[greymule]

Last summer I agreed to do a game in a tournament sponsored by a local minor league team. The entries were ostensibly from "city" environments, and the players were up to 16 years old. We were to play under Fed rules. I'd say the overall level was like good high school Junior Varsity.

When I arrived at the complex, the director told me to go do the plate on field number whatever. Then an ump I had worked with in school ball said, out of the side of his mouth, "You'll love working with Letterlaw. He overofficiates like crazy."

Sure enough. Eddie called time on the first batter and came in to inspect the bat. (It was legal.) At the end of the first half-inning, he came in and told me that a batter had stepped out of the box and I didn't bang a strike on him. Throughout the game, he chastised me between innings for not calling those strikes. I said, "As long as the game keeps moving, Eddie, I'm not going to worry about it." That afternoon, Eddie called six balks on one pitcher for failing to come to a complete stop.

In the sixth, R1, a rather heavy kid, was on second with two outs. B2, another husky boy, got a base on balls. As B2 literally walked to 1B and R1 stood with both feet on 2B looking out to right field, the offensive coach began to walk out to the mound and asked for time. So I said, "Time out!"

"No time!" screamed Eddie. Everybody in the park (including me) looked at him wondering what was going on. Two seconds later, B1 stepped on first. "Now time," announced Eddie.

On the one hand, Eddie was right on every particular. On the other hand . . .