It’s no secret. I have very strong opinions when it comes to grown men wearing baseball pants (See Add That to Your Rule Book). What it boils down to is this. Gentlemen, regardless of how handsome, well preserved, and strappingly well built you are, you must remember. Men of a certain age simply do not belong in baseball pants. Period.
The smattering of youth baseball coaches who persist, season after season, in wearing full player uniforms is not the only thing that incites my ire. It’s not my only pet peeve. The spectacle of scantily clad baseball moms has the power to destroy an otherwise perfectly wonderful day at the park. Don’t act all innocent and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. There’s one at every game – the Annie Savoy wannabe who appears to have raided some teenaged girl’s closet – and it makes me want to scream PLEASE USE A TOUCH OF DECORUM WHEN YOU DRESS FOR THE BALLPARK!
Leave the skimpy soffe shorts, halter-tops, anklets and toe-rings for the gaggles of teenaged female baseball fanatics meandering around outside the dugouts. Ensembles like that on a grown woman are enough to make milk curdle. Sure we’ve all got stretch marks, cottage cheese thighs, migrating breasts and flabby arms, BUT THEY ARE NOT MEANT FOR PUBLIC DISPLAY. And here’s a news flash. NO AMOUNT OF TANNING IS GOING TO CAMOUFLAGE THE AFOREMENTIONED PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES. For the love of Pete, take a look in the mirror before stepping out of the house.
What in the Sam Hill are you thinking? And don’t give me that whiney It’s-hot-outside-and-I-don’t-care-how-I-look-as-long-as-I’m-cool excuse. I’ve sweated through a hefty share of baseball games over nearly two decades and any lapse in judgement I’ve suffered at the hand of attempting to beat the heat has always been accompanied by the good sense to look in the mirror. That’s all it takes to send me back the closet to trade my “Gidget Loves Moondoggie” trappings for an outfit, less revealing and more befitting of a baseball mom.
You are not giddy minor league groupies, bouncing coquettishly from one park to the next, chasing after your favorite major league prospects. This is not Bull Durham and your fashion antics are not going to change the outcome of anybody’s collective season statistics.
You are mature baseball moms. The operative words being “mature” and “moms.” Moms as in mothers…as in M-O-T-H-E-R-S. Good gracious, you are in plain view of your sons. One would think that fact alone would be enough to keep you from leaving the house dressed like Elly May Clampett.
Sure, I long for the days when If you’ve got it, flaunt it, was the modus operandi, but that was then and this is now. So, ladies, regardless of how old, young, or hot (literally and figuratively) you are, please remember no one wants to see stretch marks, cottage cheese thighs, migrating breasts and flabby arms glistening in the sun. For the love of Pete, take a look in the mirror before stepping out in public and if you’ve got it, hide it. End of discussion.
© 2011 by Antoinette D. Datoc