I've found myself increasingly drawn into the world of sports lately, a development I hadn’t anticipated. My partner’s enthusiasm has clearly influenced me, leading to a steady increase in the amount of time I spend engaged with various games. For instance, during the Euros, I became unexpectedly captivated by the performances of Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal. Their skill and occasional antics on the field were both entertaining and, in a way, endearing, making the matches far more engaging than I had anticipated.
However, it's baseball that has truly solidified its place in my routine. My partner introduced me to the sport, and over the past year, it has become a staple in our weekly schedule. Every Friday, without fail, we settle in with beer and wings to watch the games. It’s become a familiar and comforting ritual, one that I’ve come to appreciate more than I thought I would. I've even found myself rooting for the Yankees and the Phillies (if only because I have a soft spot for Alec Bohm).
Just recently, I attended a baseball game in person. The heat was oppressive, to the point where my overpriced beer seemed to evaporate as soon as I took a sip. Despite the discomfort, the experience was worthwhile—my team won, which more than compensated for the sunburn and general physical toll of the day. I’m already planning for the next game, though this time, I’ll be better prepared for the elements, perhaps with a portable fan or at least a more practical hat.