A lady unless the game's on

I’m generally the sports spectator in our family. Hal is not a big fan. He claims to like watching hockey and basketball at times but I have never caught him doing either. When the Giants played in the Superbowl a couple of years ago, I was glued to the game with a couple of his friends while he and his buddy were putzing around on the computer. When there was loud cheering (a cue that something good has happened), Hal would come over to watch the replay and cheer with us, again.

Truth is I’m extremely grateful he’s not a sports fan as it keeps me from becoming a crazed sports widow. But there are the occasional moments (like during last night’s Yankees-Red Sox game) when it would be nice if he felt more engaged in the game, like I do. By engaged I mean, you exhibit moments of loud clapping, whooping and a string of profanities yelled at the television. This is me watching a baseball game in the comfort and privacy of my own home. I like to call the pitches, and subsequently yell at the umps when I think the strike zone is ridiculously too wide. I comment on nearly every play and display extreme exuberance when the Yankees have done something favorable. This may involve leaping to my feet and clapping in a deafening manner. And when things go wrong or not to my liking, I say things that no lady should utter. All the while, Hal just gives me a look that says, Just so you know this is not the pretty side of you. This is not the side of you I fell in love with.

I hid this side from him for a while until he caught me one night a few years ago. It was top of the 9th, Mariano Rivera at the mound attempting to get a save and secure a win for the Yanks. There were two outs, one man on second and Rivera’s pitching balls. Three to one count and I’m screaming at the television, yelling at Rivera to do his job, get the batter out already, throw a damn strike! Like I said, it’s not a pretty sight. Our bedroom, which is usually our sanctuary, has the energy of a downtown pub as if a brawl is about to start. Hearing the spew of a frustrated Yankee fan, a sound foreign in this household, Hal yells to me, “Are you okay? Who are you yelling at?” Everything’s fine in fact. This is status quo for a game, which doesn’t ease the situation for Hal one bit.

So last night as we sat on the couch, Hal with his laptop while I’m glued to the baseball game, the fun began and I adopted the personality of a truck driver.

He gave me that look again – Really? It’s just a game. I don’t even know who you are right now.

But before he could put me in a padded room, I made my case.

Jenn: Look, one of us has to teach our children how to yell bad things at the tv during baseball games.

It’s never just about the game, or my love of the Yankees, or the fact that I hate the Red Sox. It’s that wonderful feeling of being invested in something that holds no real bearing on your actual life. It’s great…until your team loses.

But the Yanks pulled it out last night and got the win. So suck it Boston!!