It was the winter of 1991 when my dad and I loaded my suitcase in a van and drove from Kansas City, down Highway 66, to Chandler, Arizona – home of the Jim Evans Academy for Professional Umpires.
The trip was long and much of it was a blur. However, I remember pulling over in the middle of the night one night to pee on the side of the road somewhere in New Mexico. We both looked up at the time to see millions of twinkling stars and cosmic dust and the dark blackness of space. “Whoa” we both mumbled as we continued to water the roadside cacti.
The training to become a professional umpire has evolved since the early 90’s, but the basics are just as similar to Army boot camp today. Calisthenics. Classroom work. Field work. Every day for six weeks. You learn to fight through it when you’re hurt, when you’re hungover, or when you’re just in a general bad mood. All while being called a bum, or a sonofabitch, or whatever you can think of. Umpiring is the only job in baseball where you don’t sit down for three or more hours. You stand out baking in the heat or shivering in the cold. And, in the minor leagues, you pile into a rented minivan and drive 8-10 hours to your next destination to do it all over again.
My journey to professional baseball ended that February. As a 19-year-old, I was a little too young, and a little too chubby to get a job that year. I was invited back, but decided that I could use what I learned to take back to my local league – a league where I managed a 30-year career umpiring baseball at varying levels.
What I didn’t know as a snot-nosed 19-year-old was the rigor that goes into a career professional umpire. The ultimate goal being a job in Major League Baseball – the pinnacle of the sport. However, to get there, you have to endure grueling schedules of low minor league baseball, a smattering of fans, usually drunk on cheap beer and day-old hot dogs. You are assigned a partner that you will have the entire six-month season. Whether you like them or not. You’re in a car with them for hours. You’re changing clothes with them. You’re likely bunking with them at a Super 8 all summer long. You have to endure, at minimum, 10 years of this as you make your way through the ranks to even be considered for a MLB job.
And that’s not even accounting for the political landscape of climbing a ladder within the organization of Baseball. There are politics. Gossip. Drama. Add in the current world climate embracing sexism and racism, and actually making any sort of progress in your career without “washing out” is a true marathon on top of Mt. Everest in a blizzard.
It is with all that context that I say how totally impressed I was to see Major League Baseball actually employ its first ever female umpire. Jen Pawol was a vacation call-up and umpired three games this weekend in Atlanta with the Braves taking on the Marlins.
With a beaming smile, she walked to home plate for the pre-game plate meeting. Not only did that mark a watershed moment for any umpiring career – the testament to the car rides, the long hours, the arguments, and the love of the game – it also marked a major milestone for women. Major League Baseball was the last of the main sports leagues to employ a female official. The last being Pam Postema who made it to AAA, but never Major League Baseball, in the early 2000s.
So that beaming smile told me everything I needed to know about her and her journey simply because it was, at one point in time, an option for me.
Looking back, I would’ve washed out had I gotten a professional job. Knowing who I am today and how I take interactions with people, it wouldn’t have been me after a few years. But it makes me all the more proud when I do see people succeed in this career – especially someone who can not only succeed, but also do it breaking a huge glass ceiling.
Congratulations, Jen. You’ve truly got the balls for success in the game.
(Catch up with Chris Kamler on Twitter, just don’t call it X, where you can find him as @chriskamler)
