Our family loves the Giants. We’re obsessed. Well, they’re obsessed. When the kids were at home, Gary use to alternate taking the girls to the games, so I would attend about every 3rd one. The routine was similar each time. If it was a night game, dinner was enjoyed at Delancy Street before the first pitch. Our seats, down right field line and up about 4 rows provided the perfect view of the alternating teams relief pitchers. It was frowned upon to leave before the top of the ninth inning. And the post game show with Kruk and Kuip was a must.
When the Giants were away the game was enjoyed on a sizable flat screen TV, while one or both daughters would enjoy the “massage deal”. Daughter gets 10 minutes; dad gets 10 minutes, repeat. Sometimes I would hear shouting from the other room. Shouting at the Giants, railing against the opposing team or arguing about the merits of a certain player. Crushes on players, fights about who was or wasn’t on steroids and the status of Barry Bonds when he playing was always a topic of disagreement in this house of ours.
So, now that it’s just the two of us, it is me filling in the space opened up with both kids gone. I’m the one who is going to the games. I’m the one who insists upon listening to the post game show. I am sitting here right now watching Lincecum pitch after some time off. It’s fun. And what I’m really enjoying on the nights we don’t have tickets, the “massage deal”. Yeah, I guess we’re all obsessed after all.
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