"No wonder kids don't like baseball today," said Dave. "Too many guys like Blainey."

Then he said he didn't want to sound negative. "There's a lot of good things here," he said. "Like that other manager. He's good. The kids like him, the parents like him, and he knows the game."

We were on the sidelines of Diamond #3.

"And they have good rules too. Rules that protect the boys. They only let a kid pitch so many innings."

"To prevent arm injuries?" I asked.

"Correct," he said. "Even a Jack McMahon can only pitch so many innings in a game. In a week."

It made me think of Skip Lu throwing his arm out. "That's a good policy," I said. "Save these young careers."

"I just got too ticked off about Blainey to tell you about them."

"Blainey's no problem," I said. "Blainey's easy."

Diamond #3 featured the same setup as the others.

"Why do you say that, John? What would you do?"

Two small sets of bleachers, one on each side.

"Fire him," I said. "Give him his walking papers."

"Fire him! My God, John, you're talking just like an owner!"

"Well, why not?" I said. "That's what I'd do if he worked for me."

"He doesn't work for you," said Dave. "He's a volunteer."

"Then make the league fire him," I said. "Get the parents to complain about him."

"They can't," said Dave. "That's against the rules."

"They have a rule? You can't complain about your manager?"

"Unofficial," said Dave. "That's the unofficial rules."

"This is America," I said. "Freedom of speech. Every citizen has the right to complain about how their team is run."

Dave nodded his head slowly and sadly. Not so.

"Any twerp with a microphone can tell me how to run my club. Dennis Hominy does it all the time."

He continued to nod his head.

"If the Champs have a three-game losing streak, I hear from everyone. Fire Peeler Fitch! Trade Sixto Lucero! Send Ernie de la Garza to the bullpen. Ship Keeshon Gillings down to the minors and bring up the hot prospect."

Dave got out of the cart.

"It's different at this level, John. It's-- well, it's kind of like socialism to tell the truth. It's the kind of setup where you don't dare criticize anyone unless you're willing to get involved yourself."

"Socialism!" I exclaimed. I was offended. He made me think of those people who claim that the Champs "belong" to Central City. As if I don't count at all.

"Well what do you want me to call it then?" said Dave. "Community involvement? Grassroots democracy?"

I was angry. Socialism! Dave was probably one of those people who think I don't have the right to move my ballclub from Central City. "Don't you have to go interact?" I said. "Don't you have to go sit in the stands and visit the parents?"

"If Blainey quits on them, they're in big trouble."

"Just go," I said. Socialism? "Go interact." Baseball is socialism?

"If Blainey quits, Victor and Vernon are out of baseball for the year. Unless some other parent takes over. Some other dad."

I shut out his words, tried to concentrate on the two teams.

"Most dads are too busy earning a living. They don't have time to run a baseball team."

Boys in baseball uniforms. A bunch of little socialists.

"A lot of dads are lucky to even get out to the games."

They looked just like the boys at Diamond #2.

"You can yell at the umpire and you can yell at the other team's manager, but you can't yell at your own kid's manager."

"You can if he's a Blainey." Where was my Spirit's common sense?

"Use your head, John. Think like a parent." He started walking toward the bleachers. "You don't understand what it's like to be a dad."

That really made me mad. "Oh yeah?"

"You have to protect your kid," he said. "If you complain about the manager he'll probably take it out on your kid."