Wife Numero Uno.......

Now, before you ask... just twice. Six years the first time, 23 legal years the second time. Damn that's a lotta years.

My favorite story about many marriages is the old geezer who walks by this spring chicky and says "Wow, you look just like my 6th wife." A bit taken back, she spouted "Geez, how many times you been married?".... "Five."

Wife number one... a good lady. Spunky as hell.. 5'5" 115 lbs, absolutely zero fears for any task. Among somea the things I observed her do: Drive a school bus as a college student.. Played college basketball (a tad short on talent, aheada the rest on effort).. owned/rode a motorcycle... for a science project she shot a couplea pigeons down by an inner-city bridge.. and then a couple out in the country... dissected their lungs and wrote a paper (and had a visual display) on the vast differences between the two, all whilst taking a full college load (Biology major no less), work 30 hours a week at an area hospital as a phlebotomist...

Oh yeah, and I had umpired some.. Continued to do so during college because it was good money... so, her attitude of course was "if he can do that, I can do that."

Several times I'd observed her putting 6'4" behemoth little league coaches in their place. Even tossed one or two.. Final game of the year.. 11 & 12 year olds... both teams 11-1, thus, whomever won this one would be deemed League Champion. Of course, SHE was to be the umpire behind the plate.

The Braves, the visiting team, took a 3-1 lead into the bottom of the seventh - the final inning... A bloop single for the Colts. Man on first, no outs.. Next batter - runner steals second... 2nd hitter strikes out.. Man on second, one out.. Four straight balls... Now we've got first and second, still only one out.. There wasn't a butt touching the bleachers - all parents, grannies, little tykes standing...

3-2 count.. an infield pop out... out number two... Runners on first and second... two outs... Braves still lead 3-1... First pitch to the next feller goes beneath the catcher's glove - runners move up to 2nd and 3rd base amidst the thunderous cheers from the Colt faithful... fouled off... 1-1... outside... 2-1... Steeee-rike (yes, she was emphatic.. maybe a little show, but very definitely wanting to do a good job).. 2-2... Nope, outside.. Full count, runners on 2nd and 3rd, two outs... CRACK.. A line drive just over the head of the shortstop - one run is in (3-2)... THE SEASON IS ENDING... BUT HOW... HOW WILL IT END?... runner from second rounds third with the tying run.... left fielder had cleanly picked it up... planted and fired toward the catcher who gritted his teeth whilst he awaited....

The ball and the runner arrived at home plate at virtually the same time...Screaming, literally screaming going on in the background... A cloud of dust...the runner slid.. the catcher swiped.. THEN... dead silence... There she was.. She, the one who feared nothing.. making the call that the season hinged on.. I actually kinda felt sorry for her to be in that predicament... "YOUUUUUURRRREEE OUTTTTT" she bellowed at the top of her lungs....

This could be the end of the story, Braves coulda triumphantly run on the field 3-2 victors... but, as the dejected Colt fans were collapsing in defeated exhaustion and the Braves fans were beginning to raise their fists in victory.. .the 11 year old catcher still managed to grasp a slight moment of the silence and proclaimed (loud enough for all to hear) "BUT UMP... I MISSED HIM!" Shit.

I headed for the car on that note... couldn't bear to see how she wiggled outta that one.. but somehow the pigeon-shooting, bus-driving, motorcycle riding woman found a way...

When she reached the car, I didn't even have to ask. "I just told him to never ever say anything like that again." Braves 3, Colts 2, kinda.
Henry Gibson.