She still has it in her to surprise me, even after
more than half a century of the most important relationship
of my life. First, she writes a set of lovely poems showing me
how to quietly experience baseball from angles I had not considered
(even attending and fully taking part in a baseball poetry festival,
reading her poems to fellow fans in a captivating gentle poignant voice).
Now, this woman who couldn’t play paddle-ball or golf (two fond memories)
and who went to Met and Yankee games mostly to view the crowds
and be with loved ones and enjoy the polychrome suddenly surprises me
by watching Knickerbocker playoff games for each game’s sake,
cheering and grumbling as each moment goes from eyes to history.
Who is this hardwood fanatic who showed no interest in post-seasons
for the 56 years I’ve known her? This marvel who instinctively understands
when to let out chirps of earned excitement at grace and
effective teamwork, passing, driving, stealing, rebounding, setting picks,
pressuring the ball? We watch each game from our living room
and she absorbs the bits of knowledge that I impart, and she surprises me
with her burgeoning interest and involvement. After all these years,
I am still getting to know her, and that’s special. We’ll never grow apart
or sink in common boredom. She has too much to offer me
and I realize that no matter which team falls to defeat,
I am the big winner!
THE POETRY OF THE GAME