Thursday, April 7, 2011
Around this time every year, Tom and I used to get our mitts out and pitch a few down at the park. We've been too busy lately, but this may be the year we get back into it - I'm feeling homesick for baseball. Baseball is always a challenge in our relationship, but over the years we've recognized the fundamental differences between us and honor them in each other. Yeah right!
I grew up in CT during the 50s so I'm a solid Yankees fan. Tom grew up in MA during the 50s - he's a solid Red Sox fan.
I walk around with a spring in my step because I know the Yanks are going to win. If they're not winning yet, it's early. Tom is always waiting for the other shoe to drop - he had to replay his World Series tape 20 times before he sort of believed the Sox had finally won.
I pitch. He tries to catch.
I grew up playing baseball every summer through my entire youth with three younger brothers who were all great ball players. Tom never played but can quote a stat from the beginning of time. These days it's usually about the amount of money the Yanks are spending on their players.
I don't keep track of the score because I don't have to. Tom has to - it has something to do with his misguided belief that he can somehow control the outcome.
I am not superstitious. Tom is Mr. Superstitious.
I don't usually watch the games. Tom watches them in his sleep.
I get my team info from Patrick down at the post office depot on Forrest Ave. Tom buries himself in the Globe.
I am mature about my team - hey you win some, you loose some. Tom is an emotional 10 year old - it's always the Yankees fault even if they aren't anywhere near the playoffs.
As I ease my way into the ball season this year, I do what I always do - I pray for world peace. Tom on the other hand, anxiously anticipates the Yankees' first bean ball.
Baseball • 8" x 8" acrylic on paper • $75