Still There For The Food

As loyal Stapling Jello readers know, I'm not really into sports.

But compared to a few years ago, when I considered looking at the TV just long enough to figure out which team was wearing what color "watching the game," I'm a regular sports fan today. With this transition, I credit my husband and kosher hot dogs.

When we first started dating two years ago, I let my sweetheart know that the only way to guarantee my attendance at a sporting event was to buy me a hot dog at the event. He's always enjoyed sports, especially baseball, and, being a kosher dog fan himself, he happily complied. Thanks to his willingness to feed me, and a fantastic World Series winning 2005 season of my adopted hometown team, the Chicago White Sox, I actually started to enjoy watching games.

Two years later, I still enjoy going to baseball games. Sure, much of my enthusiasm is still brought on by kosher hot dogs, but I have fun actually watching the game as well. I still don't understand all of the rules and am constantly asking questions that make my sweetheart roll his eyes at me, but I think he privately is happy that I'm interested enough to ask.

Last year, I decided that I wanted a White Sox tee shirt. I'd watched the team for awhile, knew the names of most of the players and even imagined what each person would bring if I invited them to a backyard barbecue; I thought that made me enough of a fan to merit sporting Sox fashions.

My sweetheart disagreed, telling me I wasn't ready yet. He didn't say exactly why until the night before last, as we discussed our plans to attend our first game of the season together the next day. Over dinner, I said that I think since this is my third year following the team, I should be ready for a tee shirt now. He considered this for a moment and told me that he didn't think I would really be ready until I could go to a game and not have a kosher dog be the main event for me. Fair enough, I suppose, but I don't think that's the whole reason.

It has always disappointed him that I'm not a big cheerer. I grew up attending events like plays and the symphony concerts, where "inside voices" are used and polite clapping is the best way to show appreciation. And, being a pretty reserved person by nature, I couldn't easily make the transition to the screaming and jumping up and down commonly seen at sporting events. I used to clap during baseball games, but I was made fun of because I clapped politely like I would at a play, so now, I just watch quietly and let my husband do the cheering for both of us.

Last night on the way to the game, however, I proved myself without even trying. It had been raining for awhile, and my husband asked if I even wanted to bother going to the game, because he thought it might be called off. I said we ought to try; we'd been looking forward to this for awhile, and it wasn't raining all that hard, so maybe they wouldn't call it off. I realized how impressed by this he must have been when we passed a sports memorabilia shop and he said, "if the game does get rained out, we should go there and get you your tee shirt."

The game went on, the White Sox beat the Yankees 6-4 and my husband ate a kosher dog and curly fries while I enjoyed a funnel cake. My sweetheart, obviously noting the fact that I had not eaten a kosher dog myself, pointed to a fan's shirt halfway through the game and asked if that was the design I wanted; he even asked if I might want a hat as well. But now I'm wondering if he wasn't right the first time, that I am really not worthy of wearing the White Sox garb.

Like many ballparks, US Cellular Field entertains the fans between innings with various contests, including a race of a certain sponsor's products, in cartoon form. When fans walk in, they get a coupon for a pizza establishment, good only if the type of pizza noted on the coupon wins the race. Last night, my husband and I both got "cheese," and I was disappointed. Had one of us gotten "pepperoni" or "sausage," we would have had a two out of three chance of winning. But when I realized that also meant that a "cheese" victory would mean two free pizzas, I began to get excited.

When the race of the cartoon pizzas finally began, I watched, enraptured. Cheese ran to the front right away, but then Sausage and Pepperoni took turns passing him. It was a nail biter. Two pizzas were on the line here, and before I knew it, I found myself clapping and yelling, "go Cheese! Come on, Cheese, you can do it!" Even in the midst of it, I felt a bit sheepish. I'd been silent the entire first half of the ball game, yet here I was, screaming for a cartoon pizza, and high-fiving my husband when Cheese won.

I didn't even clap for the two Sox players who hit home runs.

Yeah, maybe I'm not ready for that Sox shirt just yet. But until I am, I think I'll try to find out whether that pizza place sells clothing.