The Home Team

Last week was our fourth wedding anniversary. As we were privy to free babysitting from Bubbie, we decided to go away for the night. Where did we go, in this state riddled with opportunities for romantic getaways? Cooperstown, of course. It was the All-Star Break after all, where else were we going to get our fix if not at the Baseball Hall of Fame? And you know, marriage is a lot like baseball. Oh wait, no it isn't.

Matthew is a huge baseball fan and I am one as well, although somewhat less so as I don't use the second person plural "we" when I am talking about my team. And actually I don't really have a team anymore. As a wee lass we lived on the North Side of Chicago so it was all about the Cubs. (Much to the everlasting chagrin of my South Sider White Sox-fan father). My first baseball games were at Wrigley Field and that leaves a lasting imprint on a girl. I still love the Cubbies. In middle school and high school I lived in Cincinnati, and let me tell you, there is no bigger baseball town on this planet. They are just f*cking crazy there. They actually give kids Opening Day off school (or at least did when I lived there) because it is a huge municipal holiday. My sister and I used to go to Reds games after school and sit in the nosebleeds. We'd eat the frozen malts in a cup and laugh at the businessmen getting sh*tfaced on Hudy Delight. Oh, and watch the game. My favorite player in those days was Davy Concepcion. He was an awesome shortstop and, as my mother pointed out, had the best ass in baseball. These days though, I couldn't care less about the Reds. Sad but true. No emotional connection other than deep affection for  Ken Griffey Jr. Fast-forward through my dissolute young adulthood where I was very busy being a slacker. I lived in San Francisco for awhile after college and never even saw the Giants play once. Then I moved to Europe and my only connection to the game was to explain American-English baseball analogies to puzzled friends. When I moved back to the States for good I decided that I was going to move to New York City. This was in 1996, which was excellent timing. I watched the 1996 World Series and fell deeply in love with the Yankees (again, much to the chagrin of my father who I think hung up the phone to rend his garments when I told him). I mean, that team was special. But, after moving to the city I also fell in love with the Mets. It was difficult, since that is a special kind of verboten love here. I still don't go around advertising this fact. But I do love them both. In the 2000 Subway Series I rooted for the Mets. Except when Paul O'Neill was batting for the Yankees. (It's not easy being me). This is the long way of explaining that while I do not have just one team I still love to follow baseball. And I am always happy in the postseason because there is usually one or two teams I like. Matthew is the complete opposite. He has one team, and one team only. The Oakland A's. He follows every freaking inning all summer long. And he gets his heart broken come postseason every year. Poor guy.

So the decision to go to Cooperstown was an easy one and let me tell you, it was awesome. I pretty much like any museum, I'm a museum/library/archive-whore, but this one really is special if you love baseball. And if you love a baseball lover, it is especially fun. Matthew's face lit up at each vitrine. It was heaven.

But I really didn't mean this post to be about baseball. I meant it to be about our anniversary. And about how much I love my husband. Sometimes I have a hard time writing about it (thus the long digression). It's very hard to convey the happiness we have without it somehow sounding less than it is. All I can say is that I married the best friend I ever had. Even before we started "dating" (i.e. having sex) we would spend as much time as we could with each other because we had such a good time. Now we get to live in the same house and make human beings together. Sometimes I have existential moments where I look at him, say, when he's sitting on the livingroom couch or doing the dishes, and for a moment I see him as he truly is. All the daily crap falls away and there stands the love of my life, shining bright under the ceiling fan. It always makes me get teary. And then sometimes I'll let my mind go down all those roads not taken and play the "what if?" game. I'll go over all the things that I let slip away or opportunities missed but at the end I always come down to few regrets. Because every road, no matter how stupid or painful, led to him and our life now. And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Comments

[kilowatthour]

congratulations! we're up to 4 years now, too.

(and how dare you make me cry before work?!?)

[supa]

tearing up, here, lady. we'll be 5 years in 10 days.

"Now we get to live in the same house and make human beings together." Is there any greater privilege? Congrats and best wishes for many more years.

[jenB]

You look incredible in your wedding photo. I am an old married lady - 10 years! gah! in August.

[Jill]

We're eight years. Congratulations and keep up the good work with the loving each other and the making human beings.

Also, I have a Yankees/Mets/Red Sox split personality disorder. Mostly Yankees/Red Sox, but I couldn't help root for the Mets in the '86 series--Mookie Wilson, Gary Carter, Keith Hernandez, etc. etc. And I am SO WITH YOU on Paul O'Neill.

[Kyran]

I think you may be a baseball polygamist. The Yankees and the Mets are like sister-wives. You may need to go into hiding. Few will understand.

I heard essayist Joe Queenan on npr the other week in connection with his book, True Believers: The Tragic Inner Life of Sports Fans. He said his philosophy is that you have to play the hand you are dealt, geographically. "I meet midwesterners who are Yankees fans," he said, "and I have nothing but contempt for them."

The momku may drive me to break down in my twitter boycott. But you have to promise to get HBO.

[kara]

*sniff*

*wipes tear*

[Nicolle]

wow, congratulations! albeit belatedly... wishing you a lifetime of happiness.