Baseball with a Twist

All Jarv ever wanted was someone to throw the ball around with him or go to a game. He has two brothers close in age, so you'd think that as kids they played baseball in the backyard, or basketball in the driveway. But no. His brothers were caught in the throes of the 70's TV culture. (The TVs in Jarv's childhood home multiplied every year. At last count, there were 17.) Jarv's dad took him to see the Dodgers every so often, but recently admitted he never enjoyed it. He only went for Jarv. (I found this admission by the old codger quite endearing.)

Things didn't much improve for him when we paired up. I liked to run and we biked together in our early days, but I've never been much for spectator sports, unless it's women's tennis. He dragged me to a few basketball and baseball games, but I didn't catch the fever the way he hoped I would.

I think he gave up on me after the 2000 Sugar Bowl. He got some tickets from work, so off we went to New Orleans to celebrate New Years and go to some game, whatever it was. My sister, a complete gridiron nut, was exponentially more excited about the entire prospect than I was and pretty sure the ticket would be wasted on me.

But it was fun. I was completely fascinated by the whole cheerleader thing. I mean, what kind of woman dresses up in some teensy outfit and bounces around the sidelines to cheer on the guys, (who are more respected, more important, and much better paid)? It's a ridiculously sexist phenomenon. My in-depth analysis of this throw-back to the 50s might have taken away from Jarvis' enjoyment of the women bouncing around in teensy outfits just a bit. I take it he and his buddies haven't spent too much time wringing their hands about the implications of the position of women in our society as symbolized by cheerleader idolatry.

In any case, after half-time, I'd seen enough. So quite politely, I pulled my novel out of my handbag and happily passed the time until the game was over. I had no idea this was an egregious affront to Jarvis, the people on my left, and most certainly, my sister. 

Fast forward nine years and our son, QB, now has the attention span for a 3-hour baseball game. Jarv secured tickets to one of the Mets' first games at the new Citi Field.  The tickets were a big score, but Jarv was even more delighted that QB seemed genuinely excited to go. He's not a big sports fan and generally prefers building Lego vehicles to anything that involves uniforms and a ref. But no matter, today was a new day. Good ol' American father/son bonding at the ballpark it would be.

Did QB catch the fever? He liked the hotdogs and the crackerjacks. And the baseball? "It was okay," he said. "But my book was great, Mom." He'd tucked his new Star Wars page-turner into his jacket. And he read it the entire time.

Poor Jarv.