The "ump" is back in the game.

Cristie, Lizzie and I went to NYC, I retired April 1st and immediately took up pony league umpiring with my son Ed. The boys in the leagues we umpire range in ages from 12 to 18, so we see a wide variety of baseball. I'm new at this, but so far, so good.

I get asked a lot why I decided to be an umpire. I answer that I've always loved baseball and I like kids, so it seems to me to be a good match. I love everything about the game; the grass and dirt in the infield, fresh chalk lines on the field at the start of a game, the smell of the leather gloves, the perfect fit and feel of a cowhide baseball in my hand, the pop of a fastball into the catchers glove, all of it. Plus the uniform adds an air of credibility and it gives me license to order people around.

A couple of nights ago I was behind the plate for an upper division game between 16-18 year old teams. The pitchers threw hard, good stuff. About midway through the game a batter foul tipped a pitch just enough for the flying fastball to miss the catcher's glove. The ball whacked me on the only spot I was unprotected, my forearm. I wanted to jump up and down and cry and scream, but umpires don't do that kind of stuff, so I just called time out and toughed it out. I was getting some nice sympathy from the fans in the bleachers, so I let the time out drag on a little so I could milk the crowd. My arm is sore but I'm back behind the plate again tonight. Batter up!