I absolutely love sports. I’ve always loved the spirit, the excitement, the spark in the air.
Basketball, hockey, football, all wonderful. I can talk stats and smack with the best of ‘em.
Some sports have always been off limits, however. The big three, I always said. No golf, no tennis, no baseball.
Then I met my husband, an avid and life-long San Francisco Giants fan. He spoke of the drama, the strategy, the anticipation of the game.
I found it necessary to impress upon him that in no way would I be watching any baseball…I explained my disdain for the big three from the very beginning.
Every time he’d watch the game, I’d watch the backs of my eyelids. Snoozefest.
Ever feel like life is passing you by far too quickly? Watch some baseball. It will slow down things down pretty quickly.
I made it through two full excruciatingly-long seasons without watching a single game. That’s 162 games people, per team. And when you live in Northern California, you have two of them.
Then one day Craig called me with words that made my blood run cold. He had tickets. Great tickets. For a Giants game.
And he wanted me to go with him.
I reminded him of the big three. How could he have forgotten?
He reminded me of the four Shakespeare productions he had taken me to over those same two years.
My resolve weakened.
He sealed the deal with his promise to buy me as much beer as necessary. I anticipated LOTS of beer.
We rode the train into the city and Craig spent the entire trip trying to teach me the basics of the game. America’s pasttime, blah, blah, blah. Big waste of his time, I kept thinking.
When we arrived, I quickly reminded him of his beer promises, so we grabbed a couple and found our seats.
As I sat there, in the glorious sunshine, I realized that beer in the sun wasn’t so bad.
When the game began, I relaxed a bit and learned that I loved the sound of the crack of the bat.
I asked a couple of questions, trying to remember the things that he taught me, or at least tried to teach me, on the train.
Craig saw his opening and began throwing out little rules for me to absorb.
It took three innings for me to coin a new phrase…the big two. No golf, no tennis.
Baseball permeated my brain that summer. I gathered stats and read every book on baseball that I could get my hands on. I called Craig at work to tell him that the batting order had been changed for that night’s game or that a pitcher had pitched a perfect game or to suggest that we head into the city to catch a game.
I spoke to him of the drama, the strategy, the anticipation of the game.
Baseball has become one of my favorite sports.
I’m so grateful for that day when I just gave it a chance…when I resisted the urge to dig my heels in.
But the big two? Never gonna happen.