Finding “Middle Guy”

When I was 16, I was nearly punched out over a controversial call at a U10 softball game.

I was umpiring the game behind the plate, together with a much more experienced, older umpire out in the field, Ed. Late in the game, the batter hit a short fly ball, so I ran out to the pitcher’s mound to watch the runners while Ed ran to the outfield to judge the catch. The ball hit the ground; the runner on third ran home. I turned around to watch her come home, and noticed that she didn’t actually touch the plate.

And so I did what I was supposed to do: no call. If the other team realizes what happened and gets the ball to the plate before the next pitch, the runner is out. If they fail to notice before the next pitch, it’s a run. The other team’s coach noticed, and hollered at the pitcher to run home and tag the base. I called the runner out.

Two people sprinted toward me at once: the batting team’s head coach, and Ed. The coach had a fire in his eyes that was honestly quite terrifying, and he shouted his demand for an explanation. I said that the runner didn’t touch the plate and he swore, which was an automatic ejection in that league, so I tossed him.

Ed immediately stepped between us, as he saw before I did that the head coach’s fist was drawing back. Another coach ran up to stop the head coach, who spun and left the field.

Let me reiterate: under-10 softball. I was very lucky that it was a playoff game, because they always assigned two umpires to those instead of just the one—otherwise there wouldn’t have been anybody there to physically step in between us.

Before my wife died, it was often handy to be a part of a two-part umpiring—er, parenting—team. Sometimes it’s helpful to have somebody else there to step into the situation, whether to provide an outside perspective or to play a little good cop, bad cop. Now that I’m a one-umpire team, that extra body has to come from within.

Case in point: recently The Kid was rude in a way that’s absolutely normal for a five-year-old who’s having a rough day, but he was rude in a way that Really. Pushes. My. Buttons. Initial impulse: grounded for a week! No screen time for a month! (To be clear, I’m not that head coach and violence is never, ever on the table—but removing Netflix from the five-year-old’s schedule is, in his mind, an egregiously harsh blow.)

In the two-umpire system, this the moment when umpire #2 steps in. Calling the kid over for a quiet conversation, subtly giving the other parent the time to take a few deep breaths and regain perspective: losing screen time for a month wouldn’t make anything better (and, frankly, would make my own life just a teensy bit harder). As a solo umpire, though, I’m the only adult in the room who can take a step back and a few deep breaths. “I’m going to decide on your consequence later,” I ended up telling him. “I’m too mad to be fair right now.” A little while later, I came up with a consequence that was proportional and constructive: he had to draw a picture of what happened that was rude, and what he’s going to do differently next time he feels like doing that, and once that was done he got his screen time back.

So there’s Middle Guy: the voice of reason that helps me find the middle ground when I’m too grouchy, too reactive or too close to a situation. And now that I’ve written this, I’m doomed to forever picture that inner voice in Ed’s blue polyester umpire’s shirt and black ball cap, a mental image both ridiculous and comforting.

Next week: Out for a drive.