Last night, while watching my third St. Louis Cardinals game with my girlfriend Amy, I had the following conversation:
Amy: How come Skip Schumaker isn’t in this game?
Me: He’s not a starter.
Amy: He should be.
Me: Tony LaRussa doesn’t plan his lineup around how cute the players are.
Amy: He should.
Trying to explain the career of Mel Kiper Junior to my girlfriend was like being caught in some kind of bizarre world where I suddenly realized how self-involved and self-important sports can get. She would ask questions like, “So, the NFL draft is only once a year and this guy’s job is basically to spend the whole year worrying about it?” And as I’m nodding my head, I’m thinking to myself, “Wow, that does sound like an unnecessary gig.” I went the last twenty years without questioning the validity of Mel Kiper Junior’s position on planet Earth. Women. They just won’t take certain things for granted.
Cardinal fans have to be thrilled watching Albert Pujols run around on two working feet. Gone is the wincing and the stutter stepping that plagued him last year. He’s happy and excitable, even on the base paths. Although Amy doesn’t like his legs and has said she thinks he looks mean when he hits. So, there’s that…
After watching about ten Cardinal games this year, I have already determined that every baseball announcer in America is better than St. Louis’s own, Al Hrabosky. Last night, it took him four minutes and twelve seconds (I counted) to tell us that pitcher Chris Carpenter was finally settling down (in the fifth inning). About five times last night, Amy had to ask me what the hell Hrabosky was talking about, and twice I couldn’t answer. And I understand baseball very well. So, I have come to the conclusion that Al is an incoherent idiot, even by the strict standards set by his profession.
I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the show, “Pardon the Interruption.” I watch it all the time (basically so I can yell at the television). When describing the show to Amy, I again moved into that mental world where sports suddenly seemed self-involved and self-important. I caught myself saying the following sentence: “It’s basically this show where two guys yell at each other for a predetermined time about sports… wow, that sounds stupid. But it’s not that bad.” A few minutes later, after one exchange between hosts Wilbon and Kornheiser, Amy asked: “I can’t tell—are they disagreeing with each other?” And I honestly couldn’t answer.
I guess if you take anything away from this piece, it should be that Amy is trying to understand what sports are all about, and in the process, she’s teaching me that they might not be all I thought they were.
And babe, if you’re reading this, please understand that I am still gonna watch every game I can. With or without Skip Schumaker.