So, the San Francisco Giants won the World Series. You know me: normally, I'd be all, Isn't that nice, good for them. What's for lunch? When I have gone to baseball games at the park with Rob, I brought a book and took a nap. But this year, for the first time since I was 10 and Joe Montana played for the 49ers and they were in the super bowl, I actually gave a shit.
The last game of the play offs, I said words to my husband that no one, man or beast, ever thought I would say. I said, "I think I'm going to go in the other room and watch the game."
Can you believe that shit?
Rob wasn't watching the game. As much as he loves sports of all kinds, he doesn't care at all about my San Francisco Giants. He's a Reds man, and that's all there is to it. The only competition he is watching right now is The Voice. He and Leila are glued to it. He kept scoffing at my new found fandome of a sports team until finally I had to say, "I have fake cheered for all your stupid teams over the last 18 years, the least you can do is pretend to root for my Giants!" and that did the trick. He faked it real good.
So, Bored Housewife watched baseball, alone. And, although I didn't watch every second of the world series, I did switch over to it every few minutes, and I did learn players names and stuff, and I did watch a lot of the final game, which is more baseball than I've ever watched IN MY LIFE.
Its probably a passing fancy. I'm probably just so bored with all the other offerings on my TV. But it was fun to be part of Giants fever. Go Giants! Woo Hoo!