When the Tigers scored eight in tonight's third inning, Maggie and I were glad we'd chosen baseball over cinema.
After Hinge hit a grand slam in the eighth off Colin Ballester, and after Ben-Wah gave up a double to Kila Ka'aihue and walked Anthony Recker, a nice snuggly romantic comedy didn't seem so bad after all. Maggie was, in fact, rooting through the tapes.
"You know Valverde's pitching the ninth," she said. "I can't watch this anymore ... "
She sprang out of bed and raced downstairs, leaving me in the company of a small gathering of Athletics fans who stayed to the bitter end -- past one AM our time -- despite being down 10-2 after three.
Fernando did come in to pitch the ninth, and got them out one-two-three. If he keeps this up, he'll go back to being Jose.
"They won, didn't they?" Maggie returned to the second floor baseball bunker holding two glasses.
"How'd you know?"
"I was listening on the radio." She handed me one of the glasses.
"What's this?"
"Amaretto. Let's celebrate. The night Jose Valverde got his groove back."
We clinked glasses.
"You're not going to write that, are you? Abut getting his groove back?"
Can't say that I won't, my queen. What a perfect Hollywood ending. For that new snuggle movie. "Something About Maggie."
No comments:
Post a Comment