Three Thousand

July 8, 2011

Yeah, I know. For someone who loves baseball, I sure do go quiet during baseball season. For explanation/justification, please see my other blog.

My son and I are going to the Yankees game tomorrow. Which means I’m only half-heartedly rooting for Derek Jeter today. Because we all know he’ll reach this milestone—he’s only two hits away. He’ll likely do it this weekend. And selfishly, I want to be there.

Jeter started playing when I was pregnant with this very same son, and so it seems right to me that we should be in the house.

I understand that is not logical.

I have a similar problem with fantasy baseball. I will almost never draft a Met or a Red Sox player. As a self-respecting Yankees fan, how could I? But I’ve had other AL East players on my team. And I’ve wished well for them. It feels wrong. It makes me feel dirty.

Baseball fandom: it’s complicated.


Happy opening day, friends.

March 31, 2011

The Season To Be Jolly

March 28, 2011

When I was young, I tried to frame time in a way I could handle. Like this: The day after the day after tomorrow, there will be baseball again. Yankees will take the field in the Bronx. And all will be right in my world. Surely I will start sleeping through the night again. I’ll stop clenching my jaw to the point of awful headaches. My house will be clean? Too far. I always go too far.

In celebration of finally reaching the very week that promises opening day, some favorite baseball quotes:

“People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” –Rogers Hornsby

“It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.” – A. Bartlett Giamatti

“So I’m ugly. So what? I never saw anyone hit with his face.”     – Yogi Berra

“Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” –Satchel Paige

“The true harbinger of spring is not crocuses or swallows returning to Capistrano, but the sound of the bat on the ball.” – Bill Veeck

“Nothing flatters me more than to have it assumed that I could write prose–unless it be to have it assumed that I once pitched a baseball with distinction.”        – Robert Frost

“If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an infant’s life, she will choose to save the infant’s life without even considering if there is a man on base.” – Dave Barry

Three days and counting. Fa la la la la la la la la.

Well Done

February 4, 2011

Bittersweet: Both pleasant and painful or regretful

This definition provided, free of charge, in honor of Andy Pettite’s retirement announcement today.

I’m glad he’s retiring, as he seemed so torn about spending so many days of all those years apart from his family. But I’m going to miss him so much.

Twelve More Days

February 2, 2011

It would be brilliant to like football or hockey or basketball, to help me through these long, bleak winter months. But I don’t. I can sometimes get caught up in March madness, but I kind of need to work at it.

Today, in the wake of the ice storm that wasn’t in coastal NJ, I’m thinking about how to get through the next month and change. I know baseball’s still two months away, but starting next month, on occasion, there will be spring training games on the radio. John Sterling’s painful corniness. Suzyn Waldman’s half-under-her-breath sighs when she disagrees with a call.

Good times.

Just about everyone I know is having a hard time with the miserable weather this winter. And while I’ve always accepted that January and February are the months we simply must get through, middle age has made me wonder if that’s a good way to feel toward one-sixth of my life.

March is the month of daffodils. Spring training. It can’t be helping that due to the unfortunate scheduling of my kids’ spring break, this will be the first year in forever that we’re not attending. We’re especially missing Lenny’s, where we love to eat before a Phillies game. Maybe I should slap a Danish basket on the breakfast table one morning with the careless ease of a professional waitress.

Every year I vow to come up with something to brighten the tough winter months, but I’m failing. Even the daffodils I bought aren’t getting the job done.

All I can do is wait.

Twelve more days until Yankee pitchers and catchers report.

In the Blood

December 20, 2010

People are always surprised to hear that I, a Yankee fan, am married to a Red Sox fan. It’s old news to us, and aside from the 2003 ALCS, when I thought he might either die or kill me, it hasn’t been that big a deal.

That same husband (really, there’s only one) grew up in Philadelphia, so his other team has always been the Phillies.

Though some find it unthinkable, it never seemed weird to me for a person to have two teams, as long as those teams are in different leagues. My son is a Yankees and Phillies fan. (Yankees first, for the record.)

The Phillies aren’t my team, but I’m kind of fond of them. Because they’re the team of my husband, son and daughter (she, like me, has only one team).

So the Cliff Lee thing, oddly, didn’t kill me. I’ll still be watching him pitch a lot, in a ballpark I can afford to attend, by the way. And I won’t be stuck with him when he’s 58, or whenever that Yankees contract would have been set to expire.

I realized, with some alarm, today that there appears to have been some Philadelphia-sports-team spillover into my blood.

This afternoon, I found myself screaming my head off for the Eagles, of all things. I don’t care about football. I only understand about 81 percent of it. But there’s something about surging back, after being down 24 to 3, and winning. Beating your arch rival.

And for me, there’s also something about a happy husband and son.

But mostly, I think it was really at its root, just about missing baseball.

I needed something to root for.

56 days until pitchers and catchers report.