(Disclaimer: I have no idea who this pitcher is. I just searched Blue Jays Baseball and that's what came up. My apologies to you sports fanatics).
M has played baseball for as long as I can remember. I pretty much grew up around ball diamonds in the summer and hockey arenas in the winter.
I did my own activities, but his always took more time and I wasn’t old enough to stay home alone. So I tagged along with my parents as we took in game after game after game. There were perks, though, like the away game trips to different cities and to Europe. They were pretty awesome.
As soon as I was old enough to stay home by myself, I took full advantage of it (unless, of course, I was in the throes of young love with one of his teammates, which was more often than not. And by being in the throes of young love, I mean I admired the boy in question from afar while he had no idea what my name was).
(Actually, I think I stayed in love with one of them for about three summers. Of course, there was always another one of the many boys who I also lusted after – usually if he so much as looked my way – but there was one in particular that I thought was amazing. That being said, I think I developed a crush on every boy that M played hockey and/or baseball with. Naturally, I thought they were all in love with me, too).
Anyway, M’s last game of the season was last night, and my parents, R, my Grandpa (Grandma was trying her luck at her favourite sport – gambling), and K were all planning on attending to cheer him on. I figured I could make an appearance and act as the supportive sister, so I joined in the fun.
I realized the two reasons why I never liked going to the games in the first place. 1) It’s boring. Seriously. It may be fun to play, but not so much to watch. 2) Watching M play makes me really nervous. It always has. I hate if he doesn’t do well and my stomach is in knots every time he throws a pitch, even if he’s having a really ‘on’ game, which is more often than not. He’s a great ball player. Maybe it’s a protective sibling thing.
I was more interested in arguing with R (he eventually told me to stop talking to him) and giggling with K about the catcher’s nicely fitted pants (they were wonderful) and the bent over stretches executed by the players right in front of us as they readied themselves to hit the ball.
However, one thing I never really got a taste of in all my spectator experience is the conversation topics that the players discuss on the bench. I was sitting right beside the dugout (not a strategic placing, trust me. I looked like a bum and they all have girlfriends) and was privy to the delightful discussions of these mid 20 year old men.
Definitely not what I was expecting.
Please enjoy the snippets of chatter that I eavesdropped from the dugout:
“I had eggs, bacon, hash browns, and a cup of tea, and my bill was $22!”
“A cup of tea?” (My thoughts exactly)
“Yeah, I drink tea, fuck you.”
“I don’t bake, but she’s really good at baking. She doesn’t eat cake but she bakes cake and it’s really good. I don’t use recipes, though, so I can’t bake. I just cook. Like, I couldn’t use a recipe.” (Thanks, Captain Obvious. I think we got it. Also, to whoever “she” is, I would like to ask the following: Who the hell doesn’t eat the cake you bake? You’re skinny, aren’t you? Bitch)
“You are no longer a convenient store. I am a convenient store.” (Don’t ask me)
Good to know they were paying attention to the game.
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