Free-Reprint Article Written by: Barbara Grassey See Terms of Reprint Below.
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Let me share with you what I have learned about the roller coaster ride of love and dating, through the eyes of a Boston Red Sox fan. Additional Article Information: =============================== 956 Words; formatted to 65 Characters per Line Distribution Date and Time: 2007-11-14 13:50:00 Written By: Barbara Grassey Copyright: 2007 Contact Email: mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] Barbara Grassey's Picture URL: http://www.thephantomwriters.com/client-img/barbara-grassey.jpg For more free-reprint articles by Barbara Grassey, please visit: http://www.thePhantomWriters.com/recent/author/barbara-grassey.html ============================================= Special Notice For Publishers and Webmasters: ============================================= If you use this article on your website or in your ezine, We Want To Know About It. Use the following URL to let us know where you have used this article, and we will include a link to your website on thePhantomWriters.com: http://thephantomwriters.com/notify.php?id=5424&p=load HTML Copy-and-Paste and TEXT Copy-and-Paste Versions Of Article Are Available at: http://thePhantomWriters.com/free_content/db/g/love-and-the-red-sox.shtml#get_code --------------------------------------------------------------------- Love and the Red Sox - How the Red Sox Prepared Me For Dating Copyright (c) 2007 Barbara Grassey http://www.barbaragrassey.com I found out a very good friend of mine is a Cleveland Indians fan. Rabid Cleveland Indians fan. As a Red Sox fan, this is on par with finding out your current boyfriend is gay. ("He was always so good about going to Ikea with me...") We have found our first point of disagreement after a year and a half of friendship. In my state of shock, all I could think was, "Who the heck is a Cleveland Indians fan?" I pictured my buddy and Drew Carey alone in the stands wearing raccoon coats and clutching little Indians pennants. Maybe a little ways from them would be two transplanted Red Sox fans, there to cheer on Trot Nixon. (To his credit, my friend was cheering on the Red Sox for the World Series so he has redeemed himself.) Now, intellectually I know that the Indians and the Rockies are both great teams and deserve every fan they have. But I am a Red Sox fan. That long-standing tradition of baseball suffering and angst is just not possible for Denver (the team hasn't been around long enough to be long-suffering) and angst is just not part of the fabric of Cleveland. (Please note that I am not making a mean, incredibly easy joke on fabric and Cleveland. I have my standards. So insert your own Cleveland/polyester joke here. I won't since they came close to whipping my Sox's butts.) In true Red Sox war cry fashion, I have to say, "At least it isn't the Yankees." And this is the attitude, this is the tradition that has prepared me for the dating world. Face it, unless you married the guy who asked you to the junior and senior prom, you are probably going to have some bad dating experiences. But if you grew up as a Red Sox fan, you can handle it. Most years, the season starts off like most relationships. The Red Sox are looking good, looking strong, really impressing us. Right up to the All Star Break. About two and a half months. And if you compare the time tables, most relationships look good the first couple of months. But then there is that slight slip up, a bobble, an error that brings what could have been a lovely evening to an inauspicious close. You start having second thoughts. You really do have a headache. You can handle this because you have invested just a short period of time in this illusion called hope. You are not totally emotionally invested. (Note: You are lying to yourself.) You have seen them slip and recover before. You know that men need to be forgiven for the things they do that are just, well, guy things. It was a one-time aberration. So it might still be okay. This guy might still be the one. We still have a shot at going all the way. And while you would never voice that hope out loud to anyone, it is clanging in the back of your mind, every time he brings flowers; every time Ortiz slams one home. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Unconsciously, you dial your commitment level back a couple of notches; you turtle back into survival mode. You may check in on the man and the team from time to time, allowing chances at redemption but they are both slipping in the standings. You are already aware that No, he is not the one and No, this is not the year. You just aren't ready to admit it to yourself yet. That will come at the beginning of September. But every so often, you have a summer that is everything you could ever hope for. The boys are making plays that are as finely choreographed as a ballet; they are knocking in runs, they can do no wrong. Your dating relationship looks like the montage from every chick flick ever made where the guy is funny and charming and so there for you. You are collectively upbeat and full of life and you are a part of the upsurge of excitement and hope. Everything looks like you are heading towards that golden moment, you are ready to make that commitment in front of God and everyone: "I think we are going to make it this year. I think we can win the Series." You hold your breath, waiting for the implosion. They will blow a lead so badly you have to wonder if it is intentional. He will do something unbelievably, unforgivably stupid. It will be the deal breaker. It will be the colossal error that ruins everything. It is the self-sabotage that will tell you "No, this is not the guy for you. This is not the year." They will fall further and further behind. You will wonder what you saw in him in the first place. You are prepared to be bitter because you have played the fool once again. You stock your woman-cave with Godiva chocolate and quarts of Haagen-Daaz for the coming crash (after all, you have been here before) and you are prepared to spend the winter recovering from the dreams of what could have been. You hold your breath, your muscles tense waiting for the fall. And a miracle happens. Incredibly, inexplicably, he comes out of a tailspin and soars like a hawk on a thermal. They sweep the series and sweep you off your feet. That flame of hope that you were prepared to let die catches fire and you are glad that you took a chance on looking foolish. It was worth sticking your neck out, it was worth crawling out on that shaky, straggly limb of hope. Because when it comes to love and the Red Sox, anything is possible. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Barbara Grassey is a writer, speaker and instructor. She blogs at http://www.barbaragrassey.com Her upcoming book, "Don't Make Me Slap You", will be out this winter. --- END ARTICLE --- Get HTML or TEXT Copy-and-Paste Versions Of This Article at: http://thePhantomWriters.com/free_content/db/g/love-and-the-red-sox.shtml#get_code ..................................... 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