Imagine Steve going off on a rant during a PR event about his strong feelings about the current state of baseball.
In Steve’s opinion, it took the once Brooklyn Dodgers far too long to ask him to throw the first pitch out at one of their games. Sure, they’d moved to Los Angeles (and Steve wasn’t about to let them forget it) but he still considered himself the biggest fan they’d ever had. The morning of the game was sunny and warm, and Steve gave the ball a throw with all his might. As he heard the satisfying smack of it hitting the catcher’s mitt, he smiled towards the camera, fully aware that his face was on the jumbo screen, and made his way off the field.
It only took a few minutes of being off the mound before the press swarmed him. He didn’t even have a chance to find his seat before experiencing the too familiar feeling of ten reporters shouting questions at him. This time, however, one really caught his attention.
“Captain Rogers, what do you say to the young people who claim that baseball isn’t a real sport?”
“What?” Steve asked incredulously. “Baseball is not just a sport, it’s an American sport. It’s in our blood. Next they’ll be saying that New York isn’t a real city.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Baseball might not be as fast-paced as some other sports, but it takes skill and heart to play it. You have to be versatile, you have to think on your feet, you have to smart and quick and ready for anything. That’s the American way. Those boys out there, playing our country’s game, they’re doing it for the love of it. Really, the only way I could be happier with the current state of baseball is if my team came back to Brooklyn.”
Hey guys, I don’t really know what to write. I’m a guy that loves
sports. Baseball and soccer are my favorite sports. I love to eat also
and I like watching tv shows. I know I seem kind of boring but we can be
friends and get to know each other!
Preferences: I don’t really have a preference anyone can be my friend.
If I could be anywhere else in the world right now, I would. I hated being at the club. Full of nothing but rich grumpy old men walking around drinking their scotches and smoking their cigars and occasionally partaking in, what is possibly, the most boring sport in the entire world. Golf. It seemed to have become more of a social club at this point for the older members, with the younger, newer members filling out the greens and the putting lanes.
So, yes, I hated it. The only time I remotely even pretended to tolerate it, was when it was absolutely, crucially necessary. Basically only showing up to look pretty and stick on a smile for whatever family photo-op my Dad needed for the club’s yearly annual or if we were referenced in the city’s paper and on the news, which was often the case. We were a highly influential family, rich in money and our many charities.
See, my father owned the most prestigious and exclusive members only golf club in the state. Has since before I was born. A southern country club girl born and raised, I don’t really know much of anything else besides attending the best private schools and how to successfully run a golf club. I’m an only child, and a bit of a Daddy’s girl, and proud of it.
But none of that meant that I enjoyed lagging around after my father as he got ready to play his morning round before the club opened on this particular day.
You stepped out of your room, closing the door behind you, Baekhyun was still having a little moment on your bed. Just before you closed the door you heard him saying how you’d taken advantage of him in his vulnerable state. What vulnerable state? Jeez, since when is having a boner a vulnerable state? He really was dramatic.
“One isn’t long enough. If we leave in a hour it just looks like we didn’t want to come”
“But we didn’t want to come”
I give him the look. He’s tired as all hell and it took a lot of asking and kissing to even get him to put on a shirt. He looks at the door with a stern face, ignoring my foolproof “Baby Please” look. He knows he’ll cave if he turns my way. I’ve gotten him to do many things with this look. Then again maybe deep down he just wanted to do them all along. He may be just playing along to appease my lust for power…
“Two hours. And you’re making me a drink.”
“Ooh I love it when you make me act like a 50s housewife”
“Let’s go be social woman”
He kisses me tenderly and smacks my ass for good measure, I grip his in response. Though I hate that doting wife shit. I guess a win is a win?
I prepare myself for the onslaught of cheery faced black women with a bloodthirst for scandal and gossip. He will probably be bored talking about sports and women with all their mediocre looking husbands and boyfriends. (I probably shouldn’t call them mediocre but when I see my baby in their midst, the truth is glaring) I’m the sports one in this relationship. Always have been. But I’m resorted to discussing the goings on of Jade Parkers bedroom invitees, instead of arguing down my love for the New England Patriots.
An hour goes by and I’m full off chicken and waffles, two glasses of wine and I’m over this Remy v. Nicki debate. I look across the room, searching for that gold tie…He looks tired. He can’t even fake the funk for public folk which makes me feel terrible. I would rather be home with him anyway, watching House of Cards and debating on who’s the smarter villain, while being sure not to give away that I finished the season without him. His idea of a proper Saturday night.
Now I’m irritated. I should’ve agreed to the one hour.
I excuse myself from the pit of snakes I call my neighbors and make my way over to Him. He looks relieved and confused as I lean over and whisper in his ear