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These Little League Parents Deserve Death…

Joey Boats

Obligatory Side Note: I’m currently listening to Sum 41’s 2001 All Killer No Filler album on Spotify and it’s absolute fire. Carry on…

So it’s Thursday, which means it’s the opening day for the fourth installment of my favorite movie trilogy of all time, Toy Story. Being Branded’s aggressively self-asserted movie guy, I had planned on seeing the film tonight and writing a cutting edge review tomorrow morning; however, work gets in the way sometimes and I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to get my fix.

Considering that’s the case, I need something to write about so I’m redirecting my focus to a video that surfaced a few days ago showcasing a fight that broke out during a little league game in Denver, Colorado. Spoiler alert: it’s fucking upsetting.

For the record, I don’t pretend to be a beacon of maturity whatsoever. I’m not one of these journalistic fuckboys who prop up their soapbox and narcissistically jack themself off whenever an athlete “disrespects the game” or an airline postpones a flight due to inclement weather. That said, I’m a human and one of the most infuriating things that really sets me off is entitled youth sports parents.

Evidently, reports suggest the fight initiated over a call made by a fucking 13-year-old. A FUCKING 13-year old…

Now, competitiveness is important. I don’t think participation trophies are singlehandedly dismantling the youth of our nation but it’s always been my opinion that you play to win. That said, when that “winning mentality” results in a 15-person melee as hoards of children flee the scene in tears, I’m drawing the line.

I recently rewatched Spotlight—the Best Picture winner based on the Roman Catholic child sex abuse scandal in Boston—and there’s this great scene where members of the Boston Globe interview one of the victims. During the soliloquy about his experience, he essentially asserts that being molested doesn’t just mean you tugged off some decrepit creep behind a Dairy Queen once or twice; it means you’ve been robbed of your faith.

Obviously I’m not insinuating that a parental brawl is even remotely comparable to child molestation, however, it’s similar in the fact that an instance like this can rob you of something much larger. Sports were a gigantic part of my childhood and an incident like this could’ve potentially derailed that entire experience.

As an 8-year-old, why the fuck would you ever want to finish the season after something like this? One one hand, you love the game because you get to see your friends and rip Big League Chew; on the other hand, there’s this lingering prospect of your dad reaming out at a 7th grader and throwing hands with one of your classmate’s uncles.

I used to ump when I was in Middle School as well so I’ve experienced similar situations to a much lesser extent. There used to be this one guy who’d clench his fat hands around the chain link fence behind home plate and request confirmation for every strike/ball I called. After I’d ring up some choke artist on the outside corner, all I’d hear behind me was this asshole condescendingly question, “That a strike, ump?” Like yeah dude, that’s why I said “strike.” I’m here so I can save up for a bike. Fuck off…

I know this may sound harsh, but to this day, I hope that guy gets a crippling venereal disease and dies in a house fire. Understandably that’s not the most sane thing I’ve ever said, but let me ask you this: Does the world really need that guy?

Simply put, it doesn’t. And the world doesn’t need these people either. They’re fucking braindead animals. Take away their voting rights. If you can muster up the capacity to operate like this in a public setting flooded with kids, you’re officially deplorable.

– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)

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