had just settled into Seattle's summer ball season after a long, rainy spring of calling Federation prep games. After 34 games, I had not one ejection, nor a serious argument to call my own.

All that tranquility went right out the window one Saturday afternoon in early summer.

The assignor sent me to work a doubleheader in a weekend tournament for teams of 16-year-olds in a southern suburb of Seattle. My partner that day was a fair-to-middlin' three-or-four year guy who was certainly capable of holding his own at that level.

I worked the bases for the first game, and as a friend of mine always says about base games, I was stealing money. The game was quick, no calls were close, and the only thing that was distracting me during the game was the beautiful weather, which was a definite change from Seattle's rainy season.

Continued...