Five hours and counting.
Not that I am counting, but if I were, five is the magic number. Five hours and seventeen minutes. Give or take.
…because counting would imply that I’m some sort of fanatic. That I’m somehow invested in the outcome of tonight’s baseball game. That I care, for some reason, whether Max Sherzer slept well last night.
Pshaw! It’s just a division title, give me a break.
He did sleep well, didn’t he? Is there a press release on that?
But then, why am I writing this instead of working on the myriad assignments vying for attention on my desk? Why am I doodling “Go Murphy” on the thesis I’m editing? Why am I secretly giddy that the Red Sox are out, knowing a certain fan living in New Mexico might be crying in her baked beans tonight?
To be clear, I’m not giddy that she’s crying, but when my Broncos faced her Patriots during the race to the Super Bowl in January, the FBosphere started getting uncomfortable, and I couldn’t cheer as loudly as I wanted to. It’s hard to yell “In your face” when someone’s Gronk is riding the stretcher to the locker room, you know? So, I’m happy to have that obstacle on the side of the road.
No, I’m not a fanatic. I can quit watching Nationals Baseball any time I want to. Then again, if that were true, I may not have sat up so many nights when we went into extra innings…Like that six-hour, 16-inning, suspense-a-palooza against the Twins last April when I couldn’t sleep until Chris Heisey’s walk-off put me out of my misery. Lots of coffee the next morning.
It’s just that I admire this team, their dedication, their coach, and their creativity. They are fun to watch. You’ve got Espinosa hitting home runs as both a left- and right-handed batter in the same game, a rookie named Turner who can fly, and Harper stepping up on his supposed day off to pinch-hit a game-tying home run in the 9th inning. And there are six players on the team with 20 or more homeruns this season. SIX! Even the second-string players are phenomenal. Although our hearts were crushed when The Buffalo re-shattered his knee in the team’s first post-season game, Jose Lobaton stepped up to fill his cleats and got our hearts beating again.
My favorite player is Jayson Werth, for whose T-shirt I relinquished a few tenners. Not the jersey. I imagine if I were a true fan I wouldn’t let a measly C-note stop me from sporting the colors, but struggling writer budget trumps style. Werth, to me, epitomizes the game. He plays hard, pushed through a lengthy slump this year to emerge as one of the team’s top hitters, and he’s absolutely awful in front of the camera. I love it when “MASN Dan” dares to approach him with the mic—the more glorious the moment, the more colorful the language.
Four hours and 33 minutes.
And while we’re on favorites, I even like The Big-headed Presidents. Well, not Hoover. He’s a tad creepy. Teddy is the coolest, because he just looks as if he’s there to enjoy the game. I decided that if I made it to a game this year, I’d wrangle a photo-op with him in case I ever blogged about the Nationals. Sigh…then when my big moment finally arrived, Teddy kinda wandered away, leaving me with Willy Taft. I’ll take what I can get.
I do have a life outside of baseball. And the Broncos. And the Caps. It’s just that I can’t quite remember what’s in it. By this time tomorrow, I may get a glimpse, because my nights would be baseball-free, but I hope not. This series against the Dodgers has been a nail biter, but all the Nats players seem to be playing on high octane (and I’m betting Harper is just reserving energy for an upcoming dramatic save). So, I’m fully prepared to put off my meager social life even further to cheer the Nats through the World Series. Starting in four hours and ten minutes.
I’d better double check the schedule to make sure the time hasn’t been moved up. Not that I’m a fanatic, mind you.
Criminy. There’s also a Broncos game on at 8:30. And the Caps play at 8.
Now what do I do?
Morning After Report:
I must really be a fanatic, because it hurts so very much. 😦
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. – Proverbs 13:12