Opening Day. It’s a day to reflect – to reflect upon the misery and loneliness of last season. And the previous season. And the one before that. Perhaps, three seasons ago you were single, or in the midst of a breakup. But it makes no difference now.
Opening Day represents a recurring sea change in the relationship. One that usually passes, come late October – and reverts to something resembling the loving and nurturing you once knew. But until then, you’re pretty much on your own.
With opening day comes months and months of seemingly endless baseball games. Unlike football – which basically only ruins Sundays - the innocent bystander (aka - girlfriend, fiancée, etc.) experiences Major League Baseball’s season of never-ending 3.5 hour ignore-a-thons.
162 games per team. 32 teams. 2,112 possible game combinations. Factor in the fantasy baseball implications, and you have millions upon millions of potentially impactful outcomes. That’s a whole lot of ignoring to be done.
And with that ignoring comes shouting at the TV, jumping on the sofa, drinking beer, and – oh yeah – ignoring you.
But the baseball season is only April through October - just a little over the half the year. And did I mention it’s only 162 games long? Not including the playoffs and World Series, of course.
If you pick up a couple of hobbies – like reading, knitting, or traveling to Mars and back – then the baseball season can really seem to fly by.
I wouldn’t know firsthand. After all, I’m the guy watching all the baseball games, and ignoring poor Jaimi (my fiancée) more than usual. The upside is that she gets less of my smart-ass lip, and more time to do whatever she wants. She can totally monopolize the computer or read her beloved books in peace, without me bugging her to watch how many pushups I can do, or see how fast I can drink a beer – you know, typical guy stuff.
So maybe it’s not all bad for her.
April 6th to October something-or-other (not including last night’s Phillies-Braves game, which I also watched). The MLB season has arrived.
A-Rod can do steroids, Manny can be Manny, and David Wright can continue being as cute as a button. For most of the rest of the year, I’m all theirs.
Sometimes, during the season, even Manny wants to be alone. "If you need me...tough shit," he says, as he disappears into the scoreboard. Lesson learned: We all need our own scoreboards to hide inside.
No comments:
Post a Comment