I kept the official score book for Landen's game the other night. I can watch a little league game and even notate each turn of event, but not without careful, quiet, concentration. Realizing my challenge, I asked James to keep the girls at home since it was a late game. My plan fell apart as three chatty women joined me in the press box. They embraced the duty of operating the electronic score board in a collaborative, conversational style. As we all sat together peering down at the game, I tried to find a delicate balance between focus and friendliness; between duty and discourtesy. While keeping my eyes on the game, I would politely smile and nod as they shared stories about people and places I knew not. Occasionally I would be obliged to interject a dull "wow" or force a chuckle to maintain both my attention to the game's details and my frail reputation as a nice person.
At one point I thought to myself, "Relax! It's little league. It's not that hard...Philip could keep the Ranger score book on a stationary bike while flossing!" Then I would argue with myself (yes, it's sad, really) I would argue with myself, "Don't let your guard down! Was that a strike? Ha! You really couldn't say for sure, could you? Look Alive, Cari....this could be the game where the coaches begin to argue over the last play on third and you'll have to march down onto the field to provide "the official record"....Is that the second out?" "Stop arguing and pay attention!"
And wouldn't you know it. In the last inning the gaggle o' geese, pardon me, group of ladies, did not properly indicate one of the runs. Below us, the mom of the phantom runner left the stands to protest the scoreboard with the officials. Meanwhile, with unconvincing confidence and sketchy proof, I urged the women to increase our team's score by one. They were dawdling....and discussing! And in all my reputing and reviewing....and all their recapping and recounting...the umpire turned toward the press box and gave the dreaded nonverbal summons! For the love of all things reasonable!
With elevated blood pressure, I descended the staircase. By the time I made it to the field, the two teams were coming out from their respective dugouts to cross the diamond. I had anticipated bench-clearing frenzy, but what I found was peaceful, sportsmanlike handshakes as the game had come to an end. Each open-palmed fella slid his hand across the opposing 15 open-palmed fellas. Then everyone went home. The game was over. Apparently the run had been real, not imagined...just like my book was about to prove...but no one cared anymore. Apparently the mother of the runner in question had achieved far greater success persuading both coaches and the umps than I had with "Jan" and "Barb" and "Suzie-stinkin'-Q".
Wow. A babysitter and a headache for THIS! I've prayed to see if there be any spiritual truth from my perceived fiasco. I got nothin'. My spirit is weak and my flesh is high-strung. That's the bottom line. May the Lord keep workin' on me. Oh, and, congratulations to Landen. Go Cubs! I'm not really feelin' the calling to long-term score-keeping. I feel led to bring drinks! Yeah, beverages....that's my gifting!
