Baseball 2.0: Lessons From An Imagined Romance
Nopalito Restaurant: San Francisco, Ca: 2012.
Dear Linc,
I’ve been meaning to eat at this restaurant. We should go sometime.
I mean, not “we” as in you taking me, necessarily. What I meant was “you” and “I”, respectively…
Last night, I had dinner with Spencer at the lower-key Pancho Villa in the Mission when, over quesadillas and nachos, we got around to the subject of your two-year signing. I was the one who’d ordered the quesadillas, Spencer the one picking at a heaping basket of super nachos. I reached over and dug out a tortilla chip from a mountain of guacamole and refried beans.
“For a ‘short-term’ deal, two years is a long time,” I said, crunching.
Spencer took a fork and sliced off a quesadilla piece. She nodded her assent.
She took a cautious bite of the quesadilla, which was cheese and pollo asado. Then she followed with an approving second and third bite and afterward said, “A lot can happen in two years.”
I excavated another tortilla chip. “He can fall in love with me.”
“Too bad he only likes women.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, half-eaten nacho in hand, as she struggled to contain her laughter.
“Unconfirmed,” I pressed on, deadpan.
“What?” Spencer exclaimed incredulously. She forked another quesadilla slice. Slim in build and dainty in demeanor, she always ate gradually like this until the whole thing seemed suddenly gone.
“Aren’t there pictures of him with some blonde girl somewhere?” Spencer said.
“They all have pictures with some blonde girl somewhere.”
“You’re getting your hopes up, Joseph,” she said with light scolding.
I sighed loudly and with such mock disdain as to send Spencer’s hand pounding on the wooden picnic-style table as she trembled with amusement.
“You know what, Spence?” I began. “As Donald Rumsfeld once said —”
Mid-laugh, Spencer dropped her jaw and her eyes widened. “This is where we are now, Joseph?! We’re quoting Donald Rumsfeld?!” Here, she accusingly pointed the fork, and a dangling roasted chicken piece, at me and quickly added: “Who, I might add, did not say what I think you’re about to say?”
“Say what?” I said, gamely. “That absence of evidence —”
“Do not attribute that to Donald Rumsfeld! And Timmy, I’m sorry to say, is maybe likely —”
I aimed a tortilla chip at her. Refried beans drooped onto the table and formed tiny puddles. “AHA! So you do have some doubts!”
Spencer shook her head in pity. “Oh, Joseph, Joseph…”
After dinner, we went to see Haywire. I like Steven Soderbergh movies, but after watching Haywire, what little shred of heterosexuality I was born with has been enlivened by Gina Carano. I don’t follow MMA, so I didn’t know who she was until I wanted to see Haywire. She is beautiful and even hotter because she fights the way she does. And, apparently, I am only three days older than her. Yet what different people we are: she, in peak physical shape and gorgeous. Me: pining for you. If you must date a woman, Linc…
Joe
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Dear Linc, I’ve been meaning to eat at this restaurant. We should go sometime. I mean, not “we” as in you taking me,...
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