All my life I’ve sucked at sports.

It’s a special kind of suck. Not totally incompetent, like I can catch a little, hit the ball with some slight awareness, if not authority, throw without hitting the back of my own head. I not only know what a line drive is, but in my life time I’ve hit it solidly down the middle and made the pitcher hop.

Nope, my suck is all about the almost. For example, despite an understanding of running without worrying about where your hit ball lands, my burners are without fire, my running leaden. Any ball thrown by any human can get to first before me.

I compensate by having fun. I may suck at the concepts and skills behind team sports, but I appreciate the camraderie. I get the act even if my personal follow through is weak and painful, and I can admire skill in others.

But I’m not all about competing. If my teammates swing and miss but smile at the trying, it’s only slightly different than a sweet catch deep in left field. I’m forgiving when things slip and enthusiastic win or lose.

However, and you to know there would be a fucking however, if ever I’m competitive, it’s over the douchebags who care too much. In tonight’s episode, I really wanted to be a 6-foot tall male gorilla in someone’s face. Instead, I just indulged my big mouth.

We were losing, because that’s what our team does. The final score was 13-3, so clearly we weren’t what you might call a clear and present danger. What’s more, it’s co-ed, city D league not semi-pro ball.

That’s the backdrop, late in the game with a damn unlikely chance of catching up. We’re at bat. More particularly, one of our women players who has been known to swing and miss was up. One of our few very competent, very good players was giving some pointers from the viewpoint of the first base coach. As the first couple of balls hit the catcher’s glove, he let her know which pitch went wrong where. Nothing too intense and certainly not overboard, just a little patter about low or outside.

The pitcher, who really is looking to taste that league t-shirt he’ll get from playing winning ball, stopped the game to let the first base coach know that it was. “against the rules” to coach the batter. He admonished him from the mound that just so he knew, our guy was breaking the rules.

He was adamant. He was yelling. He was a king douche. Seriously, man, life is short and so are league games. And, for the record, the man you were lecturing has been playing, coaching and watching ball prior to your birth, Mr. D-bag.

Meanwhile, the ump missed it until the catcher explained it to him, and he said increduously that there was no such rule. He told everyobe to keep playing and was chuckling about it a hit later when I was on deck.

Of course, I yelled to my team and requested some coaching from the dugout, because the ump said it was OK. The pitcher glared at me.

It was sweet to get a hit down the middle off that guy’s pitches. It was a shortlived joy, as my ball went right to the second baseman and another out. Sigh.