The Pecan Park Eagle

Sometimes the line between passionate devotion and clinically diagnosable psychosis gets a little blurry. Sometimes it disappears altogether. And when the latter happens with enough people simultaneously at the same time in the same place it becomes “normal” – henceforth making “normal” both a fun and scary place to be for all those family members who are either standing on the perimeter of things – or not really into the flow of the “love thing” (as actor Gary Bussey now calls it in that local Chevy dealer commercial) with their Mad Old Man (or Mad Old Lady) family member.

Yes, some mad passions are trans gender afflictions and being a baseball fan is living proof that there is no sanity clause for some of us in our contracted “love of the game.” – We just have it – and it “ain’t” going away.

If you are a confused spouse, child, relative, or disengaged friend of a hard-core baseball fan, here’s a brief anecdotal test on where you may be with a loved one lost to the love of the game. If your lost loved one sounds similar to any of these exemplary fans, it just goes to show you that you are not alone.

The examples are all based on mostly true private disclosures. For the protection of confidentiality, all quotes are attributed to various John and Jane Does. Each example is for a separate individual.

(1) “My husband is an Astros season ticket holder. Last September, we had a chance to take an anniversary weekend flight to Paris, but he turned it down. He had seen every Astros loss of the 2011 home season in person and did not want to miss any of the others that might have happened (and did) during the time we would have been gone.” – Jane Doe.

(2) “My dad says it’s not OK to curse or use foul language, but he seemed to forget that rule last year. As the Astros’ 2011 season got worse and worse, I learned words that I didn’t even know existed. … By the way, what’s a long word that suggests unthinkable behavior between you and your own mom. I heard that one a lot.” – Little Johnny Doe.

(3) “Last year my ninety-year old mom died and we scheduled the funeral for the same day that the Astros were beginning a three-game series that night against the Cardinals. My husband refused to miss the opener. He figured we’d have time to get to the ballpark from the cemetery if the eulogist didn’t talk too long, and if we didn’t have to go home to change into our matching Biggio/Bagwell jerseys after the services. Since I didn’t want to see those veins that pop out in his neck whenever he doesn’t get his bratty way, I went along with his plan for reaching Minute Maid Park on time. We wore our Astros jerseys under our funeral clothes. That way, all we had to do after the funeral was to remove our shirt, blouse, and coats – and we were game-ready.” – a guilty looking Jane Doe.

(4.) “My Astro-Nut wife has to make every pre-season Astroline radio broadcast in person. Same with any other public appearance by Astros Hall of Fame broadcaster Milo Hamilton. If Milo were not retiring after this 2012 season, I’m afraid I would have been forced to draw a line in the sand with her on this one. – It would have to be ‘Milo or me. There’s no room for three!’ I may not be as young and as dashing as Milo, but sixty years of marital loyalty ought to count for something!” – dejected senior league John Doe.

(5) “My wife was never much of an Astros fan until I took her to her first bobble head giveaway game. I think it was Jose Cruz night. – Well, as a bona fide hoarder, the old gal took to it like a duck to water. now she has to go with me to every giveaway game, especially if it’s a bobble head night. She’s disappointed that they didn’t do a Drayton McLane bobber before he sold the club. Now she wants a bobble head of new owner Jim Crane and one for every umpire that’s ever worked an Astros game at Minute Maid Park. – Man! I never would’ve taken her out to the ballgame. You ought to see what it’s like walking into my house these days. It’s like a Sam’s Club where nothing ever gets sold from the shelf.” –  tired and overwhelmed  John Doe.

(6) “My husband is the most amazing season ticket holder the Houston club has. He personally attends 81 home games a year and only takes one person with him to each time. All of his guests have to have these qualities in common: (a) a willingness to get there in time for BP and an equal resistance to the idea that they would be there for the entire game; (b) they have to be quiet folks who don’t talk much – and don’t mind going for hot dogs in the 3rd inning, beers in the fifth inning, and pop corn in the seventh inning. – My hubby never leaves his seat. He just keeps score on every pitch that’s thrown in the game, never feeling the need for a bathroom break. His lone functioning kidney apparently was a gift from Superman. – It’s my job to make sure that dear hubby has fresh pencils and  scorecard books in his car at all times.” – long-lost Jane Doe.

(7) “My husband is one of those guys whose love of the game is not an act of inconsideration to me, the kids, his family, his work, or his faith in living to make this world a better place. – He belongs to SABR because he loves the narrative lore and statistical symmetry of baseball’s oh so beautiful, measurable game. – He goes to a lot of games, but he wouldn’t let baseball keep him from a chance to see the northern lights – nor would he allow a baseball game to taint the mourning of lost life – nor is he likely to sacrifice his intelligence or sense of decency to join the ‘mo fo’ crowd in their denigration of communication as a higher level art form. – He also bonds with all those who have grown up and even old with baseball as the fairest, most enjoyable shared constant factor in their lives. – My man loves baseball because it is the game that is not governed by the clock – and as such – its sandlot equivalent joy potentially plays out from here to eternity. – My man loves baseball, as do I. – You see, moving into the 21st century, we’ve finally survived long enough to listen and hear the truth about our love of the game. Men don’t possess a lock on tis magnetic attraction. – Women get it too. – And if this does make us mad men, and mad women, so be it. We are at peace in our madness for the greatest game of all time.” – the Soulmate Jane Doe of the Deep Blue Baseball Fan.

Play Ball, fellow mad men and women! Play ball!