Dale Scott, the 55 year old Major League umpire in the photo above, has just come out in the media. He seems like a terrific guy, and in 2013 he married his partner, whom he’s been with for decades. I know nothing about baseball, but since I’m gay, that entitles me to have an opinion about everything; in fact, many of the gay men I know often behave like umpires, as they announce their judgements on restaurants, toggle coats, and the live broadcast of Peter Pan. So if Dale is busy, here are some of the calls I might make, during a World Series:
“The sun was in my eyes and I was trying to decide if I want to see that new Reese Witherspoon movie, so could you do whatever that was again?”
“You got to second base! And you didn’t even have to buy him dinner! Bada boom!”
“I know it’s an important position, but calling someone a shortstop sounds hurtful. Especially in bed.”
“If he’s the pitcher, which one is the sugar bowl? And if you’re the catcher, here’s my number. Bada bing!”
“Fine, you slid into home plate. But now your uniform is filthy.”
“Strike one! And yes, I’m talking about your mullet.”
“Before I decide about that foul ball, is everyone wearing sunscreen?”
“Batter up! I sound like Betty Crocker!”
“Strike two! Because if you keep chewing tobacco, no one will ever want to kiss you.Think about it, Jimmy Ray Earl Whoever You Are.”
“Does anyone remember Field of Dreams? Are all of you ghosts?”
“Wait a minute, this is nothing like Damn Yankees. Where’s the locker room number?”
“Strike three! Because I just don’t like your attitude, Mister I’m-Going-To-Keep-Everyone-Waiting-While-I-Put-On-My-Ugly-Plastic-Hat.”
“If you scratch your balls one more time, I’m going to have to hug you.”
