take me out to the ball game?

There were many things I loved to do with Donny. Sex, obviously—he is the muse for the great wolf’s portion of the naughty-sweaty writing here on my pretty dumb things (a fount of writing that has dried up along with the linn of my sex life, sadly). I loved going to restaurants with him; we always shared everything; it was like eating our intimacy. I loved the date stuff—going to movies, theatre, and like that; I loved the quotidian stuff too—taking our dogs to the dog run, shopping for health and beauty items, you know, the things that couples do when they’re couply. I really miss all of that stuff I used to do with Donny.

Like Yankees games. I really miss going to Yankees games, a loss that has been honed sharp and bright with the start of baseball season and the sudden dash of good weather here in Gotham.

I am a Yankee fan, for good, bad or ugly. Outside of New York, being a Yankee fan is kind of like drinking only Starbucks coffee: you have to justify your love of the evil empire. Sure, it’s evil, but I love it, you feel compelled to say, however ruefully. Inside New York, being a Yankee fan is pretty much a default setting. Sure, there are Mets fans—and they’re so cute with their copycat stadium and traditions—but pretty much everyone who is anyone and lots of people who aren’t are Yankee fans. I am but one of those in the swarming horde.

My relationship with baseball in general and with the Yankees in specific is kind of finicky and romantic. I don’t really understand baseball, or not in the way that grown-ups understand it, anyway. All those numbers and acronyms confuse me, and frankly, I don’t care about statistics. I don’t watch the game for the RBIs or ERs or whatever. I watch it for the poetry. I like the endless diamond that seems to stretch like a kid’s summer vacation into infinity. I like the unabashed green, deep as an emerald and set in place by only a few simple lines of ocherous  dirt. I like the back of Derek Jeter’s neck and the sweep of A-Rod’s thighs. I like the fact that this game takes as long as it needs to; there’s no clock in baseball. I like that. I like a lot of things about baseball and they all tend to the abstract.

Mostly, though, what I love about the Yankees is Jorge Posada. It’s not an erotic love. I don’t want to “do” Georgie, as the recently departed Joe Torre used to call him. I want to put Jorge on my bed and look at him or maybe hug him, like he’s a stuffed animal. I just want to bask in the general glory that is Jorge Posada, because I love him like I love my dog: uncomplicatedly, unreservedly,  and unconditionally. If he had chosen to sign with another organization last February rather than renew his contract with the Yankees, I would have jumped ship with him.

Our love is mutual, even if my number 20 has no idea. Jorge tends to play very, very well when I’m in the stands. Donny once crunched the numbers and discovered that when I’m there, Jorge bats around .700, which is really very good, I’m told. I’m reluctant to suggest a direct cause-and-effect relationship between my presence at Yankee Stadium and Jorge’s output when I am there, but I’ll let the numbers speak for themselves. Suffice to say that my very first Yankee game Jorge hit two home runs. I thought that was kind of, you know, normal, but Donny assured me it was not.

I think you can feel the weight of my sadness now that my conduit to the Yankees and proximity to Jorge has dried up. Donny’s and my break-up has done more than merely break my heart; it has deprived me of Yankees tickets. Nay, it has possibly even damaged Jorge Posada’s game. I let his current injured shoulder to speak wordless volumes about my absence from his life.

Sadly, my watching the game on television does nothing either for Jorge or for me. I don’t really “get” televised games. Mostly, they make me want to read a book or masturbate, or both. Plus, when I watch a game, I seem to have no effect on number 20 (my replacement favorite Yankee, number 24, Robinson Cano, appears to have no link to me whatsoever; he does what he does whether I’m there or not; I do, however, like his name and he has a very genuine smile, and yet he’s no Jorge). Plus, there are all those advertisements. I leave a televised game feeling depressed, not rejuvenated. It has none of the sparkle of the live.

So this is where you, my devoted New York readers of my pretty dumb things come in. If any of you—man, woman, both, whatever—happen over the course of this long and liquid summer have tickets and want to give them to me, take me, or sell them to me, please let me know. You can email me here. I especially like going to the game with people who can explain to me what is exactly happening and don’t mind questions that would be more appropriate from a second-grader than from a fully grown woman. And I have to say that those seats that are closer to the field are really much nicer than the ones way up near the sky. I especially like the ones where they have the waiter service and you can sit in your seat and watch the Yankees all practice swinging the bat while you wait for the waiters to bring you things to eat. I like those the best, but really I’ll take whatever I can get.

I rely on the kindness of strangers with Yankees tickets. Think of it this way, don't do it just for me; do it for Jorge. And, really, who can refuse anything to a man with ears like that?

The middle photo and caption comes courtesy of LOLYankees.

Comments

[Autumn]

I just wanted to let you know that I read your blog not because of the steamy stories you have told us (though those are great), but because you are a fantastic wordsmith with insight and real power. You said in this post that the steam stuff has 'dried up', but this space is not dry at all - it's real and powerful.

Thanks for sharing yourself so dearly with us.

[Rebecca]

You and I feel exactly the same about baseball ,and the Yankees. Its just that you said it better than I ever thought about trying to ;)

[minstrel hussain boy]

I watch it for the poetry.

me too. but, i'm a padres fan. good luck with your quest for tix. baseball is a very poetic game. i love the way that it is a team sport which is comprised by a series of connected, but individual actions.

[J.J. Adler]

And I suddenly find myself wishing I had a pair of season tickets and nobody to go with. I'll keep you in mind, CG... I think it'd be an interesting experience to go to a game with someone I know only through their blog. If ever I stumble across MVP Club tix, I'll be happy to know I'll have an equally fervent fan to share the game with.

[badinfluencegirl]

i'm with autumn but she said it better

i like your hawt writing but i like you and whatever you choose to write more than any 'type'

write what you like, i'm here regardless

[badinfluencegirl]

ps if you come to toronto Jays tix are verra cheap... and i will happily go along with you :)

[chelsea g]

Thanks, you all. I love the free validation. It's weird having been a writer with sex and now being one without it. I'm so pleased to know that you'll read me regardless.

And that maybe I'll get to go to see my Georgie with J.J.

kissykiss,
chelsea g.

[jeffrey kane]

I wonder just how many men flooded the Yankee's ticket office phone bank after reading that post? .... you know, I think you're super-hott but I'm soooo into the Red Sox. Oh well, at least you like the American League anyway.

[Mark]

CG,

If one is from, or lives in New York, one does not need to justify being a Yankees fan to me. However, you must acknowledge the fact that you might also enjoy rooting for Microsoft.

[Edgy Mama]

I love baseball as well, mostly because my daughter is a huge fan. She loves the Cleveland Indians (her Dad's team), and thus, dislikes the Yankees. But her favorite teacher is from Buffalo, so they talk trash to each other about their respective teams. Very cute.

We go to lots of AA games in our hometown, but there's nothing quite like a major league baseball game. Sigh.