You won't find a more craven, deranged, misguided, and/or out-of-touch group of toxically entitled asshats outside of the White House than in the bleachers at a youth baseball game. Brawl after aluminum bat-punctuated brawl has proven as much. Whether it be boredom, a malfunctioning parental instinct chip, or insecurity-laced pining for the glory days before divorce #2 and that free-falling metabolism, nothing brings out the worst in this nation's adults quite like the sight of their offspring reveling in the simple innocence of America's pastime. But hey, don't take our word for it. Just listen to the knuckle-draggers themselves as they berate a (we can't believe we're saying this) poor umpire to the point of ejecting himself in the depressingly viral video of the day:
Now ordinarily we wouldn't side with the dog-hating, Little Leaguer-bullying, strikezone agnostic scourge known as an umpires, but after watching this video, 10 out 10 people with a heart agree: There's literally no other choice. This guy is umping some Mickey Mouse travel baseball game for the cost of an Applebee's 2 for 20 on his Saturday afternoon. He doesn't owe you shit. Maybe he was having a rough day behind the plate. Maybe not. We don't know. What we do know is that BMW moms and Patagonia dads saying things like "Just be professional for the kids and do your job" and "Are you mad because the kids are taller than you?" because they were asked to stop talking trash to a stranger deserve about the same benefit of the doubt as O.J.
So here we are, backed into the corner, forced to defend an umpire, all because couple of people who should have never procreated in the first place couldn't just stuff their fat mouths with $8 skinny almond milk peppermint mochas and behave. Newsflash for you, folks. Your kid sucks. He's not going pro. It doesn't matter. And in the one in ten trillion chance I'm wrong, and your child, in spite of his genetics, has actual talent, then they're going to have to deal with a hell of a lot worse when they get to the Big Leagues.
And on that day—when a ball is called a strike and whole wide universe comes crashing down upon us from above—mommy and step-daddy sure as hell won't be there to bail them out by ganging up on some 5'9" put-upon who thought he was past this crap when he graduated middle school. What a sad, sad day that will be, let me tell ya.