winter (basketball). In the words of the 80s rock gods Loverboy — the best Canadian import ever — “Lovin’ Every Minute of It”.
Just wait ’til it’s your turn to work the snack stand. Your appreciation of organized sports will plummet even further.
For gosh sakes and all that is holy, save your butt and go spend ten bucks on a bleacher seat. Your butt and your back will thank you, and if you plan ahead and buy your high school colors, you can use those puppies for the next 20 years.
And booze in the thermos is the only way to get through the rest, including the ijits (idiots).
My daughter is in hockey and watching those games literally sucks the life out of me. I only pay attention when she is out on the ice. The other parents drive me crazy. WHY are they yelling like that? Most of them have never even been on skates but they are yelling out millisecond by millisecond directions to their kid who is probably thinking “Shut the hell up.”
Nothing, but nothing, made me happier when both girls dropped out of softball. I made all the appropriate “are you SURE?” noises but inside I was popping the Korbel and ripping open the pretzel bag.
Then I realized bleacher sitting, which at least gave me a chance at a tan, would be replaced by Parking Lot Sitting as I wait for them to ever be released by their ballet instructor. Send me that badger/Sprite video, I’m so bored.
I am suddenly so happy I have 3 girls. God, I hope they don’t all play softball.
http://katehersch.blogspot.com/2012/01/shake-if-off-colton.html
Welcome to my world
“my husband said no more phone” and you actually listened to him? What is happening with you?
A very much lot of time.
You need a bladder full of Chardonnay. Besides the one in you already have in your body, that is.
Oh please can I come and sit by you in the bleachers. I’ll share my peanuts. And my phone.
To Kathie who parked the car so she could see the game from the front seat – right on, sista! All Spring and Fall Soccer practices in I attended for 10 years in Noirtheast Ohio were viewed from the comfort of my heated or air conditioned car! Love my kids, but I paid and drove, so I DESERVED to be comfortable, right?
I’ll have to check with my therapist…
And yeah, I made it to the sidelines for the games!
I say you bring some good head phones to drown out the screamer of Leo. Those parents annoy the bejesus out of me.
Ok, Wendi, listen up. I’ve got this one figured out. Assuming you got a new iPhone after you dropped yours in the loo, just listen to the comedy channel on Pandora. Hours of fun, my friend, and you can just tell your hubby you’re listening to a little background music while you watch the game. The headphones keep anyone from trying to talk to you and the occasional random chuckle keeps those nearby on their guard.
I grew up in a small town in Texas, meaning you had to participate in football one way or another or you were likely to be shot (maybe a slight exaggeration, but not by a lot). I was a pee-wee cheerleader for one year (jumping up and down while yelling is not nearly as fun as it looks). My mom was HATED by all the other cheer moms because she would bring books to the games and basically pretend she wasn’t there because she couldn’t give a damn about football. I didn’t know she was doing this when I was little, but now find it hilarious.
Am the only one who just thinks of that awesome grade school ‘book’ joke when anyone mentions the word bleachers?
You know the famous book “Under the Bleachers” by Seymour Butts.
Closely related to “Yellow River” by I.P Freely
Okay. Just me.
–>I love the EAVESDROPPING on other people’s conversations.
Here is a post dedicated to just a few “gems” I heard a few years ago.
http://www.websavvymom.com/2010/04/overheard-on-ball-field.html
deb
Oh, come on, Wendi, this time next year, you will be writing about being the Team Mom. You know you will. 🙂
Dude,
Every Texan has one of those soft, cushiony butt-warmer bench seats COME ONE WENDI.
And I would totally gossip with you.
While we buy my toddler beer.
Top 5 days of my life in no particular order:
1. My birth (duh)
2. My wedding (had to say it)
3. My son’s birth
4. My daughter’s birth
5. The day my son stopped playing little league after seven years.
The good news is that sometime in the future, you’ll have a GREAT day that won’t involve undue stress on anyone’s vagina. Probably.
I have this to say about that: I wake up every single morning and thank gawd I don’t live in Texas. Or anywhere close to the Mason-Dixon line. (And yes, I know Texas isn’t in the south.)
You do have a way of making it sound like it could be fun to visit. Especially when they’re teeing up the ball.
My husband coached for 13 years. That is a lotta years in the stand. For roughly a third of that time, my son pitched. The pressure of his pitching nearly gave me an ulcer. Listening to the endless patter from the parents in the stands drove me to drink. Two happy things happened for me, I discovered the joy of mojitos in a thermos and my son decided that he loved catching so much more than pitching. Baseball became a confluence of sunny days, delicious drink, and a rousing chant of “hey batter batter, swing!”
With softball and tball in full “swing” in our house, This just made my day. Actually makes me look forward to sitting in the bleachers and bring the experience to a whole other level. This year, note to self, bring foam cushion to sit on to minimize numb cheeks.
With softball and tball in full “swing” in our house, This just made my day. Actually makes me look forward to sitting in the bleachers and bring the experience to a whole other level. This year, note to self, bring foam cushion to sit on to minimize numb cheeks.
You’d be popular with me! I’d help you throw peanuts at Republicans and toddlers, no problem.
Atta girl! Run to the end zone!