Paging Morris Buttermaker

I mentioned in my last post that we'd signed Samson up for tee ball and that it would be starting soon. Apparently it starts tomorrow night. The league coordinator is not, um, coordinated about schedules and stuff like that.

Also, apparently, I am the coach. [Where's Walter Matthau when you need him?] It started innocently enough: We got an e-mail from the league coordinator with a roster and a note that said the team needed some parents to help out and be "assistant" coaches. Sure, I thought. Why not?

Now I never played tee ball as a kid [see: parents; see also: sports agnostics], but I love playing ball outside with Samson. And while I can't take any credit for his good hand-eye coordination and solid swing, there is almost nothing I'd rather do than be part of his tee ball experience. So I e-mailed the league guy to say I'd be happy to help and was told to show up last Thursday night for "coaches clinic" at 6:30 pm.

I came right from work and arrived about 15 minutes early. So I headed into the elementary school gym, which the school custodian kindly told me was where the meeting would be. So far so good.

Finding myself alone and with some time to kill [an occurrence almost as rare as Halley's Comet], I figured I'd take a seat and get some reading done. Since I'm no longer in school, I've been trying to challenge myself with books I should have read by now and was some 600 pages into Ulysses and struggling to finish before it was due back to the library. By the time I realized no one had shown up, it was 6:40. So now, I was not only late, but I was lost.

The meeting was in full swing --- outside --- when I arrived, still in my suit and with a copy of Ulysses with me. Nothing like starting off on the right foot.

I'm guessing the first order of business was picking team colors, because by the time I got there, all that was left was lime green or brown. And I'll be honest, I went for the brown first. One of the head guys there said: "You're really going for brown?" To which I replied, "Sure, why not?"

His answer: "In all the years I've been doing this, no one has ever picked brown."

So we'll be wearing lime green. And black hats. Which, to be honest, is fine. I'm sure the kids won't care, and we'll know where each of them is at all times.

It's a good thing I did show, late or not, because I was the only one from our team there, hence my rapid promotion from guy willing to help to guy with equipment bag full of balls, bases, hats, shirts, and a brand-new tee that smells like the plumbing section of Home Depot. [Seriously, what kind of rubber do they use for those things?]

Samson and I got out today and practiced a bit with the tee (a perq of being the coach's kid). And although the bat is a little heavy for him, I think he'll be just fine. Half the kids on the team are friends of his, which is nice because it means I can enlist lots of help from the parents who are there. I think this is going to be good.

Stay tuned...