As some of you may know, my family is not really into sports. Before my little brother, Crawford, came along, none of us had much athletic ability or interest. Mediocre gymnastics and ice skating was about the most athletic we got.
And then I married Philip: the biggest sports fan in the universe.
It was certainly an adjustment, working our lives around football and basketball season, but after nearly four years, I’m consigned to the fact that this is my new life. In fact, there are some sports that I’m starting to enjoy….although at the moment none are really coming to mind…
Anyway, we were planning a trip to Phoenix a few months ago to visit Philip’s parents, and Philip mentioned he’d really like to take me to a Diamondback’s game. I said sure, but I’m sort of embarrassed to say I didn’t even know what sport we were going to be seeing. It turned out to be baseball.
This past week was the trip, and the game, and it turns out I didn’t hate it. I actually enjoyed it. I’ve come to the conclusion that sports really aren’t so bad when you’re at an actual game; you’re in the cheering crowd, there’s the smell of hot dogs, and you get to sing “Take Me Out To The Ball Game.” I still hate watching sports on TV, but give a girl a break — I’m trying.