A site of satirical musings, commentary and/or rhetorical criticism of the world at large.

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Location: Southeastern, Pennsylvania, United States

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Without Baseball

The exhibition baseball season is under way, and that means that my wife, Anne Marie, is happy again. During the off season, she goes into mourning without her daily fix of hearing Phillies games on the radio. She won’t watch the games on TV; that would be too distracting for her while she knits. Listening to the games enables her to pursue her two favorite pastimes, knitting and baseball. I’m surprised that she hasn’t knitted herself a mourning shawl for the next off-season, but give it time...

There are some other techniques I’ve thought of to get her through the winter of her bereavement, but I’m afraid to mention them. Well, here goes...

We could try indoor baseball during the winter months. Our living room is long enough to accommodate some sort of ball tossing and batting. True, the windows at each end would take a beating, but my wife’s happiness would be worth it. The only thing stopping this idea is that I cannot find baseball gloves to fit over our cat’s paws. We’d have to get Kelly and Meredith involved in our game, otherwise it would just be my wife and I tossing a ball back and forth.

Or we could try finger puppet baseball. Anne Marie could knit little uniforms to fit over our fingers, then if we could figure out to hold a little bat between those fingers, and if we could figure out how to toss a tiny ball with another pair of fingers, we’d be able to play a game. No windows broken, no cats humiliated and my wife would be happy. Of course we’d have to have another set of fingers to pose as the umpires. Oh yeah, I can see this now. We’d be playing our puppet game when the “ump” makes a bad call that Anne Marie doesn’t like. I have a feeling that my fingers would be sore for a long while after she gives a piece of her mind to the umpire.

Or there is the technique about which I have had nightmares: Anne Marie’s version of baseball fantasy camp. My dream goes something like this: I hear my wife call out “Pat” in a very come hither tone. Then I see myself putting on a Pat Burrell jersey and nothing else... Don’t ask! Please!

Fortunately, the official season will start in a matter of weeks and I won’t have to worry about living without baseball until October. Go Phillies!


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