It all started on the drive home from school Friday afternoon.
â€œGoGiants! Go Nin-ners!â€ echoed in stereo from the back seat of the MomMobile. What horrific ridiculousness was this!
Giants? Nonsense. We are a two-team household here; this means my sons have a choice.
Prefer blue? Feel the designated hitter is unconstitutional? Want to follow in the history of Momâ€™s side of the family. Youâ€™ll be bleeding Dodger Blue for life â€“ learning to count and keep score to the stylings of the legendary Vin Scully.
Feeling the grass is greener? Want to support your local team â€“ knowing the team may even someday come closer? Understand that pitchers cannot hit? Get amped by the comeback kids who fight till the end via scrappy small ball? Following in Dadâ€™s footsteps? Then for you â€“ this is Aâ€™s baseball.
I am a sports fan. I am a baseball girl. I grew up loving my boys in blue. I do not consider myself a bandwagon fan. We live in the Bay Area, so sure â€“ Niners, fine.
Whatâ€™s that you say? How can I accept the San Francisco 49ers but not the San Franciso Giants? Because Iâ€™ve never been a diehard football fan.
I grew up in Southern California through the era of Rams and Raiders. Who then abandoned our city for greener pastures. (Haha. Get it â€“ Oakland? Green?) Then I interned with the Oakland Aâ€™s 2001 playoff contending team. Raider fans would show up â€“ painted fully in black and silver. â€œRAIDERS RULE!â€ theyâ€™d drunkenly slur and shriek.
Dudes. Seriously. Wrong sport.
Soâ€¦rooting for the Raiders is out.
Iâ€™m more inclined to root for the San Jose Sharks than the LA Kings. Because during my most impressionable Southern California sporting days, hockey was seriously low priority. The only thing I ever heard about it was courtesy of Michael Aroestyâ€™s daily updates on the Wayne Gretsky era in Mrs. Popeâ€™s fifth grade class. (But letâ€™s be honest â€“ I wasnâ€™t paying attention since I was busy crushing on Brandon Barash, who was my gradeâ€™s dreamboat K-8.)
Here, Iâ€™ve got friends who are very into feeling the teal. The Sharks were my first hockey experience. And since there are only so many renditions of Cars I can take, Friday evening found the newly negotiated season of San Jose Sharks skating across our TV.
The commentators were vamping about this and that when Couture scored a goal. A little picture-in-picture appeared with some background info in No. 39. Destroy stopped mid-destruction.
â€œTHE TV IS SAYING ME!â€ (They share a name.) So that was cute.
And of course, Iâ€™ve had great times hanging out at San Jose Earthquakes games with my girlfriends. Not to mention PapaStavo is doing his damndest to sway the boys toward soccer.
Turns out theyâ€™re pretty good at it. A good warmup with the original football on Superbowl Sunday.
So. In conclusion â€“ my advice for raising functional citizens in society:
- Start â€˜em young.
- Donâ€™t jump on a bandwagon when a local team suddenly starts to do well.
- Root for the right sport when you go to a game.
- Just say no to the Giants.
- Remember â€“ sugar is to tiny peeps as alcohol is to Superbowl partying adults. (Youâ€™re welcome SAT Board.)
- It is always ok to shake it to Beyonceâ€™s â€œSingle Ladiesâ€ during a football game.
PS. And basketball? Yeah, I just donâ€™t really like that sport. Sorry.
PPS. Iâ€™m sure Brandon didnâ€™t just stop being a dreamboat immediately after eighth grade. But then I went to a different school.