Since Michael and I didn’t get to go out to celebrate our anniversary the other night, opting instead to watch Yankees-Tigers, we decided to stop grieving the Yankees’ ouster from the playoffs and have a romantic dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants.
We were seated at a lovely table, ordered some wine and tried to forget about baseball while we perused the menu. About five minutes in, I overheard the following conversation from the next table.
Man: “That damn Rodriguez. They should send him to Siberia and never let him wear the pinstripes again.”
Woman: “And he can take CC with him. What a disaster.”
Man: “And Teixeira. Talk about garbage.”
Woman: “The whole team’s garbage. They score 10 runs one night and can’t do squat the next. What a joke.”
I put down my menu and flared my nostrils. Michael gave me a look that said, “Don’t start anything.” I shrugged and said, “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
My husband rolled his eyes, sat back and watched helplessly as I leaned over and said to the couple at the next table, “Excuse me. Are you referring to the Yankees?”
Man: “Yeah. We’re Yankee fans.”
Me (Laughing snidely): “Fans? You call yourself fans?”
Woman: “We were talking about the game last night. Did you see it?”
Me: “Of course I saw it. But unlike you, I don’t think my team is garbage because they lost.”
Man: “Oh, come on. They were pathetic.”
Me: “No, they lost. It happens. A true fan would get that.”
Man (starting to rise from his chair): “And just who do you think you are?”
Me: “Just a fan – the kind that doesn’t go around disparaging the Yankees. Have a nice evening.”
I turned my back to them and focused on my husband. We had a delicious dinner, complete with a chocolate molten lava cake with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce for dessert. As we were leaving the restaurant, the mean couple hissed at me. I gave them a big smile, knowing full well that my face looked like the grownup equivalent of this.