The Umpire's Wife

I know what you are thinking--

today is Halloween and this is a costume

of a scary man.

Sorry.  No.

This is my husband.

He may be scary and mean to some--

like the boys standing with a bat at home plate.

But this isn't a Halloween costume.

You see, I married an umpire.

He wasn't always an umpire.

He was a coach for quite a while.

That was nice.  I knew the players on the team and cheered them on. 

I sat alone, however, as I really didn't care to 

hear the backseat coaches (parents)

 murmur their criticisms.

But then he became an umpire.

The least loved person on the baseball diamond.

No matter which decision he makes,

half the people playing or watching the game disagree.

And are unhappy.

 He shared that he likes me to come to his games.

Probably because he wants someone on his side.

So I go.  Sometimes.

Once again I try to sit alone.  Out of earshot.

I don't know the teams.

I don't know the players.

I don't know anyone but the umpire.

I watch him and this is the view I get.

 Or this one.

He enjoys his time on the field and I like seeing that.

And I've never heard anyone call out, "Kill the umpire!"

Not even close.  They are nice crowds, for the most part.

But there are subtle ways that civilized people 

can get their point across.

This sign pointed to a row of parking.

All the umps were there, talking and strapping on equipment.

 

Then I noticed another sign, posted on the fence

exactly where the umpires were told to park.

Maybe not quite so subtle.
"Strike three!  Yer OUT!"

Said umpire just read this blog and requested that I include a little poem he learned somewhere.
It helps define the tough skin needed to do this job:

An umpire is a lonely man.
His calls are known by every fan.
No one calls him Henry or Sam,
They simply call him names.