It’s true, I have a temper. I keep it deep inside, hidden behind stacks of better habits and covered by layers of self-control earned through years of practice. My little temper rarely gets through all that, but sometimes I can feel it gurgling, bubbling, agitating, reminding me it’s there. I hate that feeling. For example:
The umpire made a terrible call, a terrible non-call. After play resumed, the opposing coach started yelling about it, saying what should have happened. The umpire, incredibly, stopped the game and, more incredibly, said, "You’re right, I should have called that." He then called one runner out and sent the other two back to their original bases. Incredible.
The old me would have yelled and ranted and let the air out of his tires. But I just sat until that impulse passed. I waited an inning, then went down to the backstop. I had a perfect and blistering monologue prepared, logical, irresistible, irrefutable, but I kept it to myself. I just didn’t see the point in getting all worked up, so I sat back down and watched the game. It troubles me no more, and I have no regret.
