Pocket is Not A Baseball Fan

The baseball team my parents root for, the Red Sox, are going to the World Series.  This is devastating news to a nervous little Yorkie like me.
I like a calm house.  An evening with my parents reclining in their chairs, watching something relaxing, like “Dancing With the Stars,” is perfect for me.  I find a lap, listen to the music, and float away.

I could be a therapy dog for humans coping with hypertension.  Whenever either of my parents tenses the slightest, I am next to them, using my right paw to jostle their arm.  I know what cures a tense human: Rubbing my soft fur.

Life certainly comes with enough tension: Money problems, illnesses, arguments, the state of the world.  There is no escaping it. So why do humans watch sporting events that makes them nervous and often leaves them sad?  It is one of life’s greatest mysteries.

It is bad enough that the Patriots keep going to the Super Bowl.  Year after year, no matter what happens, they are there. Does the rest of the country find this annoying?
  My parents begin the game quietly watching, but by the end, they are yelling, trembling, sweaty messes and I am hiding in my condo.  The good news is they only play once a week, and it gives me time to prepare.

But the Red Sox?  They are endless. We have a nervous night, and the next day, it occurs again.   The deeper into fall they go the worst it gets. I don’t like it.

There doesn’t have to be any shouting for me to get upset.  My mom is less invested in the games than my dad. By the time she gets nervous Daddy is having a full emotional breakdown.  First, his heartbeat increases and his breathing quickens. I move next to him and brush his arm with my paw. He either tells me it’s all right, just a false alarm, or he says to stop which means he is getting stressed out, or he orders me to hide in my kitty condo which is a sign that some yelling is about to commence.  

This is when Daddy is at the point when all my pawing and cuteness cannot help him.  He swears a lot, says mean things about someone named Kimbrel, and at the end, he has a conversation with the Lord, asking either why, God, why, or thanking him profusely.

Mommy tells me this should all be over by Halloween.

Oh no, Halloween is coming?  With the hoards of children dressed like fake ghouls or faker movie characters?  Now I’m really nervous.


Wake me up when October comes.