The other night my wife and I were watching Chopped on the Food Network when she said the show wasn’t realistic enough because there weren’t as many obstacles in the Chopped Kitchen as there are in a normal kitchen. We decided to come up with our own game show.
The rules are simple: When Baseball Mom gets home from work, she has 45 minutes to prepare an entree before her son needs to be at baseball practice, but there’s a twist.
Ted: “Welcome to Baseball Mom Chopped!”
“Moms, since you’ve already had three games this week and haven’t had time to go to the grocery store, we’ve prepared a special basket for you for tonight’s meal.”
“You will have 45 minutes to prepare dinner while your husband sits on the couch and asks if he can help, while secretly hoping you’ll say ‘No’ so he can watch Seinfeld uninterrupted. We’re not even going to pretend there’s time for an appetizer or a dessert.”
“In your basket you will find:”
“But since this is Baseball Mom Chopped, we’ve added the following degree of difficulty: While you’re making dinner, you will need to let the dog out, let the dog in, wipe the dog’s paws so he doesn’t track mud all over the house, remind your son where he left his belt, let the dog out again, let the dog in again, wipe the dog’s paws again and feed the fish because everyone else always forgets.”
“CLOCK STARTS NOW!”
The Baseball Moms all miraculously know just what to make and begin to do so while letting the dog in and out twice, telling their son his belt is on the floor of his room right where he left it, remembering where their son left his hat AND his glove, telling their husband they don’t need help because they both know he’d just screw things up, charging her phone, getting drinks, setting the table, unloading and reloading the dishwasher and checking Facebook.
“THREE MINUTES MOMS!”
Son: “Oh, Mom, I forgot to tell you. I have a project due in school tomorrow. I need orange poster board, pipe cleaners, zip ties, six different colored Sharpies, rubber cement and a pencil sharpener.”
Baseball Mom silently records the requested items on her mental note pad and plates each dish just as the clock expires.
Needless to say, Baseball Mom pulls off the meal without a hitch. Everyone silently wolfs it down and it’s off to practice while Baseball Mom tracks down rubber cement.
Baseball Mom #2 is declared the winner because the son of Baseball Mom #1 forgot his cup, despite the fact that he has 11 of them left in various locations throughout the house and the garage.
After practice, he finds two cups in his bag, but it’s too late for Mom #1. On the way home he finds another one under the seat of Baseball Mom #1’s car.
Happy Mother’s Day to my wife, Sue, and every Baseball Mom I know.