As a pitcher, you never are supposed to talk bad about the umpires. It’s like insulting the chef at your favorite restaurant; it’s counterproductive.

And I understand with the number of flame-throwing hurlers standing  60 feet away and prepared to throw a small sphere at speeds routinely above 90 miles per hour directly towards you…with some guy in front of you that’s supposed to catch it.

And, by the way, I only get a face mask and a chest protector so my arms, legs and thighs are all fair game.

And while all that’s going on, I’m also supposed to judge the exact location of that speeding sphere once it’s about 5-10 feet away in relation to if how crosses a pentagon.

I forgot to mention that my judgement is releative to the person in front of me, holding a solid cone attempting to connect it with the sphere.

At the younger levels, it’s a thankless job fraught with danger. But if it’s your passion, that’s where you begin. Then as you get better and advance, the speeds rise, hence more danger.

I’ve left out the tens, hundreds, thousands behind and around me that believe they can do this better than me from where they are, despite their awkward angle and distance away.

My distance from the catcher is minuscule, but it’s the ideal angle. So long as he stays directly behind the plate. But when he moves, if I move with him then my angle is alerted.

Pitchers aren’t supposed to say something like,

“Hey Blue, you’re not directly behind the plate. While you’ll be able to see the inside where my catcher is set up, your view of the outside is off and I’m likely going to test that, then use it to my advantage.”