I feel like this post is going to start a little like the intro to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, but let’s just go for it anyways. My name is Chelsea Watts and I don’t really go to the Spring Training games.
I KNOW! I know what you’re thinking. Especially the girls that are not traveling with their men. I just want to start by saying I have actually had other things going on other than just dropping him off at 6:30 a.m. and picking him up when he texts. In my defense, the first half of the month consisted of 40-hour work weeks (gotta make the bacon $$) and combined with daily boot camp and transforming into the picture of domestication (making literal bacon and cleaning it up), I have been a little busy. Plus, we have to park pretty far from the fields, so given my deep-rooted laziness in these sort of situations and fear of scorpions, the event has to warrant the walk, let’s get real.
All this just to say I went to his game yesterday. Mind you: he is a pitcher and I don’t miss a game that he pitches (3 so far in ST), but I have been slacking in the general support category.
He pitched well, but there is a strange kind of anxiety I get when he throws. It comes on strong right before the game starts, but once he throws a pitch it dies down until something bad happens.
Let me just say something because it needs to be said. I understand he makes mistakes, too, but there is no wrath like a pitcher’s wife when a position player commits a stupid error or doesn’t give full effort. I try to keep my mouth shut, but when they score a run because you can’t put some pace on a ball to first to turn a double and end the inning, I struggle.
I feel better now that I’ve gotten that out.
When Daniel headed into the clubhouse to do his post-game rehab and running, I walked over to the other game and saw a familiar face. A mutual friend that I had been introduced to recently.
Long story short, we decided to go to dinner that night because the guys had a meeting at six. We went to Zipps and got some great happy hour deals! I met another wife for the first time and we bonded over our mutual experiences in this crazy world. The meal ended with one of God’s ultimate gifts to man, a chocolate chip Pizookie. If you have ever had one of these, you know what I mean.
It is a chocolate cookie, baked in a skillet, but pulled out of the oven right before it is fully cooked. You dessert lovers know that gooey-ness that you never got as a kid because your mom didn’t want you to get salmonella from uncooked eggs? Yeah. It’s so good it constitutes making up words. This massive cookie is topped with two scoops of vanilla bean ice cream. Needless to say the three of us are planning to revisit Zipps, potentially only for a Pizookie, in the near near future (this is no judging zone).
I am hoping we have more clarity on where we are going early next week, but who am I kidding? I heard a true story today about a guy who they told just to drive north and they would call him and tell him where to go. It’s almost comical, but it’s real life.
You know what I say? Bring it on. Let’s do it. If we’re going to do this thing we might as well have some good stories to tell our kids.