"We come from a long line of over-reactors." I love that line from
Father of the Bride, as George Banks (played by Steve Martin) is trying to explain the irrational behavior of his side of the family and of his soon-to-be married daughter to his soon-to-be son-in-law. I absolutely identify with my own personal history of irrational behavior, and I completely relate to his explanation of that over-reacting side of a family.
I am a nuclear-reactor. I am even reading a book at this moment entitled
A New Guide to Rational Living. The authors,
Drs. Albert Ellis and Robert A. Harper, suggest that we reason or think ourselves out of emotional outbursts and neurotic behavior. They recommend using words such as unfortunate, disappointed and irritated instead of my personal favorites - horrible, awful and terrible! They also propose that we
deprogandize our stories or situations. I am really trying to practice logic and reason as a means of finding balance in situations and circumstances, but as a storyteller, propaganda is life! The more emotional the story, the better the plot! The more neurotic the behavior, the more memorable the characters!
No where is that more clearly illustrated than little league baseball! I am now at the point in my life where I can be truly embarrassed for my children and how I behaved when they played team sports. No one could convince me otherwise at the time. Only now, when I look at those videos and hear my loud mouth above everyone else, am I thoroughly convinced that George Banks doesn't hold a candle to me. All I have to do is look up the thesaurus synonyms for irrational, and I totally belong somewhere in the word group. Total Chernobyl!
Of course, my softball daughters and my baseball son pretty much knew what to expect from me. They were familiar with my multiple personalities on the
ball field - from supportive mother to little league terrorist. Somehow, they continued to love me in spite of my behavior - stories which are still told in little league and family circles twenty years later.
TODAY'S BIG STORY: There is nothing like a big sports story, and today was one of the biggest. We played a team for the district championship, and the weight of the win rested squarely on Matt's shoulders. He was the last batter, and he did not swing at pitch that was clearly a dirt ball. We lost the game by one run. Of course, they had home field advantage and the umpire advantage as they were all clearly cheaters! I was so mad and furious that I did not recognize myself. But what hurt me worse than the loss was when I saw my own young daughter behaving just like me - screaming at the umpire and the opposing team. The only person that really mattered or needed our support was Matt; but, sometimes the sensational headline-making story becomes more important than one very important person at the center of it all.
ONE BAD CALL
Only one decision could have changed the way
everything turned out that day.
It was the Championship Game on Field # 3;
the final inning, and the win up to me.
We had one last chance,
and I was up to bat.
I am eight-years-old, and my name is Matt.
First pitch – STRIKE ONE!
I swung and missed.
Second pitch – STRIKE TWO.
I fouled to first.
Third pitch – low ball in the dirt.
STRIKE THREE! YOU’RE OUT!
I threw my bat on the ground!
I took off my helmet and threw it down!
I lifted my head and looked all around.
Hey! No way! This is not fair!
And then – right then –
one word boomed out into the air!
CHEEEEETAHHHHS!
Not one thing in that ballpark was the way it use to be!
Suddenly, I didn’t recognize anyone looking at me!
Nothing was the way I remembered it at all –
everything had changed with that one bad call!
My mom had stretched her scaly neck over the fence,
and smoke was coming out her ears.
She was a fire-breathing dragon
with piggy-nostrils all flared and red eyes filled with tears.
Dad, my assistant coach, had turned into a ferocious grizzly bear,
pacing back and forth in front of the caged den of cubs,
where there used to be a dugout filled with fourteen subs.
Dad was growling and howling and beating his hairy chest!
I didn’t know what to do!
Then I looked at our scorekeeper,
who was a big green cockatoo!
I heard her shriek with a voice like a bird,
over and over again, the same four words!
“Bad Call! Bad Call!
Dirt Ball! Dirt Ball!
Bad Call! Bad Call!
Dirt Ball! Dirt Ball!”
Our fans thundered like a herd of stomping wildebeest,
and the other team’s fans were heckling hyenas,
or that's what I saw, at least!
Inside the other dugout were monkeys swinging in a cage,
screaming and scratching and pointing in rage!
Then, out on the field stood two coaches – Oh no! What next?
My favorite little league coach was a tyrannosaurus rex!
He pounded toward the umpire who made the bad call.
He never said a word, but his look said it all.
The other team’s coach was a bouncing kangaroo.
His son, the pitcher, was sitting in his pouch,
jumping up and down like kangaroos do.
I turned around behind me and looked the umpire in the eye.
He took off his head gear, and I let out a sigh.
He was still human,
and fortunately, so was I.
He started it all with one bad call,
and I knew there was just one thing I could do.
Next year, I would hit that ball long and hard
(I might even go yard!)
on strike number two!
Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 1993.
It's so funny how irrational behavior works. Years later, my face still turns red when I think about that day. I still feel the embarrassment over the rants and tantrums of that raving lunatic like the game happened yesterday. I can't remember details, but I can physically feel the emotion. How absolutely incredible is that? In the book A New Guide to Rational Living, a first century philosopher Epictetus is quoted as saying, "Men feel disturbed not by things, but by the views they take of them." Also quoted is William Shakespeare in Hamlet, "There exists nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so."
Everybody gets one bad call, sometimes one per day. Just remember, we all come from a long line of humans.
Dianne ; )
