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Baseball is on the brain today. It wasn't on my brain until I started the blogging circuit. I stopped in over at Wanna Buy A Duck written by
Manzanita and she threw out this tidbit,
"I returned to Helena for the Sunday TV marathon of Jesse Stone with Tom Selleck. I just have
to watch every scrap of film whenever Tom Selleck is on. He really
does love baseball and used to pop in at the ballpark whenever he was in
town. My husband would come home and say, "I had lunch at the ballpark
with your boy friend today." (And I was home doing laundry) The irony is that little bit was tossed out as an aside. It really didn't have anything to do with the rest of the blog. Manzanita has lived an extremely interesting life that she gives the rest of us wee glimpses into every now and then. I added Knows Tom Sellect to my list of Fun Facts about Manzanita. I also added Humble About Knowing Tom Selleck to that list.
I just finished reading a blog devoted entirely to baseball, and more specifically to the Red Sox over at my friend
JJ, The Disconnected Writer's page. I always come away from his page smarter than I was before I entered. I suggest you read the blog, but JJ used the Red Sox and "The Curse" that they endured after trading The Babe to highlight how the sport itself has changed over time.
Baseball. Gah. We all have our own associations that we attach to everything. My first serious boyfriend played baseball. I never saw him play, but I understand he was fairly hot stuff in high school. I met him in college after he blew out his knee playing football, thus ending both his football and baseball "careers." Baseball was his passion, though. The knee was problematic because he played catcher. Game over. I watched him navigate life like a fish out of water for nearly three years before he joined the military. Not saying that decision was right or wrong, but it was forward movement. Ironically, he had no desire to watch the game. If he wasn't playing it, there was no allure whatsoever. Fine by me.
Baseball and I didn't even cross paths again until I got married. One of the things about which my ex was passionate: the Atlanta Braves. Honestly, I could have tolerated it had he watched the game like an adult. It was the screaming, stomping, and throwing things that drove me insane. When a Braves game was on, I hid in the bedroom with the children and the door closed. The worst times were being stuck in the truck and a game would start. That meant listening to it on the radio with nowhere to go. Prison might have been more fun. I can't say since I haven't tried prison.
Our marriage was loaded with
argumentsyelling. I remember one instance quite clearly. I was in bed sick with a fever. Felt terrible. I was watching something on TV in the bedroom while trying to go to sleep. He was watching a game in the family room. He opens the bedroom door - very excited. "You have to come see this. Dale Murphy is in the announcer's booth. You have to see Dale Murphy."
I didn't have to see Dale Murphy. I didn't want to see Dale Murphy. I didn't care anything about Dale Murphy. I told him that I was staying right where I was Thank You Very Much. It was like watching a volcano blow. I can't remember it exactly, but the gist was that not wanting to see Dale Murphy was equivalent to not caring about HIM at all. Dale Murphy was his childhood idol, and by not caring about Dale Murphy equated to not caring about HIM. The two were equal. As in one and the same. Taking it all one step further, not caring about The Braves was also like not caring about him. The Braves were HIS team. I told him that when they started sending him a paycheck, I would care like he wouldn't believe. Until then, not so much. I have never seen such fury.
Baseball. Right now I am 0 for 2.
