I haven’t dared to come back to the blog for a long time. I think I feel I have to be prolific everytime I write something. That’s a great procrastination technique, I tell ‘ya.
I’m a writer by trade, so of course, every word I crank out feels like pulling teeth at times. Plus, there’s the constant feeling that every sentence has to be perfect, placed exactly in the right place.
I wonder if that’s how a lot of the Yankee players feel about their craft. Alex Rodriguez spent last year feeling like he had to win most games with one swing of the bat and ended up having a mediocre year. There’s a lesson here, of course.
One of my college professors once told me, "Don’t let the best be the enemy of the good." He was trying to teach the class to get assignments completed and handed in by deadline. If you over edit or spend too long editing, you can miss your deadline or lose other work in the process. I know this lesson well. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fall back into it occasionally.
I’m no Alex Rodriguez, but I’m sure even great superstars like him have problems with what they do best. I’m watching him this season, and so far, so good. I like what I see, but I won’t get too cocky about it. I know how it can be when you start expecting perfection from yourself – you end up accomplishing nothing.
I’ll guarantee that no matter how long I spend editing this, it won’t be perfect. So, for now, I’m taking it one blog at a time; and I’m thinking, just like Alex, one game at a time.
Boy, is it ever football season. The NY Giants and the Dallas Cowboys will be playing this Sunday and I’m dreading it. My husband is a Cowboy fan and I, well, I am a Giant fan. I say that with trepidation because this past Sunday made me question why the heck I continue to root for the darn Giants. They were defeated in such a humiliating fashion this past Sunday that it brought back a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach…the Yankees Detroit loss in October. Ugh!
I’m getting a little sick of this feeling. And, I know, there are so many who say, "The heck with you New York fans; you get to win all the time! Now take your losses like the rest of this and shut up!"
Okay, I’m going to shut up about losing. But, I won’t shut up about how crazy it is to be this attached to the outcome of football or baseball games. If there’s a shrink out there who could get a nut like me through this stuff, I would appreciate the advice.
Now, to deal with Sunday. I think it would be a great day to Christmas shop. That way, my husband can watch the game and cheer in peace…including screaming and yelling on the phone with his game buddies. I’ll shop and listen to the game on a little 1960s portable radio with a small wire attached to my ear. And when the Giants do something humiliating, I’ll feel better because I got some of my holiday shopping out of the way. I’ll be sure to pass a sports bar or two in one of the larger malls and catch a play here and there.
I can’t help but hope they win, no matter how much last Sunday’s defeat irks me, and I know that it’s not normal to get that wrapped up in a silly sports competition. I think the loss feels worse because I know how much Cowboy fans–yes, like my husband–LOVE the loss. They grind and grind and grind it into us with evil ferosity, and it raises our need to get them back with a win. All I know right now is that if the Giants win, I’ll feel only slightly better than if they lose. At least if the Giants lose, my husband will have a good Sunday. If they win, though, I admit my smile inside, the one that tends to draw up the right hand corner of my mouth involuntarily and ever so slightly, the one that puts a little spring in my step, will come back…even if it’s just for a week and even if my husband won’t talk to me for a couple of days. Ah, the price of winning.
Mets lost,I’m in the dog house. After staying up late to finish a project, I snuck upstairs to go to bed around 12:30 a.m. I heard the snores from my husband, so I knew it was safe to go in–afterall, the Mets just lost to the Cardinals and they’re now down in the series 3-2.
I hit the bed with a sigh and he suddenly woke up, took his pillows, quietly closed the door and went downstairs. I couldn’t believe it! He couldn’t stand to be near me because the freakin’ Mets lost. I was pretty angry, but decided to let it go at that moment. When I woke up at 5:15 a.m. to see him getting ready for work, I thought about saying something, but again, a cooler head prevailed.
When I made my coffee at 7 a.m., I wanted to text message him, but didn’t. Such restraint, or maybe not. For 11 years, my October schedule has been dictated by the Yankees. If they won, I stayed up late. If they lost, I often slept on the couch because I could hear him cheering quietly when they would strike out or the other team would get a run. I just hated that he hated them so much; therefore, he must be against me, right?
It’s all so dumb. The Yankees nor the Mets affect my income or help me raise my kids better. Yet, both of us let them affect our psychee. I was being a little high and mighty questioning my husband’s behavior over the Mets’ loss–I’m just as bad, if not worse.
The only thing I pride myself on this point is that I do not yell or get out of control. I’m quiet and when they lose, I go away. That’s what I did after the Yankees dropped their third game in a row to Detroit. I went to bed and brooded through my disappointment for about two weeks. I’m just starting to handle the whole thing.
Again, dumb. But, alas, I’m nursing my wounds by trying to route for the Mets. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s teaching me humility. I’ll say nothing to my husband and hope for, well, a win for the Mets. Although, if they lose, all this brooding will be closer to ending. This is no way to be a fan. Somewhere in all of this, it’s supposed to be fun. I think that might happen next April.
"Argh!" That’s the greeting I get when I walk into a room where my husband is watching a Met game. "As soon as you step in here…it never fails!"
He’s talking about me as a jinx. According to him, every time I come near a Met game, they begin performing like a bunch of little leaguers. I recently saw a game Pedro pitched at Shea, and he looked a little foolish, I admit. But they were playing the Orioles, for God’s sake! I wanted the Mets to win!
Sometimes I wish I had the power of a jinx. That would mean I could affect the outcome of things as I saw fit, right? The definition of a jinx, according to Webster, is "one that brings bad luck." If I truly brought bad luck, a few key trips to Boston might be kinda’ cool.
And if I am such a jinx, how have the Yankees mustered so many wins over the past ten years? I’ve seen or heard almost every one of those games and they won a lot of them, in case you didn’t know.
The latest "jinx" incident came when I asked my husband if he would like to get Met playoff tickets. He wasn’t very happy about the question. I was truly approaching him with a family, financial decision. Afterall, playoff tickets cost a lotta’ money.
"I’m not picking on you," he said, knowing I’m sensitive about the jinx thing. "But when you say something like that after I’ve waited 20 years to win, well, things might not turn out so well."
I think I’m so sensitive because my dad used to call me "typhoid Mary." I would not get as sick as everyone else, so he would accuse me of being a carrier of the sickness, whatever it was. I was never too sick to sit to the right of the television set as my dad told me which channel to switch to, though. Then my germs didn’t matter, especially on a Sunday when the Giants were playing, but he wanted to see the other game, too.
Since the Yanks haven’t won a World Series since 2000, I do question myself from time to time. But the bottom line is, I’m just not that powerful. Although, I admit, I’m sometimes glad that my husband gives me that much credit.
Mets blew it, but so did the Yanks. Phooey! Mets got creamed by the Red Sox and the Yanks got whacked by the Braves. The Yanks loss was more pitiful because the Braves stink. The Sox are real hot and arguably the best (blech, cough) team in baseball right now. When David Wright struck out with the bases loaded, my husband, the Met fan, said, "You can’t be the best if you can’t beat the best." He was disgusted. I stayed quiet. The Yanks are playing so badly, the best I hoped for was a Met win. Not tonight.
What makes this more sticky is that my brother, a Yankee fan living in Boston (ah! the horror) is married to a Red Sox fan. She’s another girl who likes baseball and let me tell ya’, she really knows her stuff. It’s kind of unfortunate because she is as bothered by Red Sox losses as I am by Yankee losses. You hate to think someone is as nuts as you, especially in your own family, but alas, it’s true. I know you must be wondering how they’re raising their kids…Red Sox, Yankees? That’s foder for another time.
One other quick note: the head blog dude said I should get my husband to start a Met blog. He doesn’t know I’m doing this. I don’t think he would be very happy if he knew, so we’ll just keep this blog amongst friends. Wink, wink.
I am a Yankee fan. No big deal, no surprise. Now, brace yourself…I’ve been married to a Met fan for 15 years. This worked until 2000, but it was okay because the Yanks won that subway series and my husband didn’t expect the Mets to win. This year, the freakin’ Mets are awesome; they’re world beaters and everyone is noticing we’re rooting separately for these NL/AL rivals.
I have to come to terms with how we’re such fan-atics. We’re crazy. We both sulk when our team looses; we both prefer to listen to every pitch; and we both try to nudge our kids to root for the preferred team.
One difference between us: my husband has labeled me a jinx for the Mets. This really annoys me because my dad said I was a jinx when the Giants were playing back in the ’70s. But that wasn’t hard! And yes, I was sitting to the right of the television set when Plasarsjek fumbled that **** ball in the Eagle game! But my brothers were in the room, too. How I got labeled the jinx is beyond me!
I do act just like my dad, though. I’m a poor loser, but I’ve worked hard to behave like an adult and show my two children how to act. So far, they’re good–they like going to Yankee and Shea Stadiums and they cheer for the win. I think they may make it out of this silly fanaticism. I’m still working on not letting Yankee losses bother me so much.
I carry the Yankees with me wherever I go and with whatever I do. From the benign computer wallpaper to thinking, "Mariano wouldn’t let this minor defeat (or even really big defeat) get him down!", I think a lot about the Yankees who find a way to win no matter what, no matter how injured, no matter how far in a slump.
My mental goal is to get back that 2004 Boston Red Sox defeat and subsequent World Championship. They got their movie mentions, their books and their broken curse; but, they will NEVER be Yankees.
Conservative "Dittos", The Redheadedreporter (thanks for the name, Scott)