Arguing With Umpires

Sometimes, you need to argue with the umpire despite knowing you'll never win.

Well…

… I didn’t make the list.

Ah well.

Ignoring the minor detail that I am anything but a six-pack abs-slinging stud, and obviously there was no over 50 category (how about a little love for us old guys, huh?), I’m wondering what kind of similar lists might exist at which I’d actually have a shot. Let’s see…

• Top 20 Hottest Conservative Bloggers In The San Francisco Bay Area (look, there can’t possibly be that many of us)

• Top 20 Bloggers With A Not Exclusively Christianity-Themed Blog Yet Most Likely To Quote Scripture Or Swear A Lot

• Top 20 Bloggers Most Likely To Be Considered A Big Brother By Non-Relatives

• Top 20,000 Hottest Male Conservative Bloggers, With Option Of Making That 200,000 Or Continuing To Add Zeros Until The Number Is Greater Than The Total Number Of Male Conservative Bloggers And Even Then The Chance Of My Being Included Is Iffy

I am nothing if not a realist.

Which leads to the subject of arguing with umpires.

It’s a time-honored tradition. Umpire makes a call player and/or coach and/or manager doesn’t like, player and/or coach and/or manager argues with umpire, player and/or coach and/or manager (assuming they don’t get kicked out of the game) concludes their argument, umpire doesn’t change the call regardless, game goes on.

Makes one wonder why waste time and energy arguing the call.

Simple, really.

There are two legitimate justifications for arguing with an umpire, or variations thereof. The first is belief you’re right. You know you’re not going to win the argument. The umpire knows you’re not going to win the argument. The world knows you’re not going to win the argument. Nevertheless, you argue. Better to fail on the side of what is correct than meekly accept your lot in life and shuffle forward when you know you’ve been done wrong. Being on the losing end of an argument does not mean you’re wrong. It means you lost an argument you could never have won, no matter what.

The second is honesty. There are times you need to stop being nice and speak your piece, laying out the truth as you see it. Part of that, be it rooted in silliness or serious matters, is saying so when angered by the decisions of others.

There are and always will be times when you’re right and the other person is wrong. But, since the other person has the upper hand in position or prestige or power or money or looks or fame or what have you, they will have the final say. Fine. You can’t change that. You can, however, say what’s on your mind and heart, politeness and political correctness be damned.

So it shall be.

I’m having a rough year.

My aunt passed away in February, and I along with my wife and brother are doing the work of cleaning out her home so we can sell it and pay off the massive bills incurred by providing her live-in care during the last two years of her life.

My Mom passed away two weeks ago.

I’m getting precious little relief from reality via sports or entertainment. This year, my teams have lost in either the title game or the playoffs, or been so woeful they couldn’t get to the post-season if they bought a ticket. Meanwhile, three favored artists from the contemporary Christian music world I knew and loved have died.

I’ve already ranted all I care to about the lack of support for the ministry offered by the book, even as I prepare to re-release it and go through the same rounds of rejection all over again.

Hell. I can’t even win a fucking dumbass popularity contest, no matter I can and do write rings around these jokers. And actually interact with people in social media other than for what they can do for me professionally. You know, genuinely give a damn?

I’m tired of this shit.

Not of caring about and for people. That never gets old. No, I’m tired of phone calls where the first words at the other end are “I’ve got some real bad news.” I’m tired of unanswered e-mails and tweets and what have you from people who whine about being too busy to bother with me, yet amazingly have oodles of time to schmooze with those positioned to advance their status. I’m tired of waiting ’til next year as I become increasingly aware I do not have an inexhaustible supply of next years. I’m tired of listening to favorite songs and artists with the faraway stare in my eyes, knowing these voices are forever stilled on this earth.

And yes, I’m tired of being reminded I’m the kid who asked literally a dozen different girls to the senior prom for, apparently, the sole purpose of hearing multiple variations of “no.” So I stayed home that night.

Okay, umpire. I’m done arguing and ranting. Back to the game.

Can hardly wait to see what the next call will be.