The Ballgame

Mr. Book and I are both sports fans: I’m most into baseball, with moderate interest in hockey, basketball, and college football; he’s most into hockey and baseball, with moderate interest in college football and a passing interest in European soccer leagues. I’m from California, so I root for the Angels and the Ducks; he’s from Toronto, so he roots for the Jays and the Leafs. We’re able to keep it friendly at least in part because both of his teams are terrible—not to go into excruciating detail, but the Jays are perpetually fighting for last place in their division and the Leafs have been really brutally mismanaged for most of the last fifty years. When I was growing up, the Angels were always terrible, so I know what that feeling is like, and it’s left me sort of a wary fan—I’m always waiting for the team to blow the game for no real reason—but now they’re pretty good, and have been for a few years, and it’s a nice feeling.

Last year, I decided that we needed to hash out our sports strategy as it relates to futurekid. I made what I thought was a reasonable proposal: “I get the Angels, and you get the Leafs. The Jays will never have a prayer and you know it.” This is just fact, folks—even if the Jays weren’t perpetually a lousy team, they’re in a really tough division. And my husband knows it. He dug in his heels, though, and scowled when I added these

to the hope chest. A month or so later, however, Mr. Book came to me and conceded; futurekid/s can be Angels fans. He won’t fight it. I have a theory about how this is because he realized that his Jays will never have a prayer and that it would be tantamount to child abuse, but he finds this version of events really frustrating for some reason. 😉

Meant to reply to Mia’s comment yesterday but didn’t get around to it—I don’t at all understand a gender preference that doesn’t end by the time you see the baby. Before I got pregnant with Cricket, I only ever wanted a little girl—then I got pregnant, and after spending many months with the boy and then meeting him, now I long for a boy—so I take it for granted that once I see the kidlet, I’ll just be delighted. Guess I should be grateful, if not everyone’s preferences are so malleable.