Baseball with Dad

I am on vacation, visiting my family in my hometown of Berlin, NY. I am here for a long stay- 10 days. That is long considering I frequently just come home for a 4 or 5 day 'weekend'. It is rare that I am able to get away for such a long relaxing visit. True to form, however, we have planned something for each day I am here. My family and I have gotten really good at cramming a lot of stuff into a short period of time. We tend to make the most of every minute we are together. Anyway, mom & dad's Internet connection is slow, plus we have so much planned, there is not a lot of time for me to be blogging. I have been here three full days, and already have many blog ideas. I am writing them down in a notebook (you know, the spiral bound paper kind), and will catch up when I'm back in Ohio.

I do have some time tonight, because Mom & Dad's cable went out in the bottom of the third inning of the Yankees game. I am currently catching the game old-school: on the radio. I didn't grow up listening to baseball on the radio. We always had TV. So it's a bit odd, I'm having trouble concentrating on the game, but we'll see what I can do. We set up the radio in the computer room, and my parents have gone to bed. So I might as well blog.

Regular readers of my blog (the two or three of you), know that I have previously blogged about being a sports fanatic. You could also call us die hard fans. Either way, you can thank my Dad. Dad was only blessed with daughters. While I know some men who find this extremely offensive, Dad made the most of it. He took us to sporting events. Now as adults, between my sister and I, we have all the major sports covered. She likes pro football and NASCAR, I like hockey and baseball and college football. (We were not allowed to watch basketball-my mother does not like the sound of the shoes squeaking on the floor.)

The best way to describe my father is an armchair quarterback. He is very animated when he is watching sports, especially when it's a 'win or go home' situation-such as the baseball playoffs that are currently being played. He argues with the calls the Umpires make. He yells at the batters for not swinging at pitches, or for swinging at pitches they shouldn't have. He curses out the pitchers. Dad gets very involved. I do too, but Dad reacts like he thinks the players & managers can hear him. I know they can't hear me, I just have to vent.

Mom watches the Yankees because of Dad. Yes, she's a fan. She cheers when they win and doesn't like it when they lose. She goes to Spring Training games with Dad, or to regular season games in the Bronx. But she doesn't have to be home by first pitch, and she doesn't catch the replays on YES. If she didn't catch the game, she doesn't make a point of catching the score on the news, or reading the sports page the following day. Most of the season, she probably really doesn't know if they win or lose. She does enjoy watching the post season though, and will be sure to ask who won the game if she didn't see it. But Mom is very tame compared to Dad and I.

The Yankees have not been giving us much to cheer about in the past month, and certainly not the previous two games of the playoffs. Game 3 of the ALCS between the Yankees and the Texas Rangers was played last night. It was an ugly game. At least if you are a Yankees fan. It was also a good thing that Sydney was not spending the night here last night- because Dad and I both have a lot of trouble controlling our emotions when we are watching sports. And we both tend to swear. I know, it's not a great habit. But we do. Erich teases me that if he hears a lot of swearing, he knows the Yankees (or Canadiens, or Notre Dame) are not doing well. Last night there was a lot of swearing in our house. We all started out watching the game on mom & dad's big TV in the living room. Mom went up to bed around 9, and Dad and I kept watching the game. In our frustration, we forgot that Mom was sleeping in the room above us. (Mom & Dad's house is very old, and there is no heat in their bedroom. There is a vent in the living room that allows air to rise up to their bedroom.) Fortunately, Mom is a very deep sleeper. She never heard us.

Dad went to get his shower, and I had to do play by play for him while he was away from the TV. Since he was a couple of rooms away, this involved raising my voice. Again, I had forgotten Mom was in bed. Bad daughter! Around 10, I decided to come upstairs and finish watching the game from my room. At least that way, if I fell asleep, I was in bed. My room is next to mom & dad's. As I turned on the TV, it looked like Texas had another 2-run homer, and a string of profanities spilled out. Loudly. And then I cupped my hand over my mouth, remembering my poor sleeping mother. I apologized to her this morning, and she said she hadn't heard any of it. Good thing!

I turned off the game when Texas took a 6-0 lead at the top of the 9th inning. Apparently they went on to score 2 more, the final score was 8-0. Dad told me this morning he turned off the game when it was 4-0 at the top of the 9th. Mom woke me up at 5am this morning as I had to go in with her when she went to work and then go babysit Drew. As I went downstairs, Dad was standing at the kitchen sink, and the first thing he said to me was 'Who gave up the big run?' It wasn't 'Good Morning'. No. We were talking baseball at 5am and lamenting the pitiful playing of what should be and could be the greatest team in baseball.

Mom, Dad, and I continued to talk baseball for the next hour and a half, until Mom and I left. In the car, Mom & I talked about it some more, mostly laughing at Dad thinking the Yankees can hear him yelling at them. When Mom went into work, one of her coworkers asked 'So what did your husband think of the Yankee game last night?' Mom told him she was really tired of discussing it, and we felt the way all Yankees fans felt.

Tonight is Game 4. The game I am currently listening to on the radio (and the Yankees have a slight lead). When the pitcher started struggling in one of the early innings, we all started getting upset. I found myself yelling at the TV with Dad, acting like my words were being heard three hours away in the Bronx. Mom laughed at us, and I realized how much I sounded like Dad. What can I say? I look like my mom, and act a lot like her too. But there's just enough of my Dad in me- more than the premature gray hair or the big feet. I am a passionate sports fan. It's part of what makes me Amy. Removing that would give you a totally different person.

So thanks, Dad. Let's go, Yankees!