---

This is tough to admit, but this summer, as I faithfully attend my son's weekly baseball games, it has taken all I can do to not become mentally unglued and morph into one of those ranting and raving, spittle-spewing Sports Dads that are universally reviled.

I think it's safe to say that we'd just as soon not know these dads on a personal level. I mean, if they get that worked up over a baseball or soccer game played by 3rd and 4th grade children, would they behave the same way in other areas of their lives? Or worse?

I'm happy to report that I haven't crossed that line. So far, I've managed to keep negative comments to myself and have yet to say anything out loud that would irrevocably cause shame and embarrassment to me, or my son.

But what if my mind tricks me one day and I do in fact verbalize what I'm thinking? What if my brain momentarily lapses and I my keep-it-to-yourself words and out loud words get mixed up?

Oh boy, I hope that day never arrives. "Hey kid, pick up the ball with your bare hand! When the ball is dead on the ground, pick it up with your bare hand, not your mitt! See that big leather thing on your left hand? Don't use it to pick up the ball. Could somebody just kill me now? Please, that'd be great. Thanks so much."

You get the picture. I've said stuff like that over and over in my mind, but I wouldn't dare say it out loud, particularly when the kid flubbing a play isn't my kid. By the way, if there are any baseball or softball dads or moms out there reading this who deny feeling what I feel well I'm sorry, but I simply don't believe you. At the games you might appear to be virtuous and cool as a cucumber on the outside, but inside you're just as nuts as I am. Who are you trying to kid? Save that righteousness for Sunday. Today is Tuesday and on Tuesday we play baseball.

The following is an actual keep-it-to-yourself rant that almost leaked out of my mouth one night at a game. Thankfully I caught it in time. "Uh-oh, the batter absolutely scalded the ball into the gap between third and short. Where's the leftfielder? Oh, for the love of God and everything that is good in this world, get the ball! Don't try to dig the ball out of the tall grass with your glove! Aaargh! What have I been trying to telepathically teach you kids for the last month about picking up baseballs that are just lying there on the ground? Hit the cut-off! Where's the shortstop? Short, you're the relay man! Oh no, the runner just rounded third. It's another base-emptying single... what's the score now, 27-4? My left arm is starting to go numb. Does anybody have a small paper sack I can breathe into? Medic!"

There is something that keeps my lunatic rants locked safely inside my head and prevents me (so far anyway) from spewing them out loud, and that is the fact that my boy is only 10 years old. Every once in a while it's a good idea, as parents, to remind ourselves that our kids are in fact just that - kids. Our kids are out there to please us and have fun and learn a thing or two along the way. We've somehow evolved (devolved would be putting it more accurately) into believing our budding athletes need to be pushed beyond their capabilities. Young psyches are pretty fragile, so we'd better handle them with care.

Why is it that some parents get so emotionally caught up in youth league sports? My reasoning is that we're simply wired that way and there's no point in denying it. It's human nature and human nature is hard to overcome, but it's certainly not impossible. The trick is to demonstrate to yourself and others (but most importantly, to your kid) that you're calm and supportive and not a stark raving basket case. Sometimes it's tough, there's no doubt about it. I want my boy to succeed and play as well as he can possibly play, but at the same time, I am tempering those feelings with real world expectations and unfailing support. If my kid flubs a play, I sure wouldn't want some other parent to verbally tee off on him. If that happened, there's a good chance I'd wind up on the TV show, 'America's Most Wanted.' I can hear the host, John Walsh, now, "If you see this man, do not approach him or talk to him about baseball. Call the authorities right away. The suspect is an out-of-shape 45-year-old male with a slight limp due to a bad hammy and pinched sciatic nerve..."

Okay, back to the game. It's the bottom of the sixth inning and our team might actually pull out a win tonight. What did I just see? Oh lordy, tell me I didn't see what I just saw! He was safe! He was safe! "Hey Ump, what game are you watching? The runner beat the throw by a mile! What's that? Oh, I see. Well, you should've told us you live in an alternate, backward world and call games using an entirely different set of baseball rules. In that case, great call, you're a genius!"

See what I mean? Thank goodness most of us are able to keep our comments to ourselves. If you're one of those parents that can't, well, try to go easy on my kid. Like all the kids out there, he's doing the best he can.

If you have comments for Dan or story ideas contact him at e-mail [email protected].

---