Sports Expert
Whenever I go back to Detroit to visit family, I have to turn into “Sports Expert.” That is, I need to be able to converse intelligently (is that an oxymoron here) in all manner of sports news and general knowledge. Honestly, I’m not a big sports fan. I enjoy watching a game here and there and of course, the pseudo fan at whatever is the Academy Awards of sports. Baseball, hockey, football, soccer, basketball, all the same to me: you hit the ball with a stick. What else is there to know? Whatever. So my sports knowledge goes something like this:
“Hey, I vote for the team with purple and gold. Oh is Detroit playing? Then I vote for them. Except if they’re losing.”
“Is that guy Babe Ruth playing?”
“Which team is George Clooney on? That’s the team I want.”
Being a sports fan is a full time job. I know, because growing up and into my early 20’s, I was a big baseball fan. I have a little bias toward baseball because of Dad being semi-pro early in his life. But I like baseball. It’s a great game. It’s exciting at times and also gives you time to chat and not miss anything or look at the boards and see who’s cutest on the team. And they all have their teeth. It’s great. Back then, I could tell ya the stats of every player on the Detroit Tigers team, I knew their names, what position they played and if they were married (very important to a young chick). I also had a lot of time on my hands. I didn’t work three jobs, or spend time fending off pre-menopausal side effects like depression, bloating, mood swings, and psychoanalysis. Ah, the innocent days of youth. Or as they say in Brooklyn, “yewt.”
So I’ve fallen by the wayside on any conversant sports and like any language you learn, you need to practice it. It’s like Russian, French, Italian or Swahili. You lose it if you don’t use it. And I had lost it.
It didn’t matter so much when my nephews were younger. I mean how conversant does a person need to be to talk “T-ball?” Not much. “Hey, you look cute in your uniform.” “Okay, run!” “Tree!”
Now the nephews are large and tall and speak with deep voices and tower over me. How did that happen? A chat with them at any given time in the year will tell you what season it is. They’re into football, hockey, baseball, golf, bowling and whiffle ball. But not soccer, apparently that’s not a sport or so I’ve heard out there in the Midwest. The majority of any time spent is taking them to sports camps, practices, scrimmages and games.
So in the beginning, I’m trying hard to fit in. “Hey, yeah, they should’ve traded that Willie Mays guy.”
“He died.”
“Oh, well, all the more reason to get rid of him.”
Not good.
Even my 85 year old mother knows stats. “Inge hit a homerun! Now he’s got a .275 average and he’s on a roll! Can you believe it?”
No, quite frankly, I can’t believe it. And Inge is who now? And why are you talking like this? What’s happening with AARP? C’mon, woman, let’s talk insurance. Are you okay?
No one has a first name in sports. You only use last names. That’s cool. Inge, Granderson, Leland. And if you’re using them as punchlines, as in, “You looked like Leland with that pitch,” well, you are the coolest.
I’m confused, “Leland? Who’s Leland? A relative? Which side of the family is he on? Is he a singer?”
Then there’s serious discussions about team trades, player stats and series outlook. Like its détente. “They shouldn’t’ve traded Ortega. He had only 22 RBI last year and .200 average.”
“You know they’re going to keep him because Jackson doesn’t know what he’s doing.” And me: “Yeah, I woulda kept my aces instead of traded on two pair.” Does anyone play poker here?
It’s hard not to get caught up in the all fun though and I’m happy to say I’m back in the sports swing of things. Well, at least in baseball. By the end of the week, I was conversing with the rest like an old pro. And using last names. I said things like, “That Leland, he's got a good ERA. Almost a no hitter.” “Inge doesn’t have a great batting average but he has a stellar RBI.”
I’m sorry, what? Did I say that? Did that come outta me? Yes, it did and hey, I know Willie Mays is long gone but I can’t wait until they play the Yankees because I love that guy, Mantle. He’s great.
“Hey, I vote for the team with purple and gold. Oh is Detroit playing? Then I vote for them. Except if they’re losing.”
“Is that guy Babe Ruth playing?”
“Which team is George Clooney on? That’s the team I want.”
Being a sports fan is a full time job. I know, because growing up and into my early 20’s, I was a big baseball fan. I have a little bias toward baseball because of Dad being semi-pro early in his life. But I like baseball. It’s a great game. It’s exciting at times and also gives you time to chat and not miss anything or look at the boards and see who’s cutest on the team. And they all have their teeth. It’s great. Back then, I could tell ya the stats of every player on the Detroit Tigers team, I knew their names, what position they played and if they were married (very important to a young chick). I also had a lot of time on my hands. I didn’t work three jobs, or spend time fending off pre-menopausal side effects like depression, bloating, mood swings, and psychoanalysis. Ah, the innocent days of youth. Or as they say in Brooklyn, “yewt.”
So I’ve fallen by the wayside on any conversant sports and like any language you learn, you need to practice it. It’s like Russian, French, Italian or Swahili. You lose it if you don’t use it. And I had lost it.
It didn’t matter so much when my nephews were younger. I mean how conversant does a person need to be to talk “T-ball?” Not much. “Hey, you look cute in your uniform.” “Okay, run!” “Tree!”
Now the nephews are large and tall and speak with deep voices and tower over me. How did that happen? A chat with them at any given time in the year will tell you what season it is. They’re into football, hockey, baseball, golf, bowling and whiffle ball. But not soccer, apparently that’s not a sport or so I’ve heard out there in the Midwest. The majority of any time spent is taking them to sports camps, practices, scrimmages and games.
So in the beginning, I’m trying hard to fit in. “Hey, yeah, they should’ve traded that Willie Mays guy.”
“He died.”
“Oh, well, all the more reason to get rid of him.”
Not good.
Even my 85 year old mother knows stats. “Inge hit a homerun! Now he’s got a .275 average and he’s on a roll! Can you believe it?”
No, quite frankly, I can’t believe it. And Inge is who now? And why are you talking like this? What’s happening with AARP? C’mon, woman, let’s talk insurance. Are you okay?
No one has a first name in sports. You only use last names. That’s cool. Inge, Granderson, Leland. And if you’re using them as punchlines, as in, “You looked like Leland with that pitch,” well, you are the coolest.
I’m confused, “Leland? Who’s Leland? A relative? Which side of the family is he on? Is he a singer?”
Then there’s serious discussions about team trades, player stats and series outlook. Like its détente. “They shouldn’t’ve traded Ortega. He had only 22 RBI last year and .200 average.”
“You know they’re going to keep him because Jackson doesn’t know what he’s doing.” And me: “Yeah, I woulda kept my aces instead of traded on two pair.” Does anyone play poker here?
It’s hard not to get caught up in the all fun though and I’m happy to say I’m back in the sports swing of things. Well, at least in baseball. By the end of the week, I was conversing with the rest like an old pro. And using last names. I said things like, “That Leland, he's got a good ERA. Almost a no hitter.” “Inge doesn’t have a great batting average but he has a stellar RBI.”
I’m sorry, what? Did I say that? Did that come outta me? Yes, it did and hey, I know Willie Mays is long gone but I can’t wait until they play the Yankees because I love that guy, Mantle. He’s great.
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