Father’s Day, Revisited

This was the highlight of the day.

There hasn’t been a lot to report regarding my first Father’s Day. It sucked. I hate travel team baseball. You’ve heard it all before. This time there wasn’t even an Eric Cartman look-alike to stalk.

Nerves were frayed and tempers were short. Mostly, because we were looking at the schedule. Every stinking day since last Saturday had a kid baseball activity that required our presence. Last night was a pointless double header against far superior teams. We got home at ten. And it ain’t over. We go to a stupid tournament in Hendersonville tomorrow. And Saturday. And, if Satan is real, Sunday. Put another way, we will have had baseball practice or games for one or both boys every night for like ten days straight.

There’s a week-long tournament coming up in Knoxville that they are referring to as The World Series. Evidently, anytime you can force parents to take off work, spend a thousand damn dollars (if you are lucky) on food, gas and lodging so kids can loll around in the heat pretending to play the most boring game in the world, you get to call it a dumbass name, like, The World Series.

This is a family blog, so the swearing must be kept to a minimum. Short of that, I find myself plotting the murder of the kid’s baseball coach. Murder most foul. Lately, I find myself fantasizing about throwing him down an abandoned well, chained to an engine block. As he watches his life ebb slowly away and he spirals into a depression of how, if he had the chance, he would live a better life. He would begin to have an inkling of what a bitter, nihilistic hell it is sitting through the baseball games he coaches. And I use the term “coach” loosely.

With any luck, the field will get hit by meteors and the tournament canceled. That way I don’t have to worry about getting caught secretly rooting for the other team come elimination play. I may get religion if the other parents miraculously grow a set of testicles and voice their opposition to this idiotic trip. Aren’t there some local teams we can lose to?

I’m going to start a parent’s revolt.

Would You Like Fries With That?

The other night, we were watching the Biggest Nerd In America Contest National Spelling Bee. Which brings up an interesting point about all the Canadians who were in OUR National Spelling Bee. Seal our Borders!! The damn Canadians are sneaking across the border and taking spelling bee jobs that should go to American geeks. Can we start calling them “icebacks”? Why won’t the government do something?

I apologize. That what just gratuitous.

As the competition wound down to a merciful end, I couldn’t help but remark that the “winner” seemed a little more awkward that the other kids involved.

“I think that kid might have Asperger’s.”

The 9 year old immediately perked up from his spelling bee induced torpor.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, he might have Asperger’s Syndrome.”

“You just said Ass Burgers. Is it ok to say Ass Burgers, now?”

“Asperger’s is a disease like autism.”

“I don’t care about that. All I know is I get to say Ass Burgers.”

It would have been the acme of foolishness to fight the unstoppable giggling now going on. In fact, if you can’t beat them, join them.

Sometime this week, we are going to have Ass Burgers.