Pink Collar showed up at my 5-year-old son’s Little League game this afternoon.
He was a man, early-to-mid 40s, dark hair, skinny, Mets hat. He wore a pink shirt, with the collar up.
I am a rookie Little League father, and Pink Collar was my debut experience with inane, obnoxious baseball dads. He barked at the kids, gave awful advice, spewed out words and phrases that 99 percent of 5-year olds would never understand. Clearly, the man thought he was Joe Torre, dispensing wisdom of vital importance. But he was anything but Torre. He was a dolt dad, probably on leave for the weekend from his finance job, taking out his frustrations on a bunch of kids just trying to have fun.
I kept waiting for him to bark at my son … waiting and waiting and waiting. I wanted the opportunity to pull him aside and say, “You’re free to ruin your son’s Little League experience—but don’t ruin my son’s.” Alas, he kept his distance.
There’s always next week.
