I consider this topic one of life's greatest mysteries.
To say that the ability for men to have football/baseball/any kind of ball factoids emblazoned on their brain for all eternity, still renders me baffled.
Over the 15+ years that I've been writing in this space, I have waxed on and on about what I consider one of life's greatest mysteries: how a seemingly intelligent man can remember a football score or even a specific play from a game that happened back when Reagan/Clinton/Bush 41 was in office (take your pick) but how that very same man probably could not tell you a) what he ate for breakfast, b) the exact location of his car keys, or, c) anything you discussed within the past 24 hours.
I can only compare it to the way in which women can remember exactly what they wore on a specific date, special occasion, night of their first kiss, etc. However, while women commit these things to memory--and I think--to heart, really--we are also such hyper-organized beings, that I would bet most of us could rattle off the details of our Sweet 16 outfit (down to the Bonne Bell Lip Smacker) as well as recount what everyone in the house at for breakfast, lunch and dinner in the past month. What I'm trying to say is that for us, these details are tied to emotions, love, and relationships.
I don't think I could say the same about men and their magical memory when it comes to sports, but who knows? I could be wrong. I've seen grown a man weep when their favorite teams win/lose a world championship and I've had equally as many amusing moments watching them try to coach players from the sidelines (i.e., scream at them while running between the sofa and big screen TV) as if their input can actually help a player hit a home run or avoid being sacked.
There are days when I consider myself a social scientist, trying to understand the differences between men and women and mostly coming up with nothing except for the fact that we are wired differently. And who doesn't already know that? So, in all my years of trying to figure these things out, I typically just walk away scratching my head and laughing. At them. There's certainly a lot of material to amuse oneself if one was so inclined.
That said, you can imagine my chagrin over the past few months as I've watched my six-and-a-half-year-old son turn into a raving sports lunatic. The little boy who still needs to be tucked in at night with a story, a song, and his favorite stuffed toy, Biscuit the Puppy by his side, is also now a card-carrying, full-on, dare I say...male.
Don't know how that switch suddenly gets flipped, but it's truly phenomenal when it does. It's as if a certain life milestone just pops up one day and says, "It's time, little boy. Now let's fill your head ESPN-worthy stats that will enable you to walk into a bar or boardroom at any time in your life and make instant connections with other men."
Case in point:
A few nights ago, my son fell asleep during the eighth inning of a World Series game. I don't know what the score was by the time my son's head hit the pillow, but I can tell you that the Red Sox came from behind to win the game. The final score was 4-1. Or 5-1? It might have been 3-1. In any case, his beloved team won and I knew he would be thrilled when he woke up the next morning and learned that his hometown players were one game closer to winning the series.
When he awoke the next morning (Biscuit still stuck to his body) the first words out of his mouth were "Who won the game?"
I excitedly told him that the Red Sox won when Johnny Gomes (okay, I looked it up on USA Today when I woke up that morning) hit a home run that brought in some other runners (or something like that) and that the Red Sox were now up two games to one in the series. I swear to you, the child was not even upright in his bed yet when he said "How is that possible? Johnny Gomes has a 152 average!?"
WHAT THE HELL????
And with that, my son leaped out of bed, got dressed at record speed, and flew down the stairs to the kitchen, where he powered on my iPad and asked me to show him the YouTube video of the home run.
Now let's review: he told me a specific player's batting average (which of course, turned out to be 100% correct, because, well, refer to paragraphs one and two above), got dressed in record time (another miracle), went for the iPad (our children will grow up not knowing life without all of this technology), and specifically requested a YouTube video.
Where do I even begin? Yikes!
I suppose my only consolation is now that I have two sons to raise as well as a husband to try to understand (LOL), I will not suffer any shortage of blog material for a long, long, long time.
Until Next Time,