About eight months before Nik and I started dating, I made a list of my “weird” qualities (don’t ask why—I have no answer). I thought, someday I’ll show this to a guy and he’ll love me because of or in spite of all these little quirks and I’ll know he’s a keeper. And do you know what #18 was? ‘I hate baseball and I don’t think that will ever change.’ And isn’t life just so funny? Because Nik, the baseball player, was the first guy I ever showed that list to. He stopped at #18 and gave me a little smile. I half shrugged and said it’s still true.
Now, almost two and a half years have gone by and I’ve been to more baseball games than I ever thought possible. I love supporting Nik. I love watching him play. I do not love baseball. When he leaves the game, all of a sudden things become a lot less exciting.
I know. I know. This nation was founded on baseball and apple pie, blah, blah, blah. How can you be so un-American? Well, in my defense, I didn’t come from a baseball family or a baseball town—both excellent contributors to and predictors of an avid baseball fan. So, you see, it’s not my fault. It’s a mixture of nature and nurture. I was doomed from the start.
When Nik was with the Tampa Yankees, I routinely showed up during the eighth or ninth inning at homestands. Sometimes I missed the game entirely (whoops!) and rolled into the stadium as the crowds (read: all 200 people) were exiting and the players were already taking their showers. Divine providence is what I called those days.
Before that, I spent much of the games fidgeting restlessly, people watching and wandering around the stadium after the third or fourth inning. I’ve lobbied to reduce all games to six innings but the feedback has been mostly negative so far.
But the truth is, even if you’re a baseball fanatic, over 100 games a season is a bit much. It all starts to get a hazy, Groundhog Day feeling about it. And, in fact, did I ever tell you Bill Murray was one of the part owners of the Riverdogs and I saw him at a game? Semi-irrelevant but exciting all the same, don’t you think?
Anyway, I just hope I can make some good friends among the baseball WAG set soon or these next few (5, 10, 15?) years will be akin to a daily turn in a medieval torture chamber. That was a bit over the top. More accurately, the years will be like a compulsory yet pointless office teleconference. So, for my sanity and the safety of those around me, wish me luck in my quest to widen my circle of WAGs.
Now, almost two and a half years have gone by and I’ve been to more baseball games than I ever thought possible. I love supporting Nik. I love watching him play. I do not love baseball. When he leaves the game, all of a sudden things become a lot less exciting.
I know. I know. This nation was founded on baseball and apple pie, blah, blah, blah. How can you be so un-American? Well, in my defense, I didn’t come from a baseball family or a baseball town—both excellent contributors to and predictors of an avid baseball fan. So, you see, it’s not my fault. It’s a mixture of nature and nurture. I was doomed from the start.
When Nik was with the Tampa Yankees, I routinely showed up during the eighth or ninth inning at homestands. Sometimes I missed the game entirely (whoops!) and rolled into the stadium as the crowds (read: all 200 people) were exiting and the players were already taking their showers. Divine providence is what I called those days.
Before that, I spent much of the games fidgeting restlessly, people watching and wandering around the stadium after the third or fourth inning. I’ve lobbied to reduce all games to six innings but the feedback has been mostly negative so far.
But the truth is, even if you’re a baseball fanatic, over 100 games a season is a bit much. It all starts to get a hazy, Groundhog Day feeling about it. And, in fact, did I ever tell you Bill Murray was one of the part owners of the Riverdogs and I saw him at a game? Semi-irrelevant but exciting all the same, don’t you think?
Anyway, I just hope I can make some good friends among the baseball WAG set soon or these next few (5, 10, 15?) years will be akin to a daily turn in a medieval torture chamber. That was a bit over the top. More accurately, the years will be like a compulsory yet pointless office teleconference. So, for my sanity and the safety of those around me, wish me luck in my quest to widen my circle of WAGs.
If I'm not careful, this will be me soon. Stealing groundhogs and going insane.
I know. I'm sorry. When I saw that girl at that Bees game and when it clicked suddenly that she was a WAG who hated baseball, like you, I felt a few strong impluses.
ReplyDelete1) To hug this stranger and talk to her for the rest of the game to keep her company.
2) To move to Florida and go to games with you.
3) To text you and tell you about it.
One guess as to which one I did...sad.