I think this will be my mantra through the baseball season to Chandler. I am a football kind of girl. I understand the game, I have my team, know the players and take it to another level by participating in two fantasy football leagues. My love for the sport was nurtured by my dad and cursed by my mom.
The guys I have dated in the past were all about football, sure we would hit the bar to watch some March Madness or the playoffs for baseball but there was a consensus that football was the sport that we all focused on. For a few years it seemed like my weekends were spent in sports bars with friends and Jorge with little other activities planned.
Then Chandler came into the picture. Sure, I like going to baseball games but to sit and watch on television? Not likely. I think it all goes back to being at Granny and Popa’s house while my aunt nodded off and on while watching the Braves play. But you could never change the channel even if the whole room was napping because it was baseball! The Braves!
I think my only pro game was incidentally a Braves game, shortly after the lockout that baseball dealt with many years ago. I think I paid three bucks for that game. Also, I have the attention span of a gnat, so baseball, with its never ending innings and slow pace, well I can’t focus for that long.
But Chandler is a Cubs fan. . . and I will wait while some in the know share their “I’m sorrys.” That seems to be the response I hear most when I say he is a Cubbie. But to be the supportive girlfriend I said sure, I will watch some games, I will learn the ins and outs of this game and since I really don’t have a team (unless you count the Yankees and really, I picked them because of their location, not their record) I will pull for the Cubbies.
Small problem though, while it is just a game, apparently I have to be schooled about the rules, the setup and even the players for the Cubs. When I asked if I could wear one of his jerseys he looked at me like I had just asked for all of his money and whatever else I could pilfer from him. Then he stunned me with a one word answer. . . NO!
Seriously? So then I say something to the effect of maybe he should get me a t-shirt. Again with the NO! I am only allowed to wear Cubbie apparel when I can name players, position, records and oh yeah, I completely understand the game. I had an easier time getting my insurance license than this.
And when I say it is just a game (just like he told me during football season) he sighs, half closes his eyes, shakes his head and says NO. I have a feeling it is going to be a long season. . .