The things that I miss about last summer am excited for as seen or reminded of in this photo taken by Maddie: painful renditions of the national anthem and how I never want to stand for the singing and refuse to cover my heart, not as a rebellious or unpatriotic gesture necessarily, but because overt patriotism feels unnatural to me and, I don’t know if you can tell from the look on my face, but most the time every time I’m just thinking “alright, let’s get to the game already”; hearing Andrew sing along to each of Jon Jay’s at bat songs and complaining about Holliday’s song choices while still singing along to them regardless, though he tries to do so in a mocking voice so as to let everyone know he doesn’t approve, but he has no other choice; judging opposing team no-name players based on their at bat photo; not caring that my ass is tiring from the bleachers come sixth inning; rolling my eyes as Andrew’s lewd or even cruel commentary on every woman that walks by; saying “holy shit” after every brilliant play or hit because for some reason that’s always the first thing that comes out of my mouth; being called unfaithful whenever the Cardinals play the Giants (which is true, I am); having my view impeded by some balding dude because, let’s face it, I’m short; eating bacon wrapped hot dogs; those extra few inches on the length of my hair; and most of all, baseball. I’m looking forward to baseball. I’m reminded this every morning when I drive to work and see the arch ahead of me, or I sit in the Fox box office and am confronted with a view down Washington all the way to downtown. I can’t see the stadium from my seat, but I know exactly where it is. And Andrew is already trying to get me to shell out $100 for opening day tickets. I don’t need opening day tickets, just as long as I go as much as I did this previous summer. I lost count.
