We met in November, post-World Series. The Cardinals, or rather some team I didn’t recognize disguised in Cardinals uniforms, had already lost the series to the Red Sox. Baseball wasn’t a real topic of conversation between us. He was a teacher. I was a teacher… we talked about teaching. He played guitar. I play guitar. He writes good songs. I like good songs.
I knew he was a Cubs fan, but it was easy enough to ignore that small detail without my daily checks of the NL Central standings. We were just kind of casually seeing each other anyway. Given my recent dating record of wins and losses, I figured he’d be gone long before opening day.
Well… fast forward four months.
Monday is opening day. Lo and behold I find myself rather attached to this north-sider. Actually, I love him, despite his apathy towards wine and despite his predilection for losing baseball teams.
Him: “What’re you thinking?”
Me: “That I love you.”
Him: “No, you don’t.”
Me: *shrugs* “Ok.”
Him: “Ok. You can love me. But if you really loved me, you’d wear a Cubs hat.”
Me: “Let me rethink my previous declaration.”
And now, it’s four days until the first pitch of the season is thrown.
I’ll keep you posted, but I’ll tell you this: we can sit at the bar and he drinks beer and I drink wine.
I’m not wearing his team’s hat nor will he wear mine.
Something about the twinkle in his eye makes me think we’ll be just fine.
But if the Cubs should win this year….
I might just draw the line.
At least we agree on the ridiculousness of the designated hitter.
Play ball!
You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert
