I'VE BEEN kept awake lately by a hiss and roar that I wish were coming from something other than raucous sports fans. But 'tis the season of mayhem when you live within earshot of one of the loudest baseball parks in the country. Not to mention one with some of the most notorious baseball fanatics in the world.
So I'm just going to say it right off the bat (stay tuned for more terribly cheesy sports puns): I'm not a sports fan, and I'm definitely not interested in dating one. Yes, I understand the game of baseball - better than many guys do, in fact. But I'm perfectly content to do something other than stare at a television for 20 hours a week while guzzling beer and pondering the future of Manny's dreadlocks.
But, damn, this stance can take a toll on your relationships. The little I had in common with this one girl dwindled to zilch as we sat side by side at a sports bar during a recent Red Sox-Yankees series. While I daydreamed of my impending fame, she waxed poetic about how ugly she thinks A-Rod is, and how much Derek Jeter sucks. I soon became an obstacle between her and the fan seated beside me, as the two exchanged brilliant commentary on why the Sox play worse in their green uniforms. Finally I just got up and left, saying that I had better things to do than watch fat men swing sticks all night.
When I asked friends about the havoc baseball has wreaked on their relationships, my suffering seemed tame in comparison. Break-ups. Sexual activity determined by a game's outcome. Game behavior used to illustrate larger character flaws. Forced separation during rivalries.
Some of my other friends just flat-out refuse to date sports fans.
"If you must wear a baseball hat often, or you must wear it and it bears your beloved team logo on it, please do not contact me," one friend says of her dating philosophy. "Ew, sports fans - gross!"
My die-hard-Yankees-fan friend recently married an equally passionate Sox fan. What does he do during games that most annoys her? "He claps," she says. "It's not like he does it intentionally, but that just annoys the *** out of me." Now the two watch the games in separate rooms and keep a safe distance during playoff season, which will be interesting this year "because I'll be nine months pregnant," she explains. They've decided to split the child in half and raise its parts to root against each other.
Other friends have lost bets to their lovers, winding up with their faces painted with the mascot of the opposing team.
"I'm still hot about it," says the losing lady. "And not hot in a good way."
So this leaves me to wonder: wouldn't our relationships be much healthier without the competitive element of sports? Think about it. In a span of nine innings, you can judge the following about your partner: how he/she acts in public; his/her reaction to loss and disappointment; whether or not he/she demeans you when you don't know something; how he/she deals with adversaries who have pummeled us into the ground for decades; group behavior; how he/she holds his/her liquor; and perhaps the most important: meat-eating etiquette.
"My sweet boyfriend rapidly transformed into a sort of drunken gorilla frequently making guttural noises," one friend says of her boyfriend's game behavior. "I do not eat meat and am normally not grossed out by others eating meat, but watching [him] consume five Fenway Franks and six beers disgusted me."
After hearing many more nightmarish tales, I was surprised to discover that some television producers actually consider the ballpark a dream spot for a love connection. And they're currently casting for a new reality dating show called Sox Appeal, to be set in Fenway Park.
"The idea of combining dating and the Red Sox at Fenway - you're combining three things that everybody loves," says Eric Korsh, the show's executive producer.
Personally, I see sports combining aggression, booze, and the wave - three things of which I'm perfectly happy to have less of in my relationships. For those who see sports as being just like any other interest a couple can share, I strongly disagree. I highly doubt your shared love of classical music is going to end with a late-night brawl that has you fending off some drunken flutist. "Dude, just put down the wind instrument. We're leaving. I said we're leaving!"
Sox Appeal will be structured around one "hero" who'll have a date every two innings until selecting one person during the seventh-inning stretch, Korsh explains. Casting calls have drawn such a diverse audience - though, surprisingly, 75 percent female - that the producers plan to have both a "Silver Fox" episode, with people into the mid-70s age range, and a "Brady Bunch" episode for contestants with children from a previous marriage.
"It's a romantic comedy in a really great venue," says Korsh.
Or, based on my research, it's a televised tragedy.
So what's the solution? Should sports fans not be in relationships with one another? Is your relationship doomed if you're in love with a rival? Maybe not doomed, but certainly stressed beyond necessary levels. And if we relegate sports fans to each another, we non-fans are free of them entirely - but then we'd have an entire population of competitive couples who, even when happy, turn into a bunch of car-tipping lunatics.
I think the solution is a simple one: less baseball. Just think what you could do to improve yourself if you weren't slumped in front of a television for all those innings. In the course of one baseball game, you could learn simple Spanish. With the money you just spent on those tickets, you could probably fly to Barcelona to practice. You might even improve your communication skills beyond simple statements like "Jeee-ter! Jeee-ter! YOU SUCK!"
Personally, there are tons of things I'd rather be doing with my life than watching baseball - like what many of you are probably telling me to do right now. So I'm going to go *** myself. Battery up! @
Jeannie Greeley is a freelance writer who should be the *** contestant on Sox Appeal. The producers can contact her at jeannieg@comcast.net. For more information about the show, visit www.sox-appeal.com.
