I first started a blog on my old MySpace account (remember MySpace?) and I had a few that were worth bringing forward to this blog, so here goes. This is from March 26, 2006. Enjoy, or not.
I was cleaning out my office the other day when my wife walked into the room with a bothered look on her face. This usually means that one of the children has lodged a something in an orifice that they cannot dislodge or that we are out of Miracle Whip. (Dear God, please don't let it be the Miracle Whip.!) On this day however she proceeded to tell me that our neighbor boy was in our back yard adjusting a protective cup in front of our girls. My initial reaction, as it often is, was to think of ways to adjust him so he would no longer need the protective cup because he was doing that in front of my girls; however after careful consideration of facts such as our neighbor boy is young and not meaning anything harmful by his actions and that it is not nearly worth the effort to run the boy down, I decided to let this infraction slide by. The next day, when I was talking to our neighbor, the mother of the boy, she told me about the situation and the discussion they had to have with their son about adjusting the protection plan in front of the girls. She also told me that apparently the local little league has just begun to issue protective cups to all the boys who play summer baseball. Apparently the protection was handed out at the first practice and the first "drill" was to have the boys put them on, run around and get used to wearing them.
The sights and sounds of that practice had to be something like this:
(Coach calls the boys around him over by the home team on deck circle.)
Coach: OK boys, settle down. I have something that I need to hand out to all of you. Now everyone gets one, so don't knock each other over trying to get to these like you did with the ice cream sandwiches. I still have a blood stain from Kevin's nose on my favorite "Git R Done" t-shirt. My wife has washed it 3 times and it will never be same, so let's try to be a little more civil with this one. Before I pass them out, I need to explain a little about this piece.., (Coach snickers).., er, piece of equipment. You see boys this is a very special thing that will protect some very special things. Well boys there's no use beating around the .., uh.., I'll get right to the point. The county little league commission felt that everyone who plays Little League this year has to wear one of these. (Pulls out protective cup like he is David Blaine).
(Kids gasp at the sight until a little boy in the middle of the ball-capped mass raises his hand)
Coach: Yes Kevin.
Kevin: Why do we have to wear a plastic turtle shell when we play? I thought we were the Devil Rays this year.
Coach: Kevin, we are the Devil Rays and it's not a plastic turtle shell. It's a protective cup.
(Kevin raises his hand again.)
Coach (with resigned frustration): Yes, Kevin.
Kevin: Coach, why do we need that special kind of cup when we have the ones that say "Shoney's on them? Besides, that one had holes in it. Won't the Gatorade run out?
Coach: Kevin, it's not that kind of cup. It is for protection, not drinking. This goes down your pants and fits in the front part of your underwear. (Pause as boys giggle) Do you see. It protects.., you. It will keep you from getting too hurt if a ball pops up and hit's you between the legs.
(Giggling subsides as boys and men alike cringe in imaginary pain)
(Hands automatically raise everywhere)
Coach: OK boys. One at a time, yes Tim. (Passes box around for boys to get cup)
Tim: So your saying that when we put these on we won't be able to feel when we get hit in the wee-wee?
Coach: That's right you won't feel it regardless of whether you get hit in the wee-wee or the paw-paws. You should be OK. That's the point.
(Kids begin squirming and standing, soon yelling ensues)
Various kids screaming:
(As one kicks the other in the crotch) Hey it is true! I hardly felt that! Let me try! (Kicks the other kid) Wow! I'm never taking this off! I can go into my big sister's room anytime I want now!
(As one kid chases Kevin with a bat) Come on Kevin stay still. You heard them say it's not gonna hurt. Let me hit you in the crotch with the bat. Quite running you big sissy.
(Coach stand waving his arms and yelling.)Coach: Boys! Boys! Sit down! Calm down! Boys quite throwing baseballs at your crotches. Here, give me all the baseballs. OH!! (Coach doubles over in pain) (In high pitched voice) Boys, they don't make the coaches wear them, so please don't throw things at Coaches' crotch. (Coach clears throat and stands up. Looks over the still squirming boys and motions to the one bowlegged boy still standing up.)
Coach: Hey Dale, can you help Jimmy get that cup turned around. I think he has it on upside down.
Jimmy: Coach how do you know it is on upside down?
Coach: Well Jimmy, you look like you just got off Secretariat. That's how.
I'm guessing the first "drill" went something like that. Listen, I played baseball and I was a boy. I guess I missed the Johns Hopkins study on baseball injuries to the "pawpaw" region. It's not that I had a problem with this, but I felt I had to pretend that I didn't even know where my "pawpaw" region was until my honeymoon night. I cannot imagine as a Little Leaguer having to deal with such pressure. I mean isn't it enough to carry your father's hopes of success, fame and fortune on your 8 year old shoulders. Now to put on top of that the pressure to measure, manipulate and execute the use of the protective cup properly? It is almost too much to handle. Oh well, at least we're not women. Can you imagine a coach trying to explain those issues? I know. It makes my head hurt as well.
