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Sunday, March 04, 2001

Baseball is Ruining my Marriage

How Manny Ramirez brought joy and pain to one Red Sox fan’s home.

Baseball is ruining my marriage.?When my wife and I married, she knew I was   a big baseball fan. She also knew it wasn’t just a passing infatuation; I loved   the game.? What she didn’t know, however, is to what extent she?d have to share   herself with my ?mistress?.

Through the first seven years of marriage, my wife and mistress coexisted comfortably.   Then, Jim Furtado asked me to write a column for the Baseball Primer web site.   I wrote a rough draft for a piece about where baseball fit into my life?s priorities.?   The article was mostly tongue-in-cheek, but my list of priorities was based   in truth. After finishing off the piece, I asked my wife to look it over. This   simple request jeopardized the peaceful coexistence between wife and mistress.

After reading over my essay, my wife provided feedback on parts of the article   that I wasn’t really looking for. I wanted input on grammar, construction, and   spelling. She decided I needed help with the content of piece. She told me she   didn’t like my list of priorities:

     
  1. my kids
  2.  
  3. sex
  4.  
  5. baseball
  6.  
  7. Red Sox
  8.  
  9. cold beer
  10.  
  11. baseball
  12.  
  13. sex
  14.  
  15. sex
  16.  
  17. baseball
  18.  
  19. snuggling

Now, anyone with children would surely list kids as the number one priority.?   After that anything goes. My wife told me she didn’t appreciate being number   10.?She didn’t like being listed so far down on the list, in particular, so   far down behind baseball. I tried to explain that, since she was integral to   numbers 2,7 and 8, she was really listed above baseball.? She didn’t buy my   reasoning. After much discussion and cajoling, I convinced her the article and   list of priorities was written in jest. She was certainly number two on my real   list of priorities. She was indeed ahead of baseball in the battle for my affection.   The peaceful coexistence between wife and mistress returned.

Then came December 11, 2000.?

This day had all the makings of a red-letter day in the Santerre house.? That   very morning, the doctor confirmed that my wife was pregnant with our third   child.?This was happy news. When my wife told me, I broadly smiled, hugged her   and said, ?We did it!? All seemed right in the Santerre house.

That same night, at about 10:30 PM, I got an e-mail from Jim which said Manny   Ramirez had agreed to sign with the Red Sox. MY RED SOX!!? I quickly checked   the online sports bible, ESPN.com, and was saddened when I couldn’t find confirmation.?   Because nothing in sports is true until it is on SportsCenter, I began to suspect   that Jim was playing some cruel prank. Although I’ve never known Jim to be cruel,   he has perpetrated a few pranks. I called to question him about the news. He   swore the news was accurate. I still wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Then,   at about 11:35 PM, Karl Ravech uttered the three little words I had been waiting   for, ?Ramirez to Boston?.?

Like a cat, I sprinted upstairs to my bedroom where my wife lay blissfully   asleep, content with her status in my life. I flicked the lights on and began   jumping up and down on the bed while repeating the phrase ?Manny?s coming to   Boston!? over and over and over again, with a sense of glee that I had not experienced   since Dave Henderson?s 10th?inning dinger in the 1986 World Series.?

After witnessing my, as yet, unprecedented display of elation due to the Ramirez   signing, and after comparing that elation with the relatively watered down reaction   to the baby news, she was not at all pleased.?Quicker than the time it takes   a Pedro Martinez heater to arrive in a catcher’s mitt, my wife began to recount   our prior discussion concerning my list of priorities in life. She then handed   me my pillow and pointed to the bedroom door. The peaceful coexistence between   wife and mistress was shattered.

After a night on the couch, I took the first step toward making peace with   my wife. Although a week of buttock kissing helped return normalcy to the Santerre   home, my Christmas gift—a framed picture of Manny with a note saying ?I   hope he will keep you warm.?—indicated that this issue was not fully resolved.   I knew right then and there more buttocks kissing was necessary to convince   my wife of her place in my real list of priorities.

After a few months of chapped lips, an uneasy coexistence between wife and   mistress has emerged. With my anniversary around the corner, I’m crossing my   fingers the Red Sox won?t endanger the status quo by acquiring a number two   pitcher at the wrong point in time. That’s because although Manny’s picture   gives me great comfort, it doesn’t keep me warm. It also doesn’t help me when   priorities 2, 7 and 8 need attending to.

The Original Gary Posted: March 04, 2001 at 06:00 AM | 0 comment(s) Login to Bookmark
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