by Hilda Maston
The start of the baseball season reminds me that I live in close proximity to a bunch of baseball fans, which is not something you would expect in an apartment building inhabited by senior citizens, and mostly ladies besides.
Once the Mariners start playing, they take over the attention of many of my neighbors. Soon, when I meet someone in the hall the greeting I get will not be “Good Morning,” but “Did you see what the Mariners did last night? Sometimes I don’t know what they did, and the conversation becomes an animated baseball lesson.
Once the season is in full swing, the fans are fully engrossed in the games. They know the first names of each of the players, how many kids they have, their statistics, how long they have been playing, and what the chances are for a successful season. Many of the fans who live here will not admit that the Mariners ever played badly. Instead they find many excuses as to why they lost a game, such as it was too hot or too wet or the officials called the plays wrong or their favorite player had a tummy ache.
Although I like to watch the Mariners sometimes during the season, there are times when the book I am reading or the phone calls I get are more important to me than the baseball game . My friends who are fans can’t understand this but then I don’t always understand baseball fans either.
During the season, I’ll watch the games, listen to my neighbors’ conversations about the game, and be glad all over again that I live in Mariner territory.