The Yankees are Ruining My Life.

My husband is a huge Yankees fan. Huge. Like, the biggest ever. He hates reading, but he will read any and every book about the damn Yankees (har har) he can get his hands on. In fact, he is so anal about reading every single damn Yankees book that he must also read them in numerical order. What I mean is that since Mickey Mantle was number two, he has to read all of the Mickey Mantle books before he'll go on to read about about Babe Ruth, number three. What a nerd.

Back in the day, I was a huge baseball fan. I loved the men in tight uniforms...ok, let's stop there for a moment, shall we?

Sigh.

Ok, so I loved the men in tight uniforms, the hot dogs, the tradition, the men in tight uniforms...I loved it all. I would watch baseball every single night. I could recite the starting lineup for the 1997 Atlanta Braves in my sleep. And when I first met Hubs, this was a big turn-on for him. I would whisper sweet Javier Lopezes in his ear and he would melt.

But then we got married. And we went on a cross-country baseball adventure. I ate a lot of hot dogs and gained a lot of weight. I grew bored of the men in tight uniforms; I needed more substance. Ok, I'm not filling anyone with that one, but whatevs.

Anyway, soon my life was filled to the brim with baseball. Cuddle Time had to happen before the Seventh Inning Stretch. Hubs subjected me to singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" every night of the week. It was awful!!

Poor me.

Anywho, the stupid Yankees have once again made the playoffs, which means our season has now been extended. If you follow the sport, you'll know that the Yankees took the first game from the Detroit Tigers, but they lost on Sunday and Monday night. After last night's loss, Hubs told me that I "could've done more". I was all, "Excuse me?". And he was all, "You should have been sending curses to the Tigers all night. This is why we lost."

Also? I love when he says "we", as though he and I are actual members of the team. It's almost as fun as when he talks to the television by saying, "Ok, here we go, boys.". Um, Hubs? They can't hear you, but I can and I think you're weird.

Then Hubs declares that it's (finally!) time for bed. He stalks up the stairs, and by the time I'm up there, he's wrapped in the blankets, curled into the fetal position.

There's another game tonight, and if the Yankees lose, they are done for the season.

And I'll probably be assigned to the couch.

Eff you, Yankees...

...but please win, ok??

*Addendum: Thank you, Hubs and J-Tony for setting me straight. Mickey Mantle was number seven, not two. As if I care.


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