I haven't followed baseball closely until the past 2 or 3 weeks. But the World Series is a big deal, is it not?
I've gotten in the habit of going out for a walk during the first few innings of the post-season games. I'm just too nervous to sit down and watch the games from the very beginning to the end--and the Giants have been doing well without me.
Also, there's hardly anyone on the beach during this time because most people are watching the game. Not to mention that the tide's been low in the afternoon all week--and that's the best time for walking.
Last night I walked two miles down to Taraval. I walked over the dunes to the Great Highway to make a restroom stop, and on the way back out to the beach I called Tom to find out the score. 2-0 Giants.
When I got home I made my special gin & tonic and once again walked into the living room where the TV is, drink and pizza in hand.
We ate, we drank, we cheered, we cursed. But I was curious about something.
"Tom? Have you noticed how everybody likes to spit?"
"Yes."
"Now Sandoval's spitting. GAH! Why do they have to do that?"
A few minutes elapse.
"He did it too! Timmy did it! Now everyone's doing it."
A few more minutes.
"There he goes again! Tom? Why do they have to spit like that?"
"Linda, please don't ask me that again." The tone in which this was spoken made me want to get a divorce.
This morning when I got up, Tom was already reading the sports page.
"What time's the game today?" I asked.
"5:15."
"5:15? Are you sure?"
"Yes, 5:15."
"But all the other games started at 5:07! All week long the games have started at 5:07! Why do you think it's different today? 5:15 is eight minutes later than before. Why the additional eight minutes?"
"I think the coach wants to have a little extra time to talk with the boys about all that spitting."
