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Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Don’t tell Luscious One, but I’ve suddenly caught a little bit–just a little bit, mind you–of a sports bug. Strange creatures, these bugs: They cause you to yell and curse and call people you don’t even know very nasty names.

Because last night I found myself channeling the rowdy, bellowing spirits of every uncle and cousin, my father and brothers, and all their man friends who, huddled around our family television, populated my Thanksgivings, weekends and many a Monday night when I was a child. The only thing missing was beer and hot wings. Although there was a pizza.

Back in my little girl days, it didn’t matter if it was football or hockey or basketball or baseball… the boys always showed up. It didn’t even matter if the teams were of any significance to them. If televised activities included a puck or a bat or a ball or special gear and a whole lot of uncensored testosterone, the guys took over the tube.

Which is probably why I’ve always had a profound aversion to professional sports. And hugely resent ESPN being part of the cable package for which I pay. A rankling which, by the way, grew tenfold when I discovered PSO telephones only ring sporadically when the huddling and punting and spitting and dribbling et al are in play.

(Come to think of it, maybe I should be happy to discover that men occasionally find something more interesting than their built-in gear shifts.)

But this time it’s the Rockies; alliances and circumstances call for a certain allegiance. So I’ve shown up, toting some semblance of team spirit. The problem is that if I show up, I do so expecting my team to kick ass. So far, as you know, that is far from the case.

Tonight it might all be over. And I just don’t even know how to feel about that. Relief, that I’m finally put out of my misery? Disappointment, for the Rockies and their fans? Or maybe I will become a super fan next year and cheer them on the next World Series.

I’m told everything could change tonight; that they could still pull it out of the collective cap. And, quite honestly, I still have hope. But if it doesn’t happen, well….

….there’s always next year. And the year after. And the rest of my life, damn it.

Play Ball!

xo, Angela

5 Responses to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”

  1. HDB Says:

    More than ever, I want those stinky Red Sox to lose!

  2. Metro Sissy Says:

    A total massacre. But, like you said, we always have next year.

  3. Mr. Smith Says:

    “…there is no joy in Mudville – mighty Casey has struck out.”

    Sorry, Dearest Zen Mistress.

  4. Jeremy Says:

    Suspend the gray matter, let’s watch the passion of some kind of ball sailing around….I, like you, Mistress, am not a regular fan. But I am a passion fan and playoffs, world series, etc can infect me on that level. I also like some of the characters…though they seem fewer in a sports world that is so wealthy and filled with production. I used to love to watch MacEnro, with his relatively slight frame, scream at the umpire and Connors flip the bird…

  5. Luscious Lyndee Says:

    Sorry chica! Honestly, I was hoping for a better Series! The Rockies are a young team, and bet your bottom dollar, they will be back.

    I have been a Red Sox fan since I was a kid… well, actually the Braves are my fave! But, with family from the “Beantown”, I had to go with them…

    Hope you are well and that life is treating you with the respect you deserve, and demand!!


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