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.

bad baseball fan

Cute, right? I bought this shirt for the twins:

bad baseball fan
My husband, Renaissance Man that he is, knew the phrase on Rowan’s t-shirt came from
“What does the phrase on the twins’ t-shirt mean?” my husband asked.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“You bought a t-shirt for your children with a phrase you aren’t sure what it means?” he responded.
“Apparently,” I responded.
“It could mean something you don’t like,” he offered.
“It’s just a t-shirt with a baseball. It’s not like it has penises on it.”
“But it has words on it that you don’t understand. For all you know, ‘baseball’ could be code for ‘vagina’.”
“Oh…”.
Only mildly curious, I looked it up. Sure enough, The Urban Dictionary had the answer. But not the answer I wanted. It was WAY worse than penises or vaginas.
“OMG! The Urban Dictionary says it means, ‘A way of asking someone if they are retarded. A way of making someone realize that what they have just said or done is retarded.’ Are we the only people who haven’t seen There’s Something About Mary? The late 90’s were a tumultuous time for me!
Of all the words in all the world that I hate the most, “retarded” tops the list. I don’t even like typing it to beg you not to say it. It’s really offensive, and hardly anything offends me. The twins haven’t taken off their new baseball shirts since the mailman delivered them. Blair wants to wear it for the third day in a row. Bad Mommy.