So it is baseball season once again. Hubba-hubba and I love baseball. I should amend that, Hubba-hubba loves the New York Yankees. When we were on the East Coast a few years ago, we stood in line for supposedly last minute release Yankee playoff tickets against the Cleveland Indians for 6 hours. That is the last time I will ever believe a bunch of New Yorkers. We wound up getting them after the first inning from a scalper.
It is hard for me to describe exactly what about baseball, especially watching it in a stadium, pleases me.
It could be the guys with the tight pants, although there is currently a serious shortage of good looking men in baseball. Heads up to MLB, if you want to increase your fan base, just get a few really hot guys on each team, and watch your attendance soar. Relegate them to left field, they'll be fine.
It could be that for about 15 years my family had Dodger season tickets. We were in a pool with about 10 other people, so we got to have our box for about 12 games a year. I even got to watch the World Series when the Dodgers played the Yankees. As a family, we had so many good times at that ballpark.
Many times, watching a ballgame is not really about watching the ballgame. It is all about the company you keep. It is all about having a rousing conversation, interrupting it for 30 seconds to watch the fly ball get caught, then going right back to the conversation. Should we stand up and do the wave, or just raise our arms?
It is all about the expanse of emerald a-weed-would-never-dare-show-its-face grass and the precision of the white chalk lines on the diamond.
It is all about booing the umpire when he is so obviously blind as to call that pitch a ball.
It is all about the nachos and the hot dogs, as well as the time honored ritual of catching a bag of peanuts tossed to you by the vendor. Lawsuits by people "injured" by flying bags of peanuts be damned!
It is all about the duel between pitcher and batter, both playing head games with each other to intimidate.
It is all about the communal rejoicing when your team has just scored. Whoops, high fives all around, even to complete strangers who have now become your best buddies.
It is all about having to go up at least fifty steps to go to the bathroom.
It is all about eavesdropping on neighboring conversations, and making judgements about those people based on those little snippets. Or their outfits, or how many beers they have had.
It is all about attending Fan Appreciation Night and never winning a thing, not even a T-shirt.
It is all about filing out of the stadium, searching for your car, and waiting for all the other 30,000 or so people to leave.
So many things I love about baseball, hopefully Mr. Personality will learn to love it as much as we do. I have probably just cursed myself, and he will grow up to be an avid golf fan.