Dear 1950s Wife:
Not having kids, I
always thought those stories of overbearing parents berating coaches at little
kids' sports competitions were exaggerations. Boy oh boy, how wrong I was!
My husband's
colleague at work coaches a baseball team for eight-year-old boys. He was sick
Saturday, so he asked my husband to fill in. Being a community-minded person,
my husband agreed.
Sadly, the adage
"no good deed goes unpunished" turns out to be true.
Because
eight-year-olds have a hard time throwing strikes, the rules require the coach to pitch when his team is up at bat. The opposing team's coach lobbed the
ball over the plate resulting in several hits and runs when that team batted.
But when my husband's
team hit, the competitive instincts of a former high school
star pitcher naturally took hold. He baffled batters with fork balls, screw balls and "slurves," with the occasional inside high heater thrown in to
"buzz the tower" of batters leaning too far over the plate.
My husband racked up "K" after "K." I would have thought parents
of kids on his team would appreciate the chance to watch a top-flight
pitcher at work. Or, at the least, realize he gave the little boys an
opportunity to display good sportsmanship by walking gracefully back to the
dugout after they struck out.
But no! Such hoots
and hollers and rude names they shouted at my husband including "Bully," "Clown" and "Bull Durham-wannabe."
Being a feisty
fellow, my husband screamed back at the parents throughout the game. And, as he
got closer and closer to a magical "perfect game," he couldn't help
but celebrate each strikeout with shouts of "whiff," "see
ya" and "grab some bench, jack ass!"
The good news is that
my husband threw a perfect game, striking out each eight-year-old every time
they came to bat.
The bad news is that,
not having pitched competitively in 20 years, his arm wasn't properly prepared
and he severely damaged his shoulder and elbow. Not only will he never be able
to throw a decent forkball again, the doctor says, but his "spanking
arm" will be out of commission for several months.
Moreover, my
husband's throat got so hoarse from screaming back at the parents and
celebrating the strikeouts he pitched that he can barely speak above a whisper.
So not only can't he spank me, he can't even properly scold me for
the things I do wrong such as failing to properly polish the dozens of trophies
from his childhood athletic heroics on prominent display in his "man
cave."
Whatever am I to do?
Good woman:
With your husband unable to spank or scold, you certainly need a stiff dose of medicine to
keep you properly submissive. The good news is that I have the perfect
prescription: "Cara Bristol: Erotic Stories to Light Your Fire."
Reading these
well-told tales of dominant men determined to spank and submissive ladies
learning to obey will certainly reinforce your wifely wish to stay subserviant
to your spouse.
Cara's blog has
plenty of free samples to whet your appetitite and her complete works,
available in e-book format, are reasonably priced. To visit her site, simply
click on the "Cara Bristol" link in the links' section on the
upper-right-side of this page.
The bad news is that
your husband didn't pitch a "perfect game."
Being a girly-girl, I
of course know absolutely nothing about baseball. But I checked with my husband
and he assures me that such an accomplishment requires a pitcher retiring all
the batters for the opposing team, not his own.
While I understand your zeal to cheer your husband in his sporting pursuits, perhaps a better
venue may be found to show off his talents than a baseball game played by
eight-year-olds. Hopefully his arm will heal to at least allow him to
participate in slow-pitch softball at his company's annual picnic next spring.
