There is something grand about the second date. When the first date was "blind" and consisted of four guys with new dates and a drive in movie. The evening would meet the definition of any body's nightmare. Cars with too little room, too much cheap wine and a "film" about the purple monster of Gila flats.
In spite of the disaster, you called the pretty, patient girl on the next Wednesday with the absurd suggestion that you go on another date on Saturday evening. The poor, pretty girl says yes. She feigns enthusiasm for a proposed baseball game at Fenway. No she has never been to a baseball game much less a game at Fenway, baseball in its rawest form.
Beautiful late spring evening and on the subway ride to Kenmore Square, you lecture the poor girl on the Babe Ruth curse and the green monster. Mention of green monster summons up memories in the poor girl of last week's purple monster of Gila flats, and she almost bails out at Park Square station. The poor girl perseveres, and you make it to your pretty good seats on the right field line, staring at the green monster in left.
We settle in . You get a beer. The poor girl declines since evidently she quit drinking alcohol after your first date. Boston is playing like the Red Sox do. The new season is not a disaster. Yet. But this is the Yankees and god must be on our side.
Ninth inning, game tied and Boston at bat with two outs. We are privileged to see Yaz at the plate and the crowd is in a Boston rapture. While the poor girl has given up booze, she does indulge in pop corn which you are holding. Yaz is facing a three and two count. The poor girl leans in front of you, what wonderful familiarity, but she blocks your view going for the popcorn. You see nothing but the poor girl's coat, and the crowd screams with joy. Yaz has blasted a home run over the green monster, or at least that is what you will read in tomorrow's Globe. You see nothing. You sure as hell say nothing, but your face betrays your horror. You hand the poor girl the rest of the popcorn and say, " What a great night for baseball."
The poor girl says nothing, nor has she ever asked you for popcorn again and here you have been married for 35 years.