Bill Austin, Tourette’s Umpire
My Dad was an ump. His Dad was an ump. My great Grandfather, Jebediah Austin? He wasn’t just an illiterate racist…he presided over the first World Series, was drinking buddies with Babe Ruth, and when he said “Strike Three!” you listened.
Jebediah Austin could drink with the best of ‘em.
So it should come as no surprise that I grew up with only one choice: become an ump, or shame the family name. And like the Austins that came before me, it seemed to be my destiny. I was blessed with a classic umpire’s physique. I developed a booming voice. And I spent long hours perfecting my patented punch-out. All was going well…until the diagnosis.
The doctor said that I’d developed UTS, or Umpire Tourette’s Syndrome, evidenced by my inability to stop calling balls and strikes. And no matter where I went, and how hard I tried to suppress it, my disease kept rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune of times. It’s not easy to pick up your dry cleaning or order a burrito when you’re repeatedly convulsing and yelling “Steeeriiike!”
But I’m here today to tell everyone that Bill Austin’s not done. I’m a fighter, always have been, and one small problem won’t get in the way of my dream of making it to the big leagues. Next week, it’s the Southern California Little League. Then, it’s on to Double-A. And if all goes according to plan, by 2011 I’ll be in Chavez Ravine, standing behind home plate in the greatest ballpark west of the Mississippi. No longer will I be the laughing stock of the Austin Family. No longer will I be the butt of every dinner table joke. And if I’m lucky, my Father might even look me in the eye again.
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