Here we are. Another championship season ahead of us.
I remember when Ray and I tried to catch the clinching game back in 2010. I remember the excitement not only of being inside The Ballpark but even being just in the vicinity, of the electricity and anticipation. Even if we didn’t have tickets, it would have been fun just to hang out. I had never chased a clinching game, never experienced such gratifying closeness to victory. It was my first time, and we both know how amazing first times can be.
This time I am not chasing the clincher. This year magic for me has only ever been at the background rather than the forefront. That is the way life goes. But I am always rooting of course. Once a Giant, always a Giant.
The wonderful thing about my story is that it could have happened to anybody, anywhere with any team: gay boy sits down to ballgame, sees starting pitcher, suddenly becomes interested in one out of all sports he shunned his whole life. Gay boy finally has something to write about.
I know that we are not “together” in the traditional sense and that in fact there is no “we” at all. But in the time that my life has progressed since 2009, I have in fact grown up and at nearly every obstacle I have asked myself, “How would a ballplayer handle this?”
Honey, please. More often than not, I have asked: “How would Timmy handle this?”
I was just shy of 30 when I found baseball. Even then, even long into what ought to be called adulthood, I was still searching for something to look up to. I’ll probably have to answer for this when I do actually find a husband. He would be right to ask, “If you spent all that time looking up to your imaginary boyfriend, are you ready for your real husband?”
I’ll cross that bridge when it is time. Until then I have found that what they say is true: it gets better.