“If he ever gets there and pitches against us, I hope we light him up.”
Life must have been tough for Michael Dubee. I don’t doubt that Rich is a terrific father, but I also don’t doubt the ice cold terror with which he wields any amount of power. And fatherhood, as anyone will tell you, is the ultimate embodiment of power.My dad infrequent served as an umpire at my little league games. He hated doing it. Fat white trash parents and skinny, well-dressed upper class parents alike would hurl insults at calls that didn’t go there way, and when the “crowd” consists of 20 people all sick of baseball by July, their remarks aren’t hard to pick up. Fortunately, dad handled the situation with a combination of “silent rage” and the more horrifying, “out loud rage.”
I never had a problem playing in front of him, though. But I guess the difference is that knowing your son has the potential to play in the big leagues one makes it a more stressful situation, rather than watching him take yet another outfield throw to the chin.
The way this lines up for the Dubees is even worse. Michael’s a pitcher; putting him in the very same facet of baseball as his father’s expertise. So when the Phillies drafted him in 2006, it may have been a tense situation. Fortunately, the Phillies solved it themselves by later passing Michael onto the Pirates. This all came to a stormy head yesterday when Michael came trotting out to face Pete Orr.
All eyes turned to Rich. And as usual, his were too far under the brim of his cap to be of any use. Fortunately, he used his equally alarming voice to deliver a scouting report on his kin. Whether it included a list of the boy’s personal fears or not remains to be seen, but one thing is perfectly clear.
Rich Dubee does not allow anything get between him and victory. Not feelings, not friends, and certainly not the fruit of his loins. Nothing.
That man is our pitching coach. And he had merely three words to describe what facing his son in direct competition leads to.
“Good dinner talk.”