The Pissing Contest

My old neighborhood had a multi-use baseball field. It was used primarily by Little League, but also for the occasional church picnic, and the Cub Scouts used it for their halloween fund raiser, The Halloween Hoot. In 1998, one of the local parents decided to put together a softball league for the adults. It was co-recreational. That meant that each team needed to field equal numbers of men and women who also needed to be equally dispersed. The outfield needed two men and two women. The infield needed two men and two women. The batting order? Man/woman/man/woman, etc...

Softball was the highlight of the week.

Ten teams were quickly formed and stratified into the same cliques you'd find in high school. We had the jocks, the motor heads, the geeks, and so forth. After the games many people would hang around to watch the following game or games. Sunday afternoon became the day for tailgating and socializing. Some people brought their whole families to the field to join in the festivities. The first year ended with an all-league party featuring a DJ and joke awards. Adult softball had become an important community building event. 

One of my favorite teams was the Yankees. They were composed of what twenty five years earlier would have been the cool kids. The defining feature was they had better jobs and nicer houses than the rest of us. They also had great parties and I was invited to them all. Like I said, I loved that team. Except there was this one guy...

I will call him Chris V. (the V stands for Voigt.) No one really knew how Chris became a Yankee, because he certainly wasn't a cool kid. He worked out of his home as an "independent insurance agent", which meant he was just a small-time con man without an office. His house was sort of run down. And he was a heavy smoker so his teeth looked like baked beans. But he gave his all for youth baseball. He was the director of the local little league, he coached a team, he worked as an umpire when his team wasn't playing, and he groomed the field prior to games. Chris said he thought it was fine for the adults to also use the field, but he really didn't care for the beer drinking as it was an obvious violation of the rules. It was apparent that he thought of the field as his personal property.

There was a hand painted sign on pallet wood up near the top of the back stop that had been installed a quarter of a century earlier. It was the code of conduct for players that read: No Fighting, No Cursing, No Alcohol. We get it, just don't be a dick. There was never a behavior problem at the field because we were all old enough to be beyond that. Besides, most of us were just there for the party and softball was the excuse. 

The adult league was very laid back and we were excellent caretakers of the diamond. On game days we roped off the parking lot so there was no driving where there was likely to be foot traffic, especially close to the playground. We installed large trash cans and the place was always cleaner when we left than when we arrived. And in a with a lightning strike of conspiratorial genius, we put our beer into Solo cups. 

Not even Nostradamus could see through this.

One Sunday when I arrived for my game, I was told by a representative of the Home Owners Association that I had been banned from the field and I was no longer allowed to play.  Further, if I defied the decree, league's lease would not be renewed for the following season. Yeah, you won't be able to join in any reindeer games.

What???

Chris had gone to a HOA meeting and told them that the Sunday afternoon softball situation was way out-of-control. Every Sunday the adult league was drunk! Parents were not watching their children and it was just a matter of time before one of the kids would get run over! The association would be sued! People would to lose their homes! An example needed to be made of one person to make the everyone else fall into line. 

That one person turned out to be me. 

I don't know why they picked on me, but I wasn't feeling like being picked on. I decided to call my lawyer. Except I didn't have one. Why would I need a lawyer? If you needed a plumber or a car mechanic, I could hook you up. But lawyer?  My speed dial didn't connect me with Saul Goodman. What I really mean is I decided to FIND a lawyer, which was not as straight forward as I would have liked. 

I made personal visits to several law firms and told them the story of the alleged beer consumption at neighborhood softball games. The first two groups quickly and politely told me that they didn't represent individuals who thought their constitutional rights to drink beer had been denied, but of course they were eager to recommend a competitor. The third said the same thing, but before I was allowed to leave they called every available partner into the conference room and asked me to repeat my complaint so they could get a good laugh. When I talked to the fourth group I changed my approach. I said “What you are about to hear is ridiculous, and I know that, but all I really need is a warm body in a lawyer suit. I will pay in advance.” That got me a junior associate to read over our association by-laws and to come to the next HOA meeting. 

I sure could have used this guy.

When I introduced the guy in the dark suit the HOA quickly whispered among themselves. Then they announced they had already taken another vote and decided to let me play after all. I told them that was great, but I wanted them to pay my legal fees, since they never would have taken that vote if I hadn't gone to the trouble and hired a lawyer. They replied that I was the one who hired him, so I would also have to be the one to pay him. It was then that I decided to sue in Small Claims Court.

Small Claims Court usually adjudicates trivial issues like "he ran over my mail box" or "they built their fence over the property line". No lawyers are allowed. It’s just two parties and a judge. State your case and accept the decision. We were scheduled to be heard as the last case of the day. I knew by the time we got into court the judge would be tired from listening little bullshit complaints all day and he was likely to be impatient. So I decided that above all, I had to be brief and avoid whining. When I arrived there were already two guys from the homeowner’s association waiting. 

ALL RISE. Nah! Just kidding!
State your case 'cause I want to get out of here. 

Our judge was probably in his mid-to-late 50s. He looked like a judge. He had a gray beard and wire-rimmed, half-glasses that he wore part way down his nose. As soon as we were called in he asked me, “What is your complaint?" I said: “I have been living in my neighborhood for 12 years. I always pay my association dues and I pay them on time. I am a member of a softball team that plays on the field in the neighborhood. We have a wonderful league and even they will tell you there has never been a single problem. Because they suspected I might be drinking beer, they took away my rights to play. Our association bylaws mention nothing about this. I had to get a lawyer to get my rights restored. I just want to be reimbursed for the legal fees I incurred in the process.”

When the judge asked the HOA for a response they asked: “What law can you cite that makes you think you should be reimbursed for legal expenses?” What they apparently didn’t realize is they weren’t addressing me. I had not asked any questions. They were basically asking the judge if he knew the law. He then looked over his glasses for a few of seconds as if to ask "Really? Is this the road you want to take?" When they didn't add anything he said “North Carolina General Statutes clearly state in Chapter 6 Article 3 that there are circumstances when a plaintiff is entitled to recover legal fees. If what the plaintiff tells me is correct... "

He paused again to give them another chance to jump in, but since they didn’t he continued... 

"...so if what the plaintiff tells me correct, then this is certainly a situation in which legal expenses would be reimbursed.” He went on tell them that my rights had been violated since I was not even been given the opportunity to speak for myself, which was a violation of due process. He said that what they had done “was akin to a civil rights violation.” So in the span of 5 minutes I went from being a rule-breaking beer drinker to a freedom rider.  I think that comparison would stretch even the most elastic imagination, but I would certainly take it if would help me get my $650 back. 

He then admonished both of us. To me he said: "I don't think I have heard everything here, but I have heard enough. Look, you know the rules. I suggest you do your best to abide by them." To the HOA he said: "Home Owner's Associations are not police organizations. I think most of them would do a much better job of serving their communities if they just tended to the shrubs and left their members alone." He found in my favor. I got attorney’s fees, court fees, fees from missed games, and even interest.

This whole event was covered in our neighborhood newsletter with the breathless gravity of an US Weekly. Occasionally a neighbor would ask my wife: what is going on with your husband and the association? She said she was humiliated. She said to me: "This is such a colossal waste of time! Why can’t you just follow the rules?  Can't there be just one day of the week when you don't drink beer??” I told her there might be a beer-less day in my future, but it would be a day of my choosing, not theirs. But she sort of had a point. It was an unbelievably silly way for a group of adults to spend their time and money. It would have been much better if we had used the same effort to clean up the creek, or volunteer down at the homeless shelter, or just about anything else. My attitude was that I didn't start this whole thing and, win or lose, I was going to make a point. Why did they think they had that sort of authority over me in the first place? I was lucky it worked out the way it did. 

The moral of the story is this: if you want to get into a pissing contest, don’t challenge a beer drinker. 

Come on! What were you guys thinking?

Epilogue:
Even though Chris V. had some very definite ideas about when and where it was appropriate to consume beer, this stricture did not apply to his own use of cocaine, which was much more prolific. When the news got out, the histrionics he used for the HOA were not nearly as effective for dealing with angry parents. Saying "but I never snorted blow in front of the little leaguers" was a nonstarter for the mama grizzlies. Shortly after the discovery (which was just a few weeks after I went to court) he resigned from coaching, umping, or having anything to do with either youth baseball or adult softball. He dropped off the radar after that. Other than an occasional sighting in the hardware store he was never heard from again.