Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Who's On First Again?

Afternoon Readers,

     It's that time again. The weather's warming, birds are singing and I'm free to wander around my driveway with no shoes once more. Yes, spring is here, and along with the promises of  Easter, white pants, and backyard barbeques comes the one season that Husband longs for all year round, baseball. Don't feel too sorry for him; in the interim, he makes himself privy to sixteen games of football to sooth the ache for America's favorite pastime. And, like the wonderful wife I am, now that every, single night brings all four bases into our home once again, I sit and try to partake in yet another sports season. While this may seem charitable on my part, I'm pretty sure Husband gets the harder part of the deal because of questions like this:


"Honey? Honey is it called an "earned run" because he traded something for it? Like when a player gets traded? Speaking of which, still doesn't seem very fair to me."

"What doesn't?"

"Being traded. Ya know, when someone decides you're not good enough and tells you to get lost even though you spent the whole season trying your best and now you've gotta pack up your little, white spandex pants and move to a completely different city."

"Uh huh. Ok, we'll go over this one more time."

    
     Ever since the the day we sat in the box at one of our first baseball games and I asked (mostly joking) "When's half-time?" and watched as his eyebrows raise high enough to push his hat off, Husband has dedicated the greater part of our relationship to my "sports education". Unable to accept the fact that I missed the Every Rule To Every Sport Ever class that most men attend, he's logged countless hours watching games with me and explaining, in great detail, the ins and outs of baseball, football, and just where the merit can be found in pro-wrestling. I am the Helen Keller to his Annie Sullivan, with his patience spelling out f.o.o.t.b.a.l.l. in my right hand.
     As far as baseball goes, this year we're doing pretty well, first-hand knowledge I've garnered from the last few days being saturated in the first games of the season. The great news? All of Husband's hard taught lessons are starting to pay off. I understand what's going on, but there are still a few things I'm working on. Namely:

1.) I'm NOT allowed to have a favorite player. When a man says he has a favorite player it means he admires his batting average. If I have a "favorite" player, Husband's able to decode it as, "His sandy blond hair is striking against his white uniform, while subtly complimenting his matching dimples." I have no favorites...

2.)Not getting upset about a loss. I've been reassured that there's 5 billion more games to follow. What a relief..

3.) Not referring to some of the players as "fat". I've been instructed that they're "sturdy" and have "worked their entire lives to be there" all the while building "muscle" to get more "hits".

4.) Trying to understand why they don't call it a "draw"  when it starts to rain. It's midnight, but that doesn't mean a group of men aren't going to sit like a soggy group of werewolves waiting to through balls at each other once the monsoon lets up.

     All things to keep in mind as I continue to enjoy a whole season's worth of games. Now, I know many of my Readers love their sports, but is there any type of equivalent that men are put through? Then again, it's not like I have to beg husband to watch Lifetime with me. Perhaps we're even..

Until Next Time Readers!