Just Outside The Strike Zone

Saturday, 5 December 2009

He built up a hunger refereeing a high school basketball game. He turned his Datsun into the parking lot of a McDonald’s, handed us cash and instructed us to order a fish sandwich, large French fry and chocolate shake, and to order whatever we wanted for ourselves. He wrapped his hand on the thigh of the teenage boy in the passenger seat next to him and said, “Make sure. Fish sandwich, extra tartar sauce.”

He was a master of psychology and of his hearing-impaired world, accomplished despite his handicap. For fourteen years he attended speech therapy at a small state school. He was obstinate and refused to wear hearing aids. He was an expert at reading lips. He was ambitious and religiously participated in some of the best training camps for umpiring and refereeing, directed by the likes of Dutch Rennert and Darrell Garretson.

He liked us young guys and we were privy to this truth. He took us to free ballgames and introduced us to our favorite players. We all had multiple jerseys and autographs from these excursions.

We partied as his place: played poker, drank sodas. He might have a Tom Collins now and then, but he was health-conscious and didn’t drink much alcohol; and because we were 13 or 14 he never served us any.

He liked to adjust the heat in the house up high and tell us that if we would take off our pants it would be much cooler.

The phrase instantaneously became our favorite, humorous refrain: “Take off pants. Much cooler.” Obeying the common sense in the statement, we would.

He distributed editions of Penthouse and Playboy magazines. He didn’t mind that we liked girls even if he preferred boys. One by one he lifted the magazine from our lap to peruse the cover. His eyes would shift from the magazine to our fibrous Fruit of the Loom-covered penises.

Only slightly uncomfortable, we would clamor and jokingly accuse him of being gay. It was 1980.

His promising umpiring and refereeing career essentially ended when a judge put him on probation and disallowed him further contact with anyone under the age of 18. Luckily he eluded jail time. His misdemeanor was for masturbating into a brown, paper bag in the presence of a minor. He was always obsessive about cleanliness.

He got into trouble with the law like we thought he might. And it was too bad. Even as young boys we understood he meant no harm and though we sometimes made fun of him, we were certainly not afraid of him.

You could even say he was a mentor to us boys, enlightening us with experiences and lessons we might have not otherwise enjoyed.

No doubt we missed the free ballgames and jerseys.