Alright Dads. Gather around and take a knee. Cut the chatter.
Quite frankly, this team hasn’t been living up to the proud and storied history of the Evanston T-Ball Dads. It’s a disgrace and you better shape up.
Uniforms. How many times to I have to say this? We wear cargo shorts. Big, baggy cargo shorts. I want to be able to fit a Labrador puppy in your pockets. And if I can see your knees you’re running laps. The only one who gets a pass is McDonagh. As team clown he can wear crazy plaid shorts. Great job, McDonagh.
You guys know the league is strict about t-shirts. Ratty, old, faded. With obscure or ironic cultural references only. Dolan, what on God’s green earth made you think you could wear a purple polo? Do you want a fine, Dolan? Swap that out for Bill Murray or Dillon Panthers now. Do it. Take a note from McDonagh. “World’s Greatest Dad.” Classic.
I’m also very disappointed in this team’s fitness. Everyone is to be 10 pounds overweight. All in the gut. I want to see guts, people. If I don’t start seeing some more guts you’re all running laps. And I can see in your eyes that some of you aren’t hung over. League minimum is 4 hung over dads. What are you doing on Friday nights?
I’ve also been getting some reports about your behavior in the stands. We aren’t here to pay attention to the game, people. We’re here to humble brag about our success. I wanna hear stories about BMW mechanics and Costa Rican hotels. McDonagh, you just keep doing a play by play like it’s the World Series. That bit’s hysterical.
Oh, and one more thing: Snacks. This is Evanston. Let’s try to keep them inedible and bought from Whole Foods. Something stamped with “organic” or “fair trade.” Last week someone brought Doritos and Coke we almost had a mom riot on our hands.
That’s it. Let’s get out there and cheer on your sons and the three other kids whose names you can remember.
Hands in and give me a “Reliving our insecurities through our sons” on three.