Okay, so let’s talk about getting into being a baseball official, or an umpire as most folks call ’em. It wasn’t some grand plan, not really. I was just watching my kid’s Little League game one Saturday, you know? And the calls… oh boy. Seemed like the guy behind the plate was just guessing half the time. Made me think, “Heck, I could probably do better than that.” Famous last words, right?
So, I started looking into it. Didn’t even know where to begin. Just typed stuff into the computer, like “how to become baseball umpire local league”. Found the local association’s contact eventually. Made a call. Guy on the phone sounded tired, probably gets calls like mine all the time from know-it-all dads.
Getting Started – The Paperwork and Classes
First thing was paperwork. Always paperwork. Background check, registration forms, paid a fee. Then came the training. Thought it’d be a weekend thing, maybe watch a few videos. Nope. It was several evenings, spread over weeks, in some cold community center room.
The actual learning part was… interesting. You think you know baseball rules? You probably don’t. Not really. We went through the rulebook page by page. Stuff I’d never even considered. Balk rules, interference, obstruction – my head was swimming. Then we did practical stuff.
- Putting on the gear. That chest protector? Heavy. The mask? Claustrophobic at first.
- Learning where to stand. Different spots for different plays. Felt awkward.
- Making the calls. Shouting “Strike!” or “Out!” felt silly in that room, but you gotta practice the voice.
- Signals. Gotta look like you know what you’re doing, even if you’re panicking inside.
First Games – Trial by Fire
Then came the real test: actual games. They didn’t throw me into the deep end right away, started with younger kids. But let me tell you, even T-ball parents can get intense. My first game, I think I blew maybe three or four calls pretty badly. Just froze or guessed wrong. You feel about two inches tall.
You learn quick what matters:
- Consistency: Even if your strike zone is a bit weird, keep it the same for both teams.
- Confidence: Make the call loud and clear. Hesitation breeds arguments.
- Thick Skin: Coaches will question you. Parents will yell. Players will complain. Can’t let it rattle you. Easier said than done.
I remember one game, close play at first. Runner beat the throw, easy call. Safe. Coach comes storming out, red in the face, screaming I missed it. I just stood my ground, explained what I saw. He wasn’t happy, but eventually went back. My heart was pounding though. You get that knot in your stomach.
The Reality of It
Did it for a couple of seasons. It wasn’t about the money, because frankly, the pay is peanuts for the time and grief you put in. Driving to fields, getting there early, the game itself, sometimes dealing with arguments after… it eats up your evenings and weekends. And yeah, you do get better. You start seeing the plays develop, anticipating situations.
But honestly? The constant complaining wore me down. Not just the coaches, sometimes the other umpires too, little cliques and politics about who gets the ‘good’ games. It started feeling more like a chore than something I did because I thought I could ‘do better’. My own kid was getting older, playing less, so my main reason for starting wasn’t really there anymore.
So, I hung up my mask. Didn’t make a big deal out of it, just didn’t sign up the next season. Got my weekends back. Now when I watch a game and see a questionable call? I still might grumble, but I definitely have a bit more sympathy for the person behind the plate. It’s a tougher job than it looks. Way tougher.