It’s true. I really am a bad baseball fan.
Sometimes you really need to read the fine print. When I’m scrutinizing a contract, I read it meticulously. When I’m in my maniacal mother mode (it’s all just blissful domesticity in my house), I just wing it and go with my gut. Who has the time to actually read shit before you act on it? Responsible people? Where are THOSE people when I need them?
Let me explain. We live in St. Louis. St. Louis is a BIG BASEBALL TOWN. Specifically, St. Louis is home to The St. Louis Cardinals “The Cards”. You know, the team that won the World Series last year? I had to look that up. I knew they’d won recently. I know it’s sacrilege, but I could give a shit less about baseball. I know I should hang my head in shame. I’m certain there are others out there, but they are all too afraid of being bludgeoned with a baseball bat from a rabid diehard fan to speak up. I recognize my baseball apathy as a character flaw. Clearly, I need a twelve step program to cure me of my baseball nonchalance. Also, I can’t do anything conventionally. It just goes against my grain. Despite my indifference to baseball, we do occasionally attend. I usually enjoy myself, though I invariably leave the game having no idea who is ahead or what the score is. Which means I’ve never stayed until the game was over. Really. I just admitted that. I’m strictly a fair-weather, beer-drinking fan.
My children have many occasions throughout the year to wear their Cardinal pride in t-shirt form to school and community events. Dutiful mother that I am, I started scouring the internet for unique t-shirts to properly outfit the family. I bombed out locating a cool shirt with playing cards on it. You know, something kitschy that you would have to think about for a few seconds before you got it. Inspired by my superior parenting moment, I found a fabulous t-shirt for Rowan, which she’s warming up to.
Cute, right? I bought this shirt for the twins: