Being a Red Sox fan living outside of Boston has both its pluses and its minuses, but most of the time, the minuses are felt more strongly. It is of course always thrilling and exciting to come across another diehard in that environment, and it is always fun to out-cheer the Mariner's fans when the Sox play against Seattle.
A lot of the time, it is more like living the life of an outcast. Whether I'm living in Portland, Oregon, or in Middelburg, the Netherlands (as I do now) it is impossible to persuade friends (and sometimes family) to accept your excuses but you won't be able to attend that dinner/birthday party/night out/study session/lecture/class/etc. because there is a very important baseball game that night.
In nine cases out of ten, these explanations elicit an eye roll if you're lucky, a little fit of annoyance if you're less lucky, or an insult poorly disguised as a (mean) joke if you have no luck at all.
All the worse if you happen to be a girl, and most of your girlfriends couldn't care less about any sport. They'll try to convince you that a night of dancing will really be more fun than watching the baseball game alone in your room, but they'll never understand that that simply isn't true. It is the company of a few close friends and a lot of sketchy men vs. the company of the likes of Josh Beckett and Big Papi and Jason Varitek, plus your family on skype and perhaps a congratulatory (or sympathetic) email from someone who actually understands. Sometimes I take to the discussion boards of the Red Sox group on ravelry, a networking site for knitters.
It's awful cozy.
In that one remaining case with less unpleasant responses, it's rarely because the person is a fellow baseball fan. If you're lucky enough, they just have something they're similarly passionate about which allows them to sympathize.
This, however, is rarely satisfactory. Take for example, my recent conversation with a Canadian schoolmate. When I said I had been up since 1.30 that morning for a baseball game that lasted five hours and nineteen minutes, he understood.
"I know, that can be really tough. I do that a lot for hockey, and you gotta get up at 2 - it's brutal."
I was temporarily pleased, before I thought of hockey's time limit. The experience loses something, I think, when you know you will be back in bed in three hours, maximum.
No, in most cases, you just have to accept the fact that no one will ever understand (except, in my case, my family) and learn to ignore their jealousy.
Because, really, that's all they are: jealous they're not as passionate about anything the way you are about baseball.
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1 comment:
On the plus side, when you're watching games that start at 2 AM, at least you're not turning down too many dinner invites...less of your life intrudes with the games (unless you count sleep as an important part of life)!
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