You may know this, but I have recently become a baseball superfan. I am a superfan because my son is a superfan and I refuse to be a regular type of fan. I even went to a game with him. And I watch him play. Because, as previously explained, I am superfan.
And one of the things that I really appreciate baseball is that it is a low-contact sport. Compared to, say, football and sumo wrestling.
To make things even more reassuring for me, the boys have to wear a cup over their Balzac and also a special shirt with a heart protector. (Yes, I have looked to see if the shirt comes in extra huge and fashionable spring colors.)
Except on Sunday, Husbandrinka called me from the game to tell me that Young Ladrinka “got pretty banged up.” Well, he really called me to remind me that he was out of peanut butter so could I make my way to the store to get some, but when I asked how the game was going, he told me about Young Ladrinka.
“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” I shouted.
“Just his elbow and his face,” Husbandrinka reassured me. “And don’t get the Chunky this time.”
“HIS FACE?” I screamed. “By the way, I really like Chunky.”
“Then get the Chunky for yourself, but get me the Creamy,” Husbandrinka reasoned.
“But I don’t like to get a whole thing for myself. I like to share,” I explained.
And it’s true. I don’t want to be one of those weirdos who has her own jar of peanut butter. And then the kids would make a sign “Mom’s Peanut Butter” or something and then it would become fodder with my future inlaws. “Here you go, I got your favorite Chunky peanut butter, Mother Marinka,” I can hear my future daughter-in-law saying. “I don’t suppose your mother will choke to death on the Chunky this year either,” my son-in-law will bemoan. “It was really promising the way she was shoveling it in over Thanksgiving.”
When Young Ladrinka came home, I almost passed out. His eye was like a Picasso, circa Blue Period. Swollen and bruised with green and purple and yellow.
“I don’t know why you think baseball is no contact sport,” Mama said at lunch, while I shed many tears over Young Ladrinka’s bruised eye and he said heartwarming things like “stop looking at me!”
“Because it is a no-contact sport.”
“There is a lot of contact,” Mama announced, with significance. “A lot. Everyone hits each other with bats. That’s why they have to change the material they make bats with.” She said this with such confidence, that I, who have been to many baseball games and have never seen anyone hit each other with any bats, started to question whether I was perhaps missing an essential beating-with-bats element of the game.
Fortunately, Husbandrinka appeared in an award-winning performance as The Voice of Reason.
“They changed the bats from wood to aluminum because the bats kept breaking,” he explained.
“Oh, so the aluminum bats won’t break when they are beating with them?” Mama asked hopefully.
Husbandrinka didn’t say anything.
It’s hard to talk when you are eating Chunky peanut butter, you know.
One year ago ...
- Can I Do It? - 2009