JW You're right, I am ashamed. Through the years I've seen many morons, far too many to mention. Most of them say the same stupid things. But I still don't know the point of this guy's rant. Unrefutable proof that everyone can not be above average intelligence.

Last week. Game ending play. Batter hits ground ball to F4. Runner from first runs over second baseman as he is attempting to field the ball. I immediately call dead ball, runner is out. Every time I have made this call, some idiot parent says "He's in the base path". Do we need to conduct rules clinic for parents at the beginning of each season? Incredible.

Not enough time. We have to play ball some time. this clinic would take up the entire year, including time not allocated as "the season."

I don't think we should do clinics for the parents...this is fantasic banter material!

Your name is....?
 

Game is a rout. As losers take last licks, R1, running unwisely, interferes with F3, who is attempting to field a pop-up. It's a 100 percenter; couldn't NOT call it. It's the penultimate out in the game.

Losing skip has a cow and lets loose with a volley of invective right in my puss, forcing me to run him. Again, couldn't NOT do it.

I head up to press box/changing room after game. It's on a second level, with an outside staircase. I can hear parents grumbling outside, so I hang inside for a while, trying to use discretion, which I admit is a dictum I do not always follow.

Finally, I hear one woman's frantic voice, screaming, "I want to see that umpire!" Too juicy for me, so I take the bait. I stand on the second floor landing, in mufti.

"Are you the umpire who called my Jason out?" she keens.

It didn't take Conan Doyle acumen to figure who "her Jason" might have been. I smiled as hugely as I could. "That would be me," I say sweetly.

She lets loose with a few blasts concerning my eyesight, ethics, parentage and other obvious flaws in my worldview. My smile never wanes. She then rummages in her copious, TrashMart purse for a pen and paper. "I want your name, so I can report you to the league."

"No problem, " I say. "Palermo. Steve Palermo. P-A-L-E-R-M-O." Which she scribbles down.

Couldn't NOT do it.

Ace

now that's good stuff right there.

Probably mentioned it before, but my partner and I once answered that proverbial question by patiently spelling out our names for the nice, sweet lady: Harry W-E-N-D-E-L-S-T-E-D-T and Bruce F-R-O-E-M-M-I-N-G.

Hey, maybe it was the same lady! (or a close relative :))

A dad wanted my name so he could complain about my lousy strike zone to my "boss." My UIC was my partner so, I said wait a second-you can talk to him in person. Hey _______ this gentleman wants to tell you how much my "umping" sucks!

Amazingly, the dad just walked away.

Joe in Missouri

Heard this weekend from a dad when the catcher stepped behind the right-handed batter in the box trying a snap throw to third base:

"Just hit the batter in the head if he doesn't get out of the way! That way he'll be called out for interference!"

He must have played AAA

About 17 years ago, I was working the bases on a Little League game. A couple of kids from a team that wasn't playing were in the bleachers, cheering for their friends on what a certain mom felt was the opposite team of the bleachers they were sitting it.

Between innings as I'm standing around she tells me she wants me to move the kids to the "correct" side. I politely explained to her that as long as they weren't being profane or doing anything other than cheering they can sit where they like.

Apparently she didn't like that response because when she got back to her seat, she proceeded to pour her entire cup of soda on top of the kids heads.

I looked her, she looked at me and I gave her the heave-ho. Giving me a look of disbelief I told her that I don't put up with that behavior from anybody in my ball park, ESPECIALLY an adult.

Here's the kicker, I was barely 16 at the time and she called the cops on ME and the kids. When the officer showed up, he wasn't really interested in talking to me and I tried to explain what had happened but he told me to keep moving.

Sixteen years old is a good time to learn that you never talk to a fan unless (under extraordinary circumstances) you need to eject him. I try to never even make eye contact with a fan.

Joe In Missouri

That's a very sound practice.

No eye Contact
 

Great point! I have learned as well that if you give some of them a glimpse, a smile or some type of the slightest bit of a conversation, they will start to work on you and know they have a listening ear. Some just want to be friendly and nice but you don't know which ones will blow up on the first close call etc. etc. I try to polite and respectful to everyone without displaying a chip on my shoulder. I do need to smile more though. :)

You're obviously there primarily to perform a service as an impartial third-party judge and supervisor of players. You perform that function so that the game's players have safe, fair contests. Only you and the players are necessary. Coaches are significantly less necessary and the spectators are insignificant. The spectators should almost never be acknowledged.