Fiefdoms

On to last week, when the Girls’ Softball League sprang into action: WE NEED TO EVALUATE YOUR DAUGHTERS!

We received six emails from the woman who runs the thing — six — telling us that same information. They MUST show up. DIRE THINGS WOULD HAPPEN.

A friend emailed and said, “We have {Other Activity} that day; can we do it at a different time?”

The Softball Poobah wrote back with, “No! She MUST SHOW UP!”

Really? You mean if she woke up with a fever of 105 and was vomiting, you’d still make her come? No exceptions?

We assumed evaluations were to determine which team the girls belonged on. No, because my friend later on heard that her daughter had been placed before evaluations.

That’s when I realized: Angelborough Baseball is a fiefdom.

You know how in the Middle Ages, there were all these little castles with their own little noble families and the serfs farming the area? The lords of the castles ran the area, but in reality they were subject to the King and to any noble who had more clout than they did.

And so it is here: Angelborough Baseball is a fiefdom. These people have one tiny area in which they are the Lords and Ladies, and once a year, they get to send out LOTS OF EMAILS with LOTS OF CAPITAL LETTERS using URGENT in the subject line. And the serfs come show up at the appointed time to their badly-organized evaluations which mean, in the end, nothing at all. And later they’ll have their Opening Day ceremonies where they crown one another King and Queen of the baseball diamond (I kid you not) and they’ll be satisfied.

Play ball, my friends. Play ball.