Wednesday, May 03, 2006
How I came to hate them...
Ok, I think I should warn ya'll:
In this post, I can pretty much guarantee excessive use of the word "fuck" and "bitch." If either of those words are particularly offensive to you (if you are a long time reader of LOC, you should be completely immune), then you may want to skip this post all together.

Last night my girls had a softball game. We were playing the team that is pretty much as good as we are and so it's a total toss up as to who will win. (Unlike the Super Softball girls who kicked our asses, hard, when we play them 21-0 last Saturday.)
Ok, but I am getting ahead of myself.

I need to tell you about how I came to hate the other parents on the softball team.
I never really buddied up with any of them in the first place because I have the huge red SM on my forehead (Single Mom) and these married types don't dig me so much. Which doesn't bug me so much since I've known I was basically an outcast since Amanda started kindergarten back in '02.
And I knew I was the only Single Mom on the team when they handed out the phone number list. Every line read like this:
Little Girl - Mom - Dad
Except Amanda and Emilee's lines which read:
Amanda - Kate - LastName
Which kind of cracked me up that they felt they had to have two names there regardless.
Anyway, none of these moms ever talked to me unless they had to and when they did it was very condescending so I decided it was better for both them and I that we didn't try to socialize too much.
Besides, I am there for my girls, not to make friends.
So, I basically kept my distance and was pleasant.
Then, last week, we had a game against the team that we are the most equally matched to. It was a good game. And we were winning by like one point.
Now, let me lay out the basics here for you. When we play, it is for six innings or an hour and a half. BUT, if we are in the fourth inning at an hour and a half and no one needs the field after us, then the coaches for both teams can let the game play out. It is up to the coaches.
This happened at that game.
We are one point up at the top of the sixth and it's been an hour and a half.
(I sounded like I totally knew baseball there huh?)
A buzz starts up amongst the Front Row moms. The Front Row moms are: The Coach's Wife, Assistant Coach's Wife, Team Mom and The Flaming Bitch From Hell.
Well, they wanted to call time because we were winning.
We had just batted and they wanted to call time now instead of letting the other team bat and have a chance to score.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Shouldn't that be called CHEATING?
If we got to bat, then they should fucking get to bat.
Oh, these moms are getting all riled up. Mostly because Team Mom and The Flaming Bitch From Hell are stirring the pot.
Well, the Coach, who kicks so much ass says no way. We are playing it out.
You go Coach.
We still won.

Last Saturday, we played the Super Softball girls who, as I mentioned, annihilated us. Which is cool because I am not one of those we have to win moms. We knew they would beat us, the girls knew they would beat us. They are all nine and ten and have been playing for four years. They only play us to fill up the games that they need for the season.
It was a home game and Amanda's best friend and BF's Mom were there to watch. Anyway, it was a good game, they played well. I was sitting in the back watching with BF's Mom (who I dig, despite her married status :P) and our girls weren't really playing great. We were missing a couple of the better players and some of the younger girls (five) were dropping and/or missing the ball a lot.
But who cares right?
They are fucking trying!
I hate to sound all my kids are better than your kids here, but Amanda and Emilee were playing really well. So, Amanda catches the ball (she plays second) and then checks third and checks first before throwing it back to the pitcher.
Right after she checks first, Team Mom yells, "throw it to the pitcher! Some time today!"
Um, I'm sorry. What?
Bitch, you did not just yell at my kid. You. Did. Not.
Took everything I had not to get up, march my sunburned ass down to the Front Row and tell this chic not to ever, ever talk to my daughters like that again.
You don't fucking get to yell at other people's kids like that.
If you ever say a fucking thing to either of my girls it had better fucking be to cheer them on. Just like I do to your girls. You don't get to be a sarcastic fucking bitch.
Oh God, how I wanted to go down there.
But sadly, I am a high road person when it comes to setting a good example in front of my girls and I don't think that seeing Mommy throwing down with some bitch in the stands would really be showing them the whole it's just a game, we're there for fun mantra I've been chanting.
So, I ate it.
And by ate it, I mean I mentally filed it away. You see, in my sick little mind, I keep track of these evil bitches. Why? Well, because I like to keep a tally list of who fucks their kids up the most by the end of highschool.
You know, so on graduation day, I can be all petty when my daughter walks of the stage with three scholarships as valedictorian and theirs... well, doesn't walk off the stage for another year. And is anorexic and smoking cigarettes behind the school.

And pregnant.
Yeah, that's just how my mind deals ok?

Ok, now last night. Last night we played the same team from last week. The equally matched team. I got there and sat as far away from everyone else as I could while still being on the "Visitor" bleachers.
I tune them out. I focus on the game and try and ignore everything that these people talk about. I don't care if they think I am some kind of snob, I am only there to see my girls.
But, it's kind of hard to tune out The Flaming Bitch From Hell when she is yelling at the Umpire.
Now, I believe that when you start playing the game, you are basically accepting the Umpire as being in charge and you can't go and get pissed off at him later.
He is the boss.
And I am not out there. I don't see what he sees so I take his calls. PLUS this is a FUCKING LITTLE LEAGUE GAME. It's not... well whatever the hell the big games in baseball are called.
So, after The Flaming Bitch From Hell has been yelling at the Umpire, who has come over THREE. times. to explain to her why he made the call he made, she starts bitching about how the game is running over time.
Well, yeah, when you are fucking keeping the Umpire busy, the game goes on hold, you stupid. fucking. bitch.
So, she starts threatening to pull her kids. Now, if she pulls her kids, then the game is forfeited because we won't have enough players. This is the SECOND time she has done this.
I hate her.
She starts saying that the game should have ended by now (at this time, we are about five minutes past schedule) since it has been an hour an a half.
But, there is no one waiting to use the field and the weather is superb, not even hot. The kids and parents from both teams want to finish the game.
Oh no, The Flaming Bitch From Hell wants to call it while it's tied. Does she think that the damn stats are going on her kid's permanent record or something? Like, she won't get into college because she had a bad Little League season?
And she is getting more and more mad at the Umpire for his calls and the fact that he is ignoring her when she is bitching. So, at the bottom of the fifth, the coach comes over and asks all the parents if anyone needs to leave (mainly to satisfy The Flaming Bitch From Hell who has done nothing but bitch about how early she needs to get up the next morning). At this point, I am biting my tongue so hard, I am surprised it isn't bleeding.
So, I stand up and say "my girls can stay, we're here so that they can play the game so we're good." He smiles at me as if he wishes he could yell THANK YOU!! and I look over at The Flaming Bitch From Hell, pointedly, to see that she is scowling at me. And I so didn't care. BRING IT ON. While I have moral/parental issues with picking a fight, I have no issues with "defending myself." So he looks over at the other parents and says "Everyone else ok, or do some of you need to leave?"
Suddenly, everyone was really interested in their shoes.
That's right.
It was like The Flaming Bitch From Hell was just trying to piss me off.
She quits bitching about the time and starts bitching about every fucking thing else. I think even the other Front Row moms were getting sick of her shit because suddenly, no one was really talking except, of course, The Flaming Bitch From Hell.
And then, her daughter (she has three and the oldest is 14 and sits with her during the game) decides that since Mommy is so bent out of shape, it's a good time for her to jump in.
So, she starts fucking with the other team's batter.
Whenever a little seven or eight year old went up to bat, The Flaming Bitch From Hell's daughter would wait until the ball was pitched and then yell "Let's Go [our team name]!!" to fuck the little girl up.
My mouth actually fell open.
I mean, these are KIDS for fuck's sake.
After the third batter, I wasn't the only one appalled by this snotty little bitch. The Coach's Wife turned around and told her to knock it off.
When the game was finally over, at 8:00 (two hours after it started), I practically hit the eject button on my bleacher seat. I went down to the dugout to get my girls. Well, looky here, there is the Umpire.
I walked straight up to him and told him I thought he called a great game.
In front of all the parents on our team.
Fuck 'em.
Then, as I am walking back to my car with my daughters, who had played brilliantly, Amanda says, "Mommy, we really won."
I stopped walking, about fifteen feet from the field and asked her what she was talking about.
"Well, I heard the other moms and they said that the Umpire was wrong. That we really won."
I explained to her that no, we did not win. We lost a great game, 10-7. And it was a great game because not only were we equally matched and because both teams made several runs, but also because both of them (my girls) had scored points and played extremely well.
Then, I explained, loudly and within hearing distance, that accusing the Ump of calling a game wrong was insulting and rude and I didn't want to hear either of my girls do it ever again.
I told them that he is a volunteer first of all and secondly that when they step onto that field, they are agreeing to let him referee the game. You don't get to get mad if you don't like his call later.
Every mom on that team heard me.
And you know what?
Fuck 'em.

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so eloquently put by katehopeeden at 7:01 AM
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Who: katehopeeden
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