My husband has been moping around the house all week. I asked him what was wrong and he said, “It’s that awkward season.”
The “awkward season” is the time when one sport stops and the next one has not started. In this case, the Cincinnati Reds had their proverbial lunch eaten by the Pittsburgh Pirates. Maybe, I should rephrase — the Pirates made the Reds walk the plank, over and over.
The Reds season was over earlier in the week and the Indiana Pacers start pre-season games tonight. I believe this awkward season is about 96 hours. (I carried this man’s son for 6,720 hours of craving Wendy’s chicken nuggets, suffering hemorrhoids and nausea. He can’t handle four days?)
Earlier this week I heard a radio talk show about the difference between Major League Baseball fans and National Football League fans. The announcers speculated the baseball as “America’s game” is long gone, and that the NFL has tapped into our national consciousness.
Don’t kill the messenger, I’m just passing on what they said. One man speculated that baseball is too slow, and with technology has slowed down. He had statistics about the length of a baseball game in the 1930s versus now. The game, on average, is about twice as long. He also suggested that Americans like the head bashing and aggressive behavior (he called it violence) of football, and that technology has enhanced that.
Another man suggested that there is a different psychology in the long-term baseball fan. The talk show reporter speculated that today’s baseball fan must be somewhat anal retentive and possessed with obsessive compulsive disorder to enjoy a game of statistics.
I asked my husband whether he felt this way. He said, “83.6 percent of the time.”
His precious Pacers will soon start their season and I won’t see him again until June.
Meanwhile, my father called and asked me if my husband was watching the Pirates. Of course not, once the Reds are out of it, he is finished. My father, however, is a Cubs fan, and we all know what that means.
When I married, I was happy to convert to a Reds fan from a Cubs fan. I could not live in a world without hope. My parents were pretty devastated, but at least I didn’t marry an American League fan.
Amy McVay Abbott is a freelance journalist and author of “The Luxury of Daydreams.” She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.