This ump has all the tools: belly, bad eye

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To: Bud Selig, King of Baseball From: John Holyoke, ump RE: Dump the chumps, I’m your ump

Dear King Selig: I understand that you have some openings in your umpiring division. That’s good.

It just so happens that I’ve got the perfect ump for you. I’m him. You need me. LISTEN TO ME!

See? In one paragraph I’ve already exhibited the perfect umpiring attitude: Cocky yet overbearing, with a hint of surly tossed in for good measure.

Especially surly. That’s me.

At first I thought it was just the heat getting to me, but lately I’ve realized that weather has nothing to do with it. I’ve just got great gobs of surly oozing out of my pores.

Kicked a dog this morning.

Swore at my paperboy. Ejected him from my porch. Didn’t even give him the chance to bump me. Little jerk’s gotta know who’s boss.

And that’s me. Boss.

Sometimes people tell me that I always think I’m right. If you let me work for you, I’d never have to worry about that again.

I would be right. Every damn time I opened my mouth. Even when I was so wrong my own mother was booing.

That’d be a serious hoot.

But let’s not stop there. That’s just the beginning. I’m telling you, I was born for this job.

Figure this: I’m actually a bit cross-eyed! Honest.

At first we called it a lazy eye, but as I’ve grown older I realize that that’s just a euphemism for being cross-eyed. Kind of like calling a blown call a “judgment-based decision.”

I’ve been told my “lazy eye” is one of the necessities for getting an umping job. It’s right there in the union contract.

Thou shalt be blind (or cross-eyed). That’s me!

And another thing. I know you want your umps to have guts.

Well slap my face and call me Durwood! You’re describing me again. I’ve got a serious gut.

I’ve been running all summer to get more fit, but not much has happened on the gut front as of yet. It’s still there.

And if it will help my chances to get a job, I’d be more than willing to stop this exercise nonsense immediately and begin working in earnest on turning my minor league paunch into an honest-to-goodness, capital-G Gut worthy of the majors.

Now, you’re probably sitting there thinking, “No umpiring experience.”

Au, contraire, King.

I saw this umpire quagmire coming, and earlier this summer I volunteered – OK, I got volunteered – to ump at my nephew’s farm league game.

I did great. See! It’s that proper umping attitude again.

To be honest, I didn’t work behind the plate. I tend to blink a bit when pitches whiz toward my head. But I’ve seen what counts as a strike nowadays. It won’t matter.

And as a base ump, I was in position (sometimes), made authoritative calls (always) and not once did I let the eight-year-old pukes … uhh … darlings get the best of me.

But did they try? You betcha. All players are alike.

On one memorable call, the bench came alive with high, squeaky voices of discontent.

“Hey!” the coach (my brother) said, trying to stop the ruckus. “He made the call. That’s enough.”

Possessing a healthy set of umpiring rabbit ears, I sidled up to my brother and informed him, “It wasn’t the call. It was the right call.”

He chuckled.

I shoulda tossed him.

John Holyoke is a NEWS Sportswriter