It’s Friday morning around 11 am, and I’m about to make a very difficult decision. I have to have a heart to heart with baseball and tell her that I’m leaving her… for football.I invite baseball to a luncheon at a nearby diner and when she shows up I can tell she senses something isn’t right (we usually only get together around 1 on weekends for day games).
Now the typical hug and kiss hello is a more distant peck on the cheek. For me, the spark is gone. It’s been gone since the Sox lost 2 of 3 to Rays at the Trop.
I just get a coffee, and baseball insists on a beer and a dog but I don’t want to be there longer than I have to. With that in mind, I get right into it.
“I feel like I need to see other sports…”
Baseball is devastated and yet not surprised.
“If this is about the playoff thing, listen, the Sox aren’t even out of it yet. They could rally! Maybe the Rays will fall off or the Yankees will tank!”
Now baseball’s grabbing at straws, trying a last ditch effort to bring me back. But I know the odds and it’s not looking good.
“Listen, it’s not your fault, how could we have known there would be so many injuries to overcome. How could we have known the rotation would be slow out of the gate? Baseball, it’s not you, it’s me…”
“It’s that tramp football! You always wanted me to be more physical! That’s not who I am!”
She hit the nail on the head. It was true. For the past few weeks I’ve been ignoring her, putting her on the back burner while I can’t help but notice the fresh face of football. The offensive and defensive schemes, the hot young talent, the Pats even got a new Polish tight end. I’m Polish! We’re perfect together! But I can’t tell baseball that…
“You’re an American classic, you’re great. I just need something else right now. I can’t sit and watch the Red Sox Triple-A squad trot out every game and pretend I don’t miss Youk or Pedroia. But Brady looks so good this year…”
Oops. I just slipped, now the jig is up.
“It is football! I’ve given you 162 games, and what’s she got? Sixteen games. That’s ten times less! We still have 20 games left and you go running back to that pretty boy Brady…”
“Don’t talk like that, baby, you knew what this was. How am I supposed to watch the Sox limp to a finish and not get excited over a brand new football season with Brady throwing to Moss and Welker coming back so quickly from injury? Maybe if the Sox healed as quickly as Welker we wouldn’t have to have this talk.”
Now I’ve really dropped the ball. No two ladies like to be compared, especially when you’re trying to pull a switcheroo.
“Fine, I hope you and football have a great season! But when you hit the bye week in October, don’t come looking for me with playoff hopes.”
“That’s fair. I know you’ll make some fans real happy this year. But you stay away from Scott… I think the Yanks have had enough luck last year.”
“Oh, and Joe… you’ll be back. You always come back.”
She’s right. But it’s over for now. I can go back to being a one sport man. Well, at least until October 26th when I’ll be two timing with the Celtics. But I don’t want to focus on that now. I have a date in Foxborough Sunday at 1.
