Wednesday, April 10, 2013
My other half has a battery of TV shows that she likes to watch. Many of them are bunched on the same night. She DVRs all of them, so she can watch them when she gets home. Now, we only have one TV in the house, so as you might imagine, conflicts often occur when I want to watch the Mets game and she wants to watch "Smash."
Most nights, she leaves me alone to watch the game, because she's a nice person. She also will make dinner for herself and look at makeup websites in the interim period. But once she tires of that, she will ask me if the game is over. Monday night, she asked me if the game was over approximately 10 minutes after the game had finished. I told her it was and she mused as to why I didn't come and get her when the game had ended. My assumption was that she could hear Gary Cohen loudly exclaim "And the Ballgame is OVER!" in the next room, but it appears I was mistaken. She may also have not been paying attention. The hypnotic powers of makeup, I suppose.
At this point, I guess you're wondering where the hell I'm going with all this. Well, the point of all this is that on Tuesday Night, she called me as she was leaving work. I told her "I think you can watch your shows early tonight." Thusly, I was not subjected to the final, futile few innings of a debacle of a game. Unfortunately, I'd already witnessed the early part of the game, in which the Phillies beat Dillon Gee like a pinata before he was mercifully removed from the game. I'm often loath to give up the end of a game like that, just in case of a miracle comeback, but ultimately, I see I missed nothing.
(Author's Note: I should mention, in defense of my other half, that I have successfully turned a Philadelphia area gal into a Mets fan in the course of our relationship. That's not to say she was ever a big Phillies fan to begin with, but she has gone from barely being interested in Baseball to following games and even coming with me to Citi Field multiple times over the past two seasons.)