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  Baseball. The word conjures up different images.
Hot dogs. Peanuts. Cracker Jack. (Yeah, I think of the food first. Sue me.) The crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd. Old stadiums versus new. The highs of baseball broadcasters (Vin Scully) to the lows (Tim McCarver). Free agency versus steroids for hot argument topics. No matter what, no matter when, I’ve always known one thing about baseball – you are either a Yankees fan or you are NOT, and the two shall never meet. Of course, in my family, all these topics pale in comparison to one thing -- the discussion of which player, coach, or entire franchise my in-laws currently despise.
I liked baseball before I met my husband so I wasn’t a baseball virgin, but I didn’t know the meaning of the phrase “baseball fan” until I met my husband and his family. Because these people are living proof that “fan” absolutely comes from “fanatic”. I realized quickly I’d better adapt or get the heck outta Dodgerville. So, I adapted. This earned a lot of points with the hubs and meant I could fit into the family smoothly; with panache, even. And considering I’m fond of the hubs and want to keep him around, being able to drop little words of baseball wisdom now and then is a bonus. Things like, “Pitching will be a factor,” “That injury’s gonna cost us,” “Either we’ll win or we’ll lose,” and the like, as the baseball pundits all do each and every day of baseball season, established me as a girl who knows her sports. When we moved from Los Angeles to Phoenix it was great because the Diamondbacks started in Arizona the same year we did, so they were now “our team”. We’d start our own little fanatic family rituals and scream at the TV just like the in-laws. Or so I thought.  The hubs has a hard time letting go. He still roots for the Dodgers, even though I mention every game that they aren’t the same team since the O’Malley’s sold them.
But at least I’ll still GO to Dodger games when we’re in L.A. My in-laws won’t. They literally won’t say the word “Dodgers” anymore, or at least, not without hissing. I’m not sure where the relationship started to go sour. Maybe it was Mike Piazza’s defection to the Mets. Multiple ownership changes. Trading good player after good player. Some player hitting on my mother-in-law after a game. (Hey, it’s possible.) But whatever it was, the break is permanent, barring one of my nephews showing amazing aptitude with a bat and ball. (Also possible, but unlikely.) They transferred their love and fanatical obsession of the sport to the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (don’t ask about the name, really, unless you want a whole ‘nother diatribe.) The Angels won the World Series and Mom and Dad were ecstatic. They even bought season tickets. And then the Angels did the unthinkable. They traded Eckstein. After he helped them win the World Series. And even after they bought him a new car -- a new car which, I must say, my in-laws were so pleased about. We heard for weeks about how Eckstein deserved at LEAST a car, probably a whole FLEET of cars. It’s like he’s their fourth son, the one the rest of the boys don’t know about, and the one Mom and Dad clearly favor. They cancelled their season tickets the day after the Eckstein trade. They still follow their Number One Son’s career, even though he’s with the Cardinals. They’ve allowed the Angels one horrible mistake, but the love is lessened. And they’ve transferred some of their baseball love to the Diamondbacks. Now I have support when the hubs starts saying how he hopes the Dodgers do well. But it’s bad because there’s no telling when the Diamondbacks will do something Mom and Dad don’t like to the point of eternal hatred. And then I might have to do the unthinkable. To keep family harmony, I might have to become a Yankees fan. Say it ain’t so, Mom and Dad, say it ain’t so! |
The Great Corrupter
