Thursday, October 21, 2004

My Drandpa Never Spat -- Drandma Would Slay Him

When I was a kid, my parents would take me to see my grandparents which is about two miles down the street from my home. My mother's parents are pretty close with us all more than my father's parents do. See? My mom's parents = Deaf. My dad's parents = hearing. See the math? We usually see my father's parents once or twice per year. But mom's parents, thousands per year.

Anyway, when we visited my Drandparents (I did it the 'D' to identify who's who -- Hrandparents pointed to my father's parents, ok?) on Bloomingdale Avenue. When we walked into the living room, there are two television sets on a large drawer designed primarily for the living room -- these two TV sets are strictly designed and enforced for my Drandma and Drandpa. The one on the left was my Drandpa's access, the right belonged to my Drandma. Often I'd see Drandpa watching the Atlanta Braves and I could see his blood boiling when the Braves fell behind, but he rarely showed his emotions. Rarely.

As for Drandma, she loves her remote control, flipping the channels again, again and again to a point where sometimes it distracted Drandpa on the left and he bemoaned her to stop distracting him. But they sat separately -- one on the far left, one on the far right. The space between these two can hold maybe 3 or four persons, though.

I normally sat on the right because I find the baseball games to be extremely boring.

Which brings me to this point -- last night, I watched the BoSox-Yanks game out of curiosity -- yes, I flipped to other channels at times but mainly, I watched the game. I noticed something interesting.

When the camera came up close with a player's face, he often spat. When it spotted another player, he spat. Another, spat. There, spat. This, spat. Over there, spat. God, everyone spat.

From the umpires to the players to the managers, they spat, spat, spat and spat. Be it Jeter, Rodriguez, Damon (hottie!) and many more -- they still spat.

In the dugout, you could see lots of guys spitting -- I wonder what it's like to be in the dugout right after the game with all of these disgusting gooey on the floor. What is up with the spitting? Is it a fad? Is it a macho thing to do that in baseball?

I also noticed that the managers tend to eat or drink lots when the camera focused on one? There is always something in their mouths.

What the fuck is going on?

God, it is making me nervous!

But bravo to BoSox for coming up with a win. Let the riots begin.


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