The local Little League season, that is.
Now, I knew when I bought my house late last summer that there was a park with a little league playing field right next door. I mean, duh, it's kind of hard to miss.
What I did not know was that the Little League games would start up in April and not end until, oh, ....... LAST SATURDAY.
Jeezus f*cking CHRIST I got sick of coming home from work every night and hearing over-testosteroned dad-coaches SCREAM at the little kids on the teams. I mean, yelling so loudly (GO BACK TO FIRST!! GO BACK TO FIRRRRRRSSSTTTTTT!!!!) that I would flinch, out in my back-backyard. I can only imagine how loud it was on the field itself.
I hope those dudes are prepared to pay the psychiatrist bills in twenty years or so, is all I'm saying. Why a grown man would think it's okay to scream at a little kid is .... well, it's beyond me.
And this would be every weeknight, from five-fifteen until seven-thirty or so, and often all day on Saturdays. It got a little ..... tiring.
Admirably, there was very little cussing, although there was one memorable night when a dad-coach lost his shit, and the F-bomb flew fast and furious for several minutes as the stands went silent and younger siblings of the players started to cry.
Ah, youth sports.
The best part of the season, for me, happened last Saturday, during the marathon, ten-hour season-ending extravaganza of games. One of the coaches was out in the practice field (adjacent to my backyard) losing his shit and screaming at one of the kids, when evidently a large bug of some sort flew into his wide-open mouth, because what I heard was something like this:
TODDDDDDDD! CATCH THE BALL!!! CATCH THE BA-*hack hack hack HAAAAAACKKKKK HAAACCCCCCCCKKKKK* *cough* *choke* HAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKKK *gasp*
Yeah, that was pretty sweet.
Next up: Soccer. Oh, and this morning the dozers were back in the undeveloped part of the park they started to level out for new fields last year, so I'm thinking it was a good thing I dug up all those plants. The Good Samaritan, that's me.