Journal of a Living Lady #117

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

I enjoy most sports. Other than an occasional softball game during my teens, most of my involvement has been as a spectator. The only noted exception is tennis. I was a certified tennis instructor and a professional umpire back in the ‘70’s. Had an opportunity to go to Wimbleton to be a line judge, but declined due to work and family obligations. At the time we were raising foster children of various ages and I was teaching.  Money and time were in short supply.

The last time I actually attended a baseball game was when Charlie was in grammar school. Buddy and I took him to a Braves game. During the third inning, some half-drunk bozo spilled his cup of beer on me, ice and all.  I was not a happy fan.

I made noise. Lots of noise. Eventually I was asked by a major Atlanta T.V. station to do an evening news editorial. With gutsy gusto, I recommended a sans alcohol family seating section at the stadium. To the best of my recollection the idea was tried, but short-lived.

I am not that difficult to get along with. Drink your beer if you must.  Just don’t spill it on me. And don’t drive and kill my friends either. Same goes for spitting. Chew if you must, but be considerate and swallow the snuff. All the extra I want at a baseball game is a good hot dog, soda pop and a G-rated half-time show.

Even watching baseball on television isn’t much pleasure anymore. It is bad enough that some of the guys go for days without shaving. The real turn-off are those players who continually spew tobacco. They aren’t particular. Anywhere will do. They spit in the dug out. They spit at home plate. They spit on the bases. I think pitchers would spit on the ball if it were allowed. Leo Durocher even spewed spittin’ tobacco on am umpire once.

I know professional baseball jocks are popular and command big money, but they had better not spit on me. I’ll tell Buddy who will call John Rocker who will…well, who knows what he might do.

I don’t consider baseball players, with their puffed out cheeks and dripping lip, to be handsome. They  look like over-grown kids with a bad molar that needs pulling.

You don’t see golfers spitting. I have never seen a basketball player spit on the court. Hockey players don’t spit on the ice.

In some cities, you can get fined for spitting on the sidewalk. But let a major league player spit on national television, in front of a large viewing audience, and it is considered couth and cool. Miss Manners would not think so and neither do I.  Spitting in public is rude and crude.

I am off to write the networks in hope they will pass along my opinion to their camera jockeys and advertisers. Watching a camera close-up of a baseball superstar fastballing a stream of tobacco juice through the gap in his front teeth doesn’t enhance my viewing pleasure. Nope. Not one bit.

 

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June 14, 2001