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Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Hey Baseball: I Need More Time


Ok, Baseball.  We need to have a little chat.

Listen.  We've just been a little hasty with this getting back together.  We have jumped the gun as it were.  You're coming on a little strong.  Dude, you're just going to need to GIVE ME A MINUTE, PLEASE.

I mean just less than two weeks ago your fields were covered in snow.  And it's been even less time since I broke up with Basketball.  This just seems a little rushed.

I thought I was ready for our reunion this past Saturday.  Friday it was sunny and kind of warm.  So, maybe I was just too optimistic about us getting together the next day.  By Friday night when I saw the forecast, I knew this was just not the right time, Baseball.

You're just rather high maintenance, you know?  Like you require so much of my energy and my time.  So much planning.  Do I need an umbrella?  Do I need my sunglasses and sunscreen?  Do I need a sweatshirt?  If I wear boots, will it suddenly get warm and I'll need my flip flops?  Will there be a long period of time in between games which means I should bring some reading material?  Will there be a concession stand or do I need to pack a cooler?  Will there be a parking space near the field so I can watch from my car and eat popcorn and listen to Bon Jovi?  Will the Port-A-Potty have toilet paper? 

But, as usual, I'm a fool for you, Baseball.  So I got myself up at 5:00 am and traveled in to DC in the dark, pouring down, cold rain - all the while wondering if you were going to cancel on me at the last minute.  I know, I know about your fancy-schmancy turf field.  "Rain is no big deal on my totally awesome super cool turf field."  Blah, blah, blah.  Give it rest.

Look I'm not impressed by all that material stuff anymore.  I know that for years Madonna and 16 Candles made me value a guy with a Jake Ryan smile and a red Porsche, but I've grown up, ok?  You and your turf field do not impress me.  I mean basketball gave me a big, shiny trophy and a last minute victory in the championship and I still left.  Just look at Drew's face.  He's all, "Dude, this is cool, but my mom's totally gonna dump you, man."



I would like to point out for you, Baseball, that Basketball did some very considerate things.  Like providing indoor plumbing.  And heated gyms.  And a time limit.  And cancelling with plenty of notice. I was able to know ahead of time if I could stay in my pjs and eat nachos on my couch and watch 80s movies.  Basketball didn't wait until I showed up with my hair and make up all done to say, "Sorry, Folks.  Park's closed.  Moose out front shoulda told ya."

(There were lots of 80s movies.  Lots.)

Let's just ease in here, alrighty?  Yesterday, I bought all the Oxyclean and the Shout and that bar of soap with the weird name.  We've ordered all the new pretty white pants.  I still need to get the sunflower seeds and the new water bottles because the old ones have disappeared into the black hole that I'm sure also holds all of our lost socks and pacifiers.  I need to fish through the garage and find the fold-up chairs.  I need to say a few prayers so that I remember that umpires are God's children, too. 

Anyway, Baseball.  You know I'll come back.  I always do.  You're just gonna need to take it down a notch, Casey at the Bat, ok?  I'll realize soon enough that I'm the best of myself when I'm with you, but you need to be the best of yourself also and you have some work to do.  Soon.  I will find you, Baseball. Soon.

Psst!
Basketball, guess what?  Texas squeaked its way into the Big Dance!  I can't even believe it.  I can still see you on the side until they lose, ok?  Meet me in front of the TV on Thursday.  Bring nachos.

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