And your ears shall hear…

Sunday night at 7 PM is usually a time for winding down, maybe catching up on a show or prepping for the week ahead. But this past Sunday, I found myself in an entirely different situation—standing behind home plate at the Fire Pitch in Chicago, umpiring a girls’ softball scrimmage between my daughters’ 12U travel team and her 14U contemporaries. The catch? I wasn’t expecting it. And I had never umpired a game before.

It all started with a casual, “Hey, could you help out?”—famous last words. Before I knew it, I was positioned behind the pitcher, calling balls and strikes. Now, I’ve watched plenty of softball games, but calling one? That’s a whole different ballgame. To make things even more complicated, I knew girls on both teams. I wanted to be fair and objective, but knowing the players added a layer of pressure I hadn’t anticipated.

The game started, and I quickly realized that calling balls and strikes isn’t as easy as it looks from the bleachers. My strike zone probably fluctuated more than I’d like to admit, and I could feel the eyes of the coaches and parents burning into me with every close call. A few times, I caught a glimpse of the opposing coaches’ faces—yeah, they weren’t thrilled with some of my decisions. My daughter even joked afterward that I called more strikes against her team than the other one (I think she was only half joking).

But once I settled into the rhythm of the game, it actually became kind of fun. The pace of the game, the energy from the players, and the quick decision-making—it was thrilling. There were a couple of close plays at home plate and at third base that got my heart racing, and I somehow managed to keep my cool (at least on the outside).

By the final inning, I started to feel like I might actually be getting the hang of it—just in time for the game to end, of course. The girls were good sports, and despite some side-eye from the coaches, I think I managed to keep the game fair and flowing.

Walking off the field, I couldn’t help but laugh. I never imagined my Sunday night would involve calling strikes and navigating the fine line of fairness with kids I know well. It was challenging, a little scary, and more than a little stressful—but honestly, it was a blast. And next time? Well, let’s just say I’ll be ready.