kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall
and now we are in October.
Now we are in October, and I am concerning myself with warm socks and where are my gloves and buying a telephoto lens, and outfitting the new baseball purse (burnt orange, waterproof, pockets for binoculars and water bottles and safe for the camera). October baseball. Me. I am going to watch October baseball. The same person who would never have understood what that meant a year ago.
At the end of today’s game – half of which we watched on SNY, the other half we listened to on the radio; a TBF tradition which he could not explain, but that I happily accomodated – I made him get up from his desk so I could give him a hug.
“End of the season hugs,” I explained.
“Not the end of the season, though,” he corrected me, smiling from ear to ear. “You know what we’re doing on Wednesday?”
“Going to see playoff games,” I answered.
We have been indulging each other in call-and-response on this theme since the night we clinched, the night we were at Shea until just before they threw us out, where we stood behind the dugout and yelled and cheered and Lo Duca sprayed water on us and we watched hugs and jubilation and exchanged the same ourselves and with anyone else who was around. I have this tremendous photograph of TBF from that evening, wearing the NLDS shirt, scoreboard behind him, looking satisfied but stunned. His team getting this far, and he was there to see it, not watching it at home, but here, at Shea, with me. He calls me his baseball sweetheart and unlike other boyfriends where shared enjoyment of a mutual pursuit (say, love of Bruce Springsteen or the Rolling Stones) ended up being a competition, with us it is just a joy.
Even his surprise at certain declarations on my part – say, my irked-ness at not being able to see Barry Zito face off against Johan Santana since that game is going to start at the crack of dawn – is getting old. He is no longer surprised or astonished when I offer statements like that. It is almost a little sad that the wonder is fading. However, I still have so very much to learn, so much to catch up on, that I doubt it will ever entirely disappear.
He is updating me every five minutes all day, what time the game will start, what’s up with the Pirates, what’s happening with the Dodgers, where are the Padres, congratulations to the Twins (which he agrees with but disgruntledly, he does not want us to have to face the Twins). We discuss when we are getting to Shea on Wednesday and who is bringing what and what the weather will be and where can you get handwarmers in Manhattan in October? We have tickets to 7 out of 10 games, and that is without whatever wheeling and dealing TBF will be doing to get us into another World Series game (those tickets still up for trade, btw).
“I’ve never been to the World Series,” I said the other day, when the tickets were out on the table.
“Um, neither have I,” he reminded me.
Let’s Go Mets.