Did you know that Eric Milton's ERA stinks? Well, it does. It does stink. Emphatically so. I know this because I am married to a baseball fanatic who regales me with such statistical tidbits on a daily basis.
My husband loves baseball. He loves to watch it on TV, to listen to it on the radio, to go to major and minor league games, to play it in real life and on video games, and to discuss it.
He loves it so much that he even participates in a fantasy baseball league. I don't totally understand it, I just know that he spends hours hunched over the computer, e-mailing the other guys in the league about potential trades and jotting down multitudes of cryptic notations on sheets of paper. The other day I picked one up and waved it around in front of the birdcage, incredulously saying to Chloe "Do you see this? This is the work of a madman!"
Luckily for me, I don't mind. I am not particularly into baseball, but I like it and find it mildly interesting. I know a lot more about it than I did when I first got married, and my husband beams with pride when I ace one of his impromptu baseball quizzes, which he is fond of giving me on car trips.
It's fine with me to watch baseball if it's on TV, and I actually enjoy going to the ballpark to see a game. Although, I must admit, I enjoy the ballpark in large part because of the snacks and the people-watching. Even if a particular game is a bit dull, the people-watching is always interesting.
Speaking of people at baseball games, you know how there's the little organ tune that ends with everyone yelling "Charge!"? Well, once we sat a few rows behind a family who thought it was infinitely amusing to keep yelling "CHAAAARRRGGEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" until their voices gave out. Due to this, we were already considering switching to other seats, but the deal was clinched when their preteen son, who had eaten numerous hot dogs, began experiencing a severe case of, umm, flatulence. It just about knocked us flat three rows back. (I wouldn't have been surprised if the grass on the field withered.) Somehow that kid managed to stink up the whole outdoors--THE WHOLE OUTDOORS! What in the world?! I was tempted to implore him to seek medical attention...or to at least quit eating hot dogs, for the sake of the rest of humanity.
I am going to a major league ballgame tonight, and I'm looking forward to it. (Actually, my husband's whole family is going, in order to celebrate our 8-year-old nephew's birthday.) I hope that the game and the people-watching are interesting (but not accompanied by any, er, unpleasant aromas). Other than the fact that the temperature outside is hotter than the surface of the sun and the fact that Eric Milton is pitching, it should be a fun time.