Well, baseball has begun for many teams today including the team for which my husband cheers, the Cincinnati Reds. I’m not a huge sports fan. The only time I really enjoy a game of any sort is if I am actually there. For some reason, I cannot do the pseudo-spectator thing and watch them on television.
My husband is an avid sports fan. He always has been. I knew this from day one. So it’s not as if I expect his love for sports to transform into something more fantastic (like a an obsession with giving me massages). But sometimes, I do wish he could cut down his enthusiasm for random statistics and methods of putting some ball somewhere in order for someone to feel victorious.
I know what you’re probably thinking something along the lines of, “why don’t you just walk into the other room and watch television?? HUH, LADY? calm down! It’s not the end of the world.”
But, I will tell you why it is the end of the world in this household. My husband happens to enjoy my company. very simple, I know, but true. If I am not in the room with him while he participates in this pseudo-spectatorism, he will call me into the room every few minutes to watch plays that I not only wish not to see, but refuse to understand.
Example:
” COME WATCH THIS! *giant pause*What’s-his-face just did a random-sports-move! It was so awesome! Watch the replay! Only two other people in the history of whatever-sport-is-on-TV have ever done that before! It’s amazing!! *more pausing* DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE IT?”
I’m all “YEAH! IT WAS AWESOME! *insert giant, double eye roll and smile*”
I love my husband. I love his sometimes child-like enthusiasm for grown men tossing and chasing balls around. But sometimes, it drives me a little batty.
And so with the love clarification set in stone, the baseball induced nervous breakdown I undergo every year carries out in this order:
April: It’s new again, and I just sort of nod my head and smile. I have somehow managed to forget the major interference it plays in my life for nearly half of the year due to the comatose-like break it takes from September to March.
May: Sick of it. Give me the damn remote. If I could shoot lasers out of my eyeballs, I’d destroy all baseballs.
June: Summer is here, and we might go watch a few games which will be nice, because YAY to drinking beers at the baseball field while watching a game. Meanwhile, at the home front, still pissed off it’s taking over my tv.
July: IRATE. GET THIS SHIT OFF MY TV. PRONTO! I DON’T CARE WHO HIT WHAT OR CAUGHT WHAT! Zippity freakin’ doo-dah!
August: thoughts are much too x-rated for this blog.
September: As if. ( I realize quoting the movie Clueless is not mature. It ranks right up there with using wikipedia as a source of information, but baseball brings out the worst in me.)
Now, since all of my favorite shows start coming on again this month, let us hope that my husband’s love for the Reds does not attempt to interfere with them. Which it probably won’t, since we love all of the same shows. Thanks to tivo, there is now some compromise about what is playing on our television, because if I have to miss my favorite shows for this bullshit, I become a little angry. (I’m sure if my husband had a blog, he would write an entry today about Grey’s Anatomy interfering with Reds games. More power to him.)
All I know is that if House, Grey’s Anatomy, ER, or the Office is interrupted by a “COME WATCH THIS” for me to run into the living room to watch some grown-ass man slide into a white diamond like that it’s glorified, I will scream.
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