Stopping heartbreak at the picnic table

“Park ambas- sador.” I like it. Very stylish. If a park ambassador

is what you’ve always longed to be, Newport Beach may be looking for

you. Don’t be shy. You know who you are. When the other kids shouted

“astronaut” or “doctor” or “firefighter” when asked what they wanted

to be, “park ambassador” was the stuff of your dreams. Well, sailor,

your ship may have just come in.

Like all cities, Newport Beach has to deal with those awkward

moments when two groups are trying to occupy the same park or playing

field at the same time. Let’s say Group A -- the Harbor Honey’s

T-Ball team -- is practicing on a beautiful spring afternoon, when

Group B -- the Pacific Premium Protective Plating purchasing

department -- shows up for its annual softball-party-picnic thing. In

addition to softball gear, coolers, lawn chairs and a portable CD

player, the purchasing people have something very special with them:

a permit from the city’s recreation services department.

Uh oh. This will not end well. The Harbor Honey’s -- each one

cuter than the last in their giant batting helmets -- are

heartbroken, some of them sobbing softly. The people from purchasing

feel terrible, but the law and righteousness are on their side, and

they’re not about to scrap their annual softball-party-picnic, the

highlight of the purchasing people’s year.

“Now what?” you ask. Excellent question. In most cases, there are

a lot of sad faces and sighs and downward glances. Eventually, there

is general agreement that a permit is a permit is a permit and that’s

all there is to it. In some cases, harsh words are spoken, often

accompanied by vulgar gestures. Again, a consensus is eventually

reached, with one group walking slowly and dejectedly to their

motorized or foot-powered vehicles.

On rare occasion, the discussion becomes so heated that an element

of physicality is added, which is especially problematic when one or

both groups have a large supply of aluminum bats and cold beer at

their disposal. In the worst cases, a call to 911 and the presence of

uniformed officers are the only solution. According to Newport Beach

Recreation Supt. Andrea McGuire, “Field allocation is getting to be a

big problem everywhere, and park space is limited, too.”

Well said, Andrea, and I happen to know that Costa Mesa’s Parks

and Recreation Department would agree. Costa Mesa established a park

ranger program about 10 years ago, with uniformed rangers who patrol

the city’s parks in marked vehicles. The city added two field

ambassadors two years ago because the disputes over who belonged on

which field at what time were growing in number and intensity.

Now, as the spirit of park diplomacy spreads across the land of

Newport-Mesa, Newport Beach may be looking for a couple of part-time

park ambassadors. The matter could come in front of the Newport Beach

City Council as early as January. The city is considering ponying up

$24,000 per annum for the positions. That seems a little wimpy for

fully qualified park ambassadors.

I still haven’t figured out how you’d get a park ambassador when

you need one. Obviously, you don’t want to bother 911. Maybe there

could be an 800-number you call.

“Hello? Can you send an ambassador to Eastbluff Park right away?

One of the bridesmaids just punched a center fielder in the nose.”

When an ambassador arrives, I think they should assess the

situation first, then approach the group leaders with a polite but

authoritative tone.

The ambassador should then ask each group to produce a valid

permit for that field or park. If only one group has a permit, the

situation is easily resolved. If neither group has a permit, I think

there should be a “Park and Field Pre-Emption Protocol.” Organized

teams trump random groups, teams with little kids trump teams with

big kids, family picnics trump random outings, birthday parties trump

family picnics, weddings trump birthday parties and large softball

players with aluminum bats trump everyone.

A good park ambassador would know what to do. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor.